Fantasy Romance Collection

The Elven Prince's Kiss

Description

All a man had to do to catch my eye was fight well. After the beautiful performance Victor had just given, I'd be a puddle for days

They always told me that, being a female half-dwarf, I wouldn’t amount to anything. But I proved them wrong. I’m now a high-ranked member of the Protective Guild.

I was hired to escort the elven Princess Charlotte and her brother Victor to her wedding. I thought that the worst part of the job would be to drive the Guild’s old Hummer. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Before I know it, we’re under attack by rogue elves, trolls–and, worst, my own traitorous emotions. Emotions involving Victor. I must be crazy. He’s a typical elf–snooty and arrogant.

And beautiful, graceful and strong.

Could I be the princess in my own fairytale? Of course not. I’m busy enough trying to survive and protect Charlotte.

Plus, nothing can happen between a half-dwarf and an elf, especially when that elf is a prince. Or is there a way after all?

Chapter One

The elven city of Raindrop was renowned as a fairy-tale land. Like all elf cities in Canada, it was its own independent state that housed beautiful human-stylized artwork and many other wonderful things. These things, however, did not include social equality or running water.

My fingers drummed a march on the hilt of my gun as I waited at the gates of the city for my client to arrive. The guards wouldn't let me and my business partner in without giving up all our modern technology, which was not going to happen. I'd have been fine with their rules if it wasn't for the fact that there were a couple of humans just beyond the gates taking pictures with their cell phones. 'No modern technology allowed' my ass. They just didn't want dwarves in their city.

"So, working for elven royalty," my partner, Owen, said, picking at his teeth with the arm-hook he had chosen to wear today rather than his more natural-looking prosthetic hand. "Are you finding yourself a handsome elven prince who will sweep you off your feet to live in the lap of stone-age luxury? Ladies-in-waiting, those big ball gowns, corsets that make your breasts look huge?"

"Keep talking," I threatened, pulling my gun from its holster. "I'll put a bullet between your eyes if you say one more word."

Owen grinned at me. I glared in return. His cavalier attitude was doing nothing to improve my mood. The only reason I took this stupid job was because it was the only one offered through the dwarves' protective guild for four months. It wasn't like we were bad at our job. The opposite, in fact. We'd received such a high ranking that people didn't want to pay the wages due to us. If I had a dime still in my bank account, I would have turned down this job. Elves were snooty and holier-than-thou with their stupid dresses and beautiful faces.

"Eloise Brimirdottir?"

I scrunched up my nose at the sound of the musical voice and turned. The elf that had hired Owen and me, Prince Victor Raindrop, stood just behind me. He wore a long coat that buttoned down the center and had embroidered patterns on the sleeves. He was taller than me, with silky-smooth hair done up in elaborate braids. Beside him was a slightly smaller woman wearing a long cloak that hid her figure. Her hair was in a modest bun, her clothing looking more suitable for traveling.

"Your highness." I bowed, well aware that if I offended the elves I wouldn't get paid. Though I had met with the guild explaining the mission, I hadn't met the elves themselves yet. But I knew enough about their people to know that they thought even coughing in their direction was a punishable offense. "I am Eloise. And this is my partner, Owen Blainnson."

The prince inclined his head. "My sister, the princess Charlotte Raindrop."

"Pleased to meet you," Charlotte said. She cocked her head to the side as she surveyed me. "You're very tall for a dwarf."

"My partner here is half-dwarf," Owen interjected as I opened my mouth. He bowed with a flourish. "I, however, am the genuine article. And you, my lady, must be the fairest of the fair elves I have ever seen."

I rolled my eyes at his flattery. "Great. Yeah, we're dwarves, you're elves. If you want us to get you to Manitoba in two days, we have to get going. Our vehicle is this way."

The elven guards that refused to let us pass growled in their throats, but the two royals ignored them. Owen offered his hand to Charlotte to help her into the hummer we'd rented from the guild, and I turned to Victor.

"We’ll take it from here, your highness. Don't worry, your sister is in good hands."

The prince arched a brow. "I am accompanying my sister to her wedding."

Crap .

We hadn't been told we'd have two elf royals. I glanced at Owen. Raindrop was one of the wealthiest, most powerful city-states that the elves had sprinkled throughout Canada and the United States, and their royal family was notorious for taking full advantage of the federal law, even though they themselves had an independent government. I couldn't imagine what would happen to the dwarf community if both their prince and princess were killed on dwarf watch. There was enough bad blood there already.

"We were hired to escort the princess safely to Flowerpetal," I said. What was with Elves and ridiculous names? "Nobody said anything about you. I think it would be best if —"

"You don't get paid unless I go with you."

My jaw snapped shut. My hands curled into fists, but before I could blow the whole deal, Owen interjected. Again.

"Of course, your highness," he said. "But since we weren't expecting two passengers, we will need to ask for fifty percent more for our fee."

Victor waved his hand. "We'll double it."

He climbed into the hummer beside his sister, and I shrugged. It was meant to be a fairly easy mission, anyway. The royal siblings probably just wanted an excuse to ride in a vehicle rather than going on foot like they'd have to do otherwise. I slammed the door behind the prince and climbed into the driver's seat, Owen silently rounding the hummer. We shared a glance as he got in, and I shrugged. He was warning me not to lose my temper.

After the years we had been together, it was easy to read Owen. The two of us had been through a lot together. As a half-dwarf, I had to work twice as hard to prove myself worthy of being entered into the guild and then had to go through fifteen years of the other girls bullying me. I was too tall, too thin, my eyes too dark, my hair too curly. In the guild, we were taught that our greatest strength was the ability to disappear into a crowd, but wherever I went, I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Which was why I decided to sponsor Owen through training. After a mining accident took his hand, he was hard-pressed to find jobs normally available to dwarf men. He was the quintessential dwarf, too. Built like an ox, with wild hair and a wild beard. The claws and hooks he preferred to replace his missing hand helped the image. Next to him, I was almost invisible.

"So," Owen said as we pulled away from the city. "I didn't know elves were allowed in vehicles."

"We are," Victor said shortly.

Well, he was going to be a bucket of sunshine to travel with. I bit my lip and scanned the road, pretending I actually had to be vigilant about this detail. Maybe I could push our speed a little, and pretend like it was an emergency if we were pulled over.

"Our people shun owning things that we can't make with our own hands," Charlotte said, apparently not satisfied with Victor's answer. "Clothing, jewelry, any of our possessions. Our texts are very clear about that. However, there is nothing wrong with borrowing something we cannot make ourselves. We are borrowing your vehicle, in this case."

"Borrowing," I muttered. "It's more like buying our services."

"We are paying you for your time, not your belongings."

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Charlotte still had her cloak wrapped around herself. Was it some strange elven modesty thing? Was she supposed to look like a tent when around other people? I didn't know what sort of rules elves had for women.

"So why hire out the job?" I asked. "You're engaged to the prince at Flowerpetal, right? So if you knew when you had to get there, why not start walking a couple weeks ago? From my understanding, this is more of a speed thing than a protective thing. So why bother?"

"It would be most uncomfortable and perhaps a bit dangerous in my condition to walk that far," Charlotte said.

My brow furrowed.

The princesses continued blithely. "I am near to give birth to a child."

Owen choked. He whipped around, jaw dropping. My grip tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles were white. What the…? I glanced in the rearview mirror again, to find Charlotte pulling her cloak aside to lovingly stroke a giant bump protruding from her stomach.

Really? What else weren't they telling us? "I thought you elves didn't meet the people who married until you actually married them."

"We don't, but that's no reason not to partake of physical pleasure," Charlotte replied. "However, Damien, the elf who sired my child has been uncommonly possessive. He has sworn to kidnap me before I can marry the prince of Flowerpetal, and hold me until after the child is born. My marriage would be annulled then, as my husband to be's parents insist on a virgin."

What was she on about? I shook my head. "But you're not a virgin."

"Virginity is counted among elves as women who have not given birth. This is my first child."

"Ah, so you're Mary, then," Owen said with a chuckle.

I shot him a furious look, but Charlotte only laughed. "Yes, I suppose, if you conflate the meaning of the word 'virgin' with that of your culture's sensibilities."

I wasn't interested in conflation. "You should have told us before we picked you up that you were pregnant. We didn't schedule in as many bathroom breaks as you're going to need, and then there's the whole ‘a dude is going to try to kidnap you’ thing. That's sort of necessary information if you're going to hire us to protect you. I think we ought to triple our fees since we're bringing three people instead of just two."

"No." That was Victor. "We told you all you need to know."

"No, you didn’t," I argued. "I will turn this vehicle around."

"Fine. Do it."

I scowled. I couldn’t afford to say no to this, and he must have known it. Was that why we had been assigned the mission? Had he asked the guild for their most hard-up pair? I grumbled a few curses under my breath as I pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. This was going to be a long journey.

Chapter Two

My back, legs, and arms were stiff by the time we pulled into the parking lot of the motel we had booked for the night. Owen had offered to take over driving, but given everything the Royal Elves had thrown at us, I wasn't about to relinquish that small bit of control. Still, it meant that my mood left much to be desired, especially since it was well past dark before we stopped.

Although, apparently, that wasn't good enough for Mr. 'I'm the Prince.' Victor sat straighter in his seat and frowned when I turned off the engine. "Why are we stopping? We just had a bathroom break."

"We're staying the night here," I told him. "We've got a room with two beds, so you and the princess should be comfortable enough."

It meant that Owen and I were going to have to sleep on chairs or the floor, but whatever. It was better than trying to snooze in the hummer. Not that we could, anyway. If there really was some elf dude after Charlotte, then we had to stay vigilant. Resting in a room was safer than trying to rest on the road.

"Staying the night." Victor scowled. "Why? We should just drive through. Aren't dwarves supposed to be able to go for weeks without sleep?"

I climbed out of the hummer, scanning the darkness for any sign of lurking elves. "That's a myth. And before we left, we heard some rumors that trolls might be targeting the princess." Actually, it had been that trolls were targeting hikers in Banff. Three had gone missing, although I thought it was probably just humans being stupid about the backcountry again. Trolls liked to keep to themselves. "They're most active during the night, and we're on the edge of Banff. There are quite a few colonies in the park and we can't risk it. We stay tonight, and tomorrow we'll have a fresh start and daylight on our side."

Charlotte murmured sleepily. "Don't argue, Victor. I need to stretch out, anyway. The baby is bruising my ribs."

We didn't have much to take into the motel and soon were settled in our room. Charlotte claimed the bathroom first, and I longingly thought of a hot shower to relax my muscles. Maybe after the elves were sleeping I could take a quick shower-nap while Owen kept watch. I'd let myself get too tense over the drive. It wasted a lot of energy.

"Right," I said, glancing around the room. The two double beds were separated by a nightstand, and there was one chair by the window. "Here's what we're going to do."

"We should just keep driving," Victor grumbled again.

I ignored him as Charlotte returned to the main room. "The princess will take the bed closest to the door. Those are big windows and will be more easily breached. If something comes through them, run," I added to her. "The prince will sleep on the other bed. We'll keep the bathroom light on with the door partially closed so that it's not completely dark in here. Owen and I will take turns keeping watch, and whoever isn't awake can rest on the floor. One of you elves will have to give up a pillow and a blanket, though."

I stared daggers at Victor, hoping he'd be man enough to sacrifice that bit of comfort for his pregnant sister. He stared back, clearly unimpressed with me.

"That will be unnecessary," the prince said coolly. "I will be staying awake tonight, to help watch for the trolls and whoever else might attack. You can sleep on the bed, Eloise."

The way he said my name made it sound like a song title. I was so surprised that it took me a moment to realize what he was saying. My brow furrowed. "You're giving up the bed?"

He nodded. "You look quite tired. I would gladly let you take my spot. After all, you need to be well awake for our continuing journey tomorrow."

Was he insulting me? Making a snarky comment about stopping, no doubt. I narrowed my eyes. "With all due respect, no. I already said what we are going to do and that is what we are going to do."

The prince's eyes narrowed. He rose his chin and folded his arms. If that was supposed to mean something to me, though, he was mistaken. I copied the pose. I didn't need some elven prince to tell me what to do or to make snide comments that I wasn't doing enough according to what he thought I ought to be doing. If he wanted to drive through the night, he should have told us that from the beginning. I had paid good money for the room.

Charlotte sighed. "He's got his stubborn face on. He's not going to back down."

Owen chuckled. "Yeah, she's got her stubborn face on too. Once saw her spend a week in a staring contest with a mule before it broke down, you know. When Eloise sets her mind to something, expect the sun to grow cold before she changes."

I glared at him. "Gun, remember? I am willing to shoot you."

"So you've said, but you haven't done it yet." Owen yawned and removed his claw. The twisted, scarred flesh of the stump of arm jiggled as he flexed his arm. "Ah, that's better. I'll just take a little nap while they're arguing about who gets the bed."

Charlotte stretched over her bed, laying on her side. "That sounds like a good idea."

Victor broke off his stare to turn to his sister. "Do you need anything? A glass of water? Are your feet okay? They look a little swollen. I could rub them with the herb lotion the midwife suggested."

The tenderness in his voice surprised me, and I glanced at Owen. He didn't seem to find anything strange, though. He had twelve sisters of his own. I was an only child, and the only experience I had with people my own age was the competitions that the guild put us in. Was Victor acting the way siblings normally acted? If this was a movie, they'd be wanting to kill each other… but movies exaggerated everything, right?

"I'm fine," Charlotte assured the prince. "I just need some sleep."

I retrieved a protein bar and then claimed the chair before Victor could offer – I'd have to refuse if he did – and peered between the space in the curtains. Victor stood at the opposite side of the windows, also looking out to the near-vacant parking lot beyond. Silence fell between us, soon interrupted only by Owen and Charlotte's soft snores. I repressed a yawn.

"So," I said eventually, keeping my voice low. "Have you met this Flowerpetal prince that your sister is marrying?"

"Yes. I took the offer of marriage to him."

My brows rose. "You took the offer? So what, Charlotte proposed to him? Or was it an arranged marriage?"

"It was arranged," Victor replied slowly. "But Charlotte arranged it. Prince Thomas agreed it would be a good political match."

"Does he know she's pregnant?"

The prince turned an irritated glance on me. "Yes."

"And it doesn't bother him?"

"Why should it?"

I snorted. "Maybe because she's pregnant with another man's baby? Elves can't be totally cool with that. I thought you were all feudal Europe with your hand-spun cloth and no toilets."

Victor shook his head. "Our custom is that we cannot own that which we cannot make. But our women are just as free as our men to have whatever pleasures they desire. Only mothers can be known for certain; a man is honored that a woman chooses to let him into her child's life."

Okay, wasn't expecting that. Maybe there was more to elves than I thought. "But you guys still have a strict social hierarchy. How much of your clothes did you make yourself, and how much was made for you by servants?"

A sliver of golden light fell over his face from the streetlamps outside. "I understand your point. And what about you? How did you join the guild? Half-dwarf. That's not a common occurrence. How did your parents join? Did they come together for love or was it a practical match?"

"I'm not talking about that."

"Then you know how I feel."

I got his point and turned back to the window.

Silence fell again. Victor turned from his vigil and went to Charlotte's bed, tucking her feet into the blankets. She didn't stir. He got a glass from the bathroom and filled it with water, setting it on the nightstand before he returned to the window. This time, however, he stood just behind my chair.

"Elves don’t have the same sexual constraints that many others have," he said suddenly. "As long as there isn't a reason for two people not to be together – for instance, blood relations, one party being too young to make informed decisions, or one party being in a position of power or authority over the other – then there is nothing wrong with it. It's the authority part which means that the royalty doesn't mix with the workers in any sexual way. We are socially more powerful. The royals don't have the same absolute authority we once had, but if a man or woman said yes to someone who might take off their head for saying no, then their yes doesn't mean anything."

"Okay," I said slowly, brow furrowed. "That's the most I've heard you say at once. What of it? So, you guys are hippies. What does that have to do with me?"

Victor rested a hand on the back of my chair. "You're a beautiful woman. If I gave you your payment immediately, then we would be on equal footing, since you clearly have no respect for my bloodline. I would be honored if you would allow me to share your bed."

I jumped to my feet. He had to be joking, right? I whirled on him, but his expression was as emotionless as I'd seen it. Either this was some sort of deadpan humor or he was being serious. Either way, now was hardly the appropriate time to be asking for sex.

"We're not on equal footing," I snapped. "I can shoot you."

His expression didn't change as he nodded. He walked to the other side of the room again, and silence fell once more. I glared at him for another moment before slumping on the chair. I didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted, so I decided to just push the whole thing out of my brain and hope that trolls would attack us. Violence seemed like a pretty good answer to my situation right now.

Chapter Three

I hardly slept during the night, and in the morning I knew I was in no state to drive. Even still, I didn't like handing the keys over to Owen. Not that he wasn't a good driver, but I liked to hold my fate in my own hands. Besides, without having something specific to concentrate on, I was afraid I'd nod off and get scolded by the elf prince. Not that I cared what he thought of me.

Banff in the summer was something I could never get used to. The dark evergreens were sprinkled with a generous helping of leafy trees and bushes, giving it a mottled effect. The grass growing along the tall deer fences that separated the road from the forest was tall and blew in a gentle breeze, spotted here and there with bright-colored flowers. The animal bridges, wide overpasses built over tunnels so the animals could pass from one side of the forest to the other, teemed with herds of whitetail deer, and we even saw a wolf. Owen insisted on pulling off to the side of the road and taking a picture of it.

In the back of the hummer, Charlotte and Victor had their heads together. They whispered to each other, but my hearing was good enough to pick out a few words. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to be speaking in English, and I couldn't understand it anyway. My mood grew even darker. What if he was telling her all about last night? When she laughed, was she laughing about how defensive I had gotten?

"Can you get me one of those protein bars back there?" I asked, not bothering to hide my grumpiness.

Charlotte fished one out for me, and Victor leaned between the two front seats to hand it to me.

"I hope you and I have a chance to talk again soon, in private," he said. "I'm afraid there were a few things I said that I… perhaps should not have. I would like the chance to explain."

I tried not to think about how beautiful his blue eyes were as I took the protein bar. My failure in this regard only made me grumpier. "I understood just fine."

"Understood what?" Owen turned bright eyes on me. "What did I miss?"

I glared at him, but even as I opened my mouth to tell him it was none of his business, a sharp thwack in the side of the hummer made us jump. I glanced out the mirror to find an arrow embedded into the gas tank. Another thwack, and an arrow sunk deep into the hood of the hummer. I cursed as a plume of smoke burst into the air.

"Stay down," I shouted at the elves while Owen slammed on the breaks.

Elves burst out of the ground in the grassy knoll between the split highway and the rocky ditch to our other side. They threw off robes covered in grass and gravel and charged, shouting and waving clubs and rock-tipped spears. I cursed again, climbing into the back. The elves attacked the hummer, shouting and stomping their feet. We rocked back and forth as their weapons dented the sides. One of them smashed a mace into the windshield. The glass fractured into a spider web pattern but held. It wouldn't survive more than a couple more blows, though.

"Protect the princess," I ordered Owen, then slammed my door open into an elf that was stabbing at the lock with a knife. I yanked out my gun and shot it into the air.

The elves drew back, allowing me to get out of the hummer with time to shut the door behind me. I pointed my gun at the elf with the mace. "Drop it! It takes you far longer to swing that thing around than it does for me to pull this—"

Victor jumped from the vehicle. He had two daggers in his hands and leaped among the enemy elves at once. I wheeled about, slamming the door shut behind him, but my distraction cost me. The mace-wielding elf lashed out. My gun was the casualty, ending up crushed between the mace and the hummer door. I howled as I withdrew. My hand just barely escaped being crushed.

If the elves thought that was the end of my fight, they were sorely mistaken. With another feral howl, I threw myself at the mace-wielder, knocking him off his feet. I brought my palm to his nose and kicked him between the legs. As he doubled over, face twisting in pain, I tackled another elf. When I blocked a punch and drove my fingers into his sternum, I caught sight of Victor.

Time literally stood still. He had thrown off his robe, revealing a pair of tight-fitting pants and not much else. His bare chest was completely hairless and sculpted with such precision that he could have been carved straight out of a woman's fantasies. His abs flexed with his movement, going from a six to an eight pack depending on how tightly he held his body. His eyes were steely, determined.

But what really had the drool pooling in my mouth was his fighting style. He looked more like a dancer as he faced off with half a dozen opponents. His knives flashed and flew with such quickness that I could hardly track them. The other elves threw punches at him, but he nimbly dodged them like he was untouchable.

Wow . I found myself gaping at him rather than fighting off the enemy. Even after I shook my head and returned to knocking over elves like bowling pins, I couldn't help myself from sneaking glances at him. I had never seen anybody fight like that before. I should have taken him up on his offer the previous night. We could have been in the bathroom… I never did get my shower.

A solid punch to my jaw brought me back from my distraction. I pummeled the guy who had hit me, then kicked the feet out from under a second attacker and mightily lifted a third to throw back into the group. I grabbed the mace guy's face and smashed it into my knee. He stumbled back.

"Retreat," he shouted.

They scattered, climbing over the deer fence nimbly and disappeared into the forest. I turned back to the hummer and threw open the door to check on Owen and Charlotte.

"You guys okay?"

Owen nodded, though his face was drawn tensely. It had probably killed him to have to stay in the vehicle watching us fight. He was like me: he hated being on the sidelines.

Charlotte was tucked down behind the driver's seat, stuffed into a Kevlar vest. Not that Kevlar was actually much use against knives or arrows. If we had known that other elves would be attacking, we would have gotten some decent arrow-resistant armor. Kevlar was good against bullets and that was basically it.

"They slashed all four tires," Victor said, stepping up beside me. His chest gleamed with sweat and, for the first time, I noticed he had an earthy scent that I enjoyed quite a lot.

Great . I shook my head.

All a man had to do to catch my eye was fight well. After the beautiful performance Victor had just given, I'd be a puddle for days. Maybe I would have to reconsider the whole conversation we had the previous night. My gun was ruined, so it wasn't like I could shoot him. That put us on equal footing, right? Finding a place to be together would be trickier, though…

I shook the thoughts from my head. Now was not the time.

"We have extra tires in the back," Owen said. "The real problem is that."

He pointed at the arrow still protruding from the hood of the hummer. Smoke still belched from it. I went around to check it out, but I didn't need to be a mechanic to know that there would be no starting the vehicle up again. I grimaced, glancing at Charlotte's pregnant belly.

"No cell service," Owen said, holding his phone into the sky. "So do we sit here and wait for another vehicle to come by and help us out, or do we start walking?"

"I chose this road because it's not well-used," I said. "I wanted to be able to speed up a little. We'll be about an hour away from the nearest city by way of driving. But walking with a woman so heavily pregnant…"

"I'm strong," Charlotte said. "I can walk."

"We might not have to." Victor pointed to the opposite side of the road. A large semi-truck rounded the corner.

I sighed in relief. "Good. Let's just be careful about it."

As if he hadn't heard me, Victor darted across the median onto the other side of the highway. He planted himself in the middle of it. I grabbed my spare gun from under the seat and ran after him. The semi pulled to a stop a few feet from the elven prince. The driver leaned on his horn and screamed at us, face red.

"Hey," I shouted at him. "You don't go around throwing yourself in front of vehicles. What is wrong with you? Did you want to get hit?"

"They stopped," Victor said.

His calmness did nothing to help me. I prodded my finger into his chest, about to start screaming, when the blaring horn suddenly cut off. A grunt behind me made me turn. Owen fell to the ground, a surprised look on his face as blood blossomed from his face. The driver of the semi grabbed Charlotte around the waist and lifted her into the air. She screamed, but the driver stuffed her into his truck before I could raise my gun.

I caught a glimpse of the driver's face, ball cap pulled low, large glasses hiding his face before he stepped on the gas. Charlotte's mouth was open in a scream and the semi barreled towards Victor and me. I dropped the gun and grabbed Victor, yanking him from the semi's path. Owen leaped over us as we fell, swinging his hook. It sunk deep into the semi's back, and he scrambled up onto it as it drove away.

I rolled over and grabbed my gun, but it had already turned the next corner and was gone.

Chapter Four

"Stop!" I called.

Victor ignored me, still running hard, sweat sliding down his smooth back. I wasn't out of shape by any means, but I carried a lot more muscle than he did. At least, that was what I told myself as an explanation for why I was panting with every step and his breathing was still even. I put on a burst of speed and grabbed his arm, dragging us both to a stop.

"They're miles away by now," I gasped out. "We can't keep chasing the truck. We need a plan."

The prince narrowed his eyes. He yanked his arm from me. "You should have stopped them. You have your gun, you could have blown out the tires!"

"Okay, one, it's not that easy and two, if I had done anything differently, you would have been smooshed into nothing but red gore on the pavement. You weren't even moving!"

"Then you should have let them hit me. I am paying you to protect my sister, not me."

I rolled my eyes at that. "Why, I didn't think of that? Of course, the royal family at Raindrop will be outraged that I didn't let their prince be killed. You know, now that I think of it, I should have let you die. I'm sure your parents wouldn't have gone all elf-berserk on the dwarves if I'd done that and, you know, lost Charlotte anyway because I was in the semi's path too. Or should we both have died?"

Victor frowned, but I guess he saw my point because he didn't continue the conversation. He scrubbed his hands over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If we can't catch them on foot, then what is your plan?"

"Owen is very good at our job. I know he looks like the muscle of the group, but he's smart and he's like a pitbull when he decides on something. He's going to stay with Charlotte no matter what. With any luck, he's already beat that driver to bits and is coming back with Charlotte as we speak."

He looked torn for a moment but nodded reluctantly. "What does he want with her, anyway? Why take her?"

"I don't know. You think maybe her baby daddy hired him?"

"Doubtful. Damien might be possessive, but there are rules about how he can stop her from marrying Prince Thomas. He can't kill us and hiring an outsider… it's not his style."

"It would have been good to know they weren't going to kill us before we got attacked." I narrowed my eyes. "What if I had killed somebody? I thought they were trying to kill us, but if they weren't and I had killed one of them—"

"Oh, you're not an elf," Victor said with a shrug. "They might kill you."

"Great. Just great. Sit down. I'm tired of standing."

We moved off the road to sit on the shoulder. I tried to swallow, but my throat was sticky and dry. We would need to get something to drink. How, though? There were no water bottles sitting on the side of the road.

"You say Owen is good at what he does?"

I nodded firmly. "He's very good."

Victor picked a piece of grass and shredded it. "I wondered how a male dwarf ended up in your protective guild."

My hackles rose. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that from my understanding dwarves have rigid gender expectations."

I remained silent.

Victor paused a moment, then pressed on. "Among dwarves, children are named daughters of Brimir or sons of Blainn, are they not? Girls are considered to have sprung from Brimir’s blood, while boys sprang from Blainn's bones."

I nodded reluctantly. "And girls are thought to be more fluid or cunning, suited for protective duties, while boys are stronger and more suited for working as physical laborers. Yeah. It's a load of nonsense, though. Owen's as good at protecting people as anybody, and I'm more than capable of doing the heavy lifting."

Victor's gaze roamed over my shoulders and arms. "I can see that. You are very strong."

Was it just my imagination that his voice suddenly took on a husky tone? I felt blood start seeping into my face. I might not have enjoyed the way he was looking at me before I saw him fight, but now I knew he was more than just a fancy-pants prince. I chewed on my lower lip before I shook off the thoughts and got back to my feet.

"Going through the forest will be faster than sticking to the road," I said. "We'll have to get to the nearest settlement to track Owen."

"What about reinforcements?"

"We don't need them."

Victor narrowed his eyes. "I don't doubt your abilities, but we don't know what numbers we are against. It would be prudent to—"

"The guild doesn't do reinforcements. They call us . We don’t know anybody except for the people who trained with us, and I never really… bonded with them. I don't have any numbers to call. Owen and I do things on our own."

I was afraid of getting the same scolding that I always got from my superiors and parents whenever this subject was brought up, and I braced myself for Victor's disapproval. However, there was no judgment in his eyes as he nodded.

"Which way?" he asked.

I hesitated as I glanced around. I knew which road to follow and approximately how far away it was, but navigating through a forest wasn't my strong suit. Owen was the one with the tracking abilities. His time underground left him with an excellent sense of direction. I relied too heavily on him for that. There was something about moss on trees and north, though.

Victor understood without me having to say a word. "I took a look at your maps while we were driving. It's this way." He pointed.

I frowned. "If you know, why ask me?"

His eyes sparkled. "I thought that if I just said it without consulting you, you might get offended and decide to shoot me. Besides, I didn't want to assume that you were uncertain where to go."

I scowled at the truthfulness of his statement. There were some things that I just didn't like to admit, and one of them was when I didn't know things. In my line of work, I had to be self-reliant in most situations. Friendships, even with our partners, were discouraged. Owen and I broke this rule because of his dogged insistence on being nice to me. Personally, I thought it was partly why we were so successful – along with our stubborn determination to prove everybody else wrong – but it was still hard to break free from years of conditioning.

"So elves have a mystical sense of direction, huh?"

"No. But we have to go north-east and as you can see by the position of the sun—"

"Okay, you don't have to give me a lesson."

Victor shrugged.

We climbed over the fence and headed through the forest. The air was cool and I worried about Victor, soaked in sweat, but he showed no signs of being cold. Squirrels chattered and birds sang. I kept a hand on my gun, keeping my ears sharp for any unfriendlies, whether elf, wolf, troll or other.

After some time Victor spoke. "So do you really not know how to tell the direction from the sun, or were you just trying to make me feel better?"

"I wasn't taught that sort of thing," I admitted. "My training was… Well, I wouldn't say that I had a real childhood. It was all very highly regimented and there wasn't a lot of adult intervention in interpersonal problems. That was for us to figure out and deal with, not for them to take care of. Great for some of the girls, but for someone like me… I was an easy target."

Victor nodded as he hopped nimbly over a fallen log. I scrambled after him, envying his grace.

"Charlotte was my only companion growing up," he told me. "You are right in thinking our society is highly stratified. I befriended one of the servant's children once and they were punished for it. Not me. Them."

"That's fair," I murmured sarcastically.

"There are many injustices in my society. Our parents would love to see Charlotte marry the man who sired her child, but Damien is a hard man. He is set in the past. Charlotte wanted to create her own destiny." He stopped and turned towards me. "I want to create my own destiny as well. That was why I… approached you in the motel. You are a beautiful woman, and you are strong and brave. I didn't mean to insult you."

The heat climbed higher into my cheeks. I ducked my head and tried not to show how pleased I was at his attentions. "It wasn't an insult. It just caught me off guard, you know? I overreacted. Maybe once this is all done, we can go out for a drink or something."

He nodded. "I would like that."

I grinned, but before I could say another word, the ground beneath me shifted. With a yelp I fell, arms windmilling about. I grabbed Victor's cuff and dragged him down after me. We hit the ground hard in a pit five feet deep. A loud crack sounded as white-hot pain jolted through my leg and I screamed.

I panted as sweat broke out over my face. Victor rolled off me and grasped my shoulders. "Are you okay?"

I tried to move my leg. More pain. My stomach churned, and I was only just able to choke it down. I shook my head. There was no way I was getting anywhere on this leg.

"Leg's broken. Here." I pulled out my gun and pressed it into his hands. "Take this. And my cell phone. You'll have to go get Charlotte back yourself. Just go to town and send somebody back out for me."

"No. I'm not leaving you here."

As touched as I was by his concerned, I shook my head firmly. "This is a troll pit. I know how to deal with them, but they'll tear your pretty face off."

The grin that broke over his face was the first I'd seen. "You think I'm pretty?"

My face flushed as Victor brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Ugh. Just go before I shoot you."

He sobered quickly. "No. If your Owen is as good as you say, we have time. And if not… I need you. I can't navigate technology. I never learned how to use it."

"I'm not going anywhere with this busted leg."

His hands cupped my leg, making me wince, but his touch was gentle as he probed. "It's not a bad break. I can splint it, and then we can go to a healing mud springs. I need you, Eloise. So no more arguing."

I wanted to keep arguing just because he told me not to, but a wave of pain washed over me again and I nodded. I didn't have the energy to fight. I'd heard about the elves' healing mud pits and they were meant to do miracles. If my leg could be healed… I just hoped Owen wasn't somewhere, counting on me to get to him quickly.

Chapter Five

It took us a few hours to get to the mud pit, but it felt like an eternity. Victor's splint helped to ease the pain of my broken leg, but I still threw up a few times on our way. By the time we reached our destination, my head was spinning and Victor practically had to carry me. Fortunately, there was a small stream near the pit we could use to rehydrate. It was a mineral spring and tasted terrible, but I sucked it up gratefully.

The mud pit itself was only a couple meters wide. The mud was a rich black color and a skim of water lay on the surface, stained yellow from sulfur. Victor stirred it in with a stick, then knelt at the edge and mumbled what sounded like a prayer in a language I didn't know.

"Do you need help undressing?" he asked, turning to me.

I jolted. "Undressing?"

"Of course." Victor stripped off his pants. My eyes went huge as more of his tanned skin was exposed. "We can't get our clothes muddy, can we?"

There was a part of me that wondered – hoped – that he had actually brought me here to seduce me. But that was just my brain being loopy from pain and dehydration. There was no way that he would be thinking about that while his sister was out there in the hands of trolls, was there? No… He was too good a man for that.

Victor left on his boxers as he slipped into the mud, and after a moment's hesitation, I stripped down to my panties and bra. I climbed in, sinking low into the pit before he could see that I wasn't wearing my cute undies. Not that it mattered.

The mud was warm and soothing as it enveloped me. My leg felt better almost instantly. I groaned in relief. "So are these healing as in magical or healing as in perpetrated to be healing?"

"Magic. It's a sacred place among the Elves. If anybody knew I had brought you here, I would be in serious trouble."

I snorted. "What, you mean like they'd ground their prince?"

"More like kill me. Oh, it wouldn’t be official, and there would be some elves that would take the fall and go away for murder, but everybody would know that it was because I showed an outsider where to find this place."

At first, I snorted, thinking he was just being dramatic for the sake of being dramatic. But when his expression didn't change, my amusement died away. My eyes widened. He couldn't be serious, could he? People didn't go around killing other people because of mud pits. There was nothing about him that indicated that he was lying, though.

"Your parents would do that to you?"

He shook his head. "They'd try to protect me. But they would fail. Even if it took fifty years, somebody would kill me for it. We don't take our traditions lightly."

I felt light-headed at that. He was risking his life for my leg? "Okay… Then we should leave as soon as possible. How long will it take for me to heal?"

Victor considered for a moment. "It wasn't a bad break, but walking would have aggravated it. I'd say a couple hours at least, to be certain."

I didn't like the idea of staying here that long, but we really didn't have much of a choice. I sank a little lower, up to my shoulders, and tried to think of another topic of conversation. If we were stuck here, I might as well get to know the prince better.

I frowned. An elvish prince. No way there could be anything lasting between him and a half-dwarf girl like me. Probably why he propositioned me in a dingy little hotel, instead of asking for a date. He had agreed to drinks, though.

This was too confusing. I had to talk about something else. "So why exactly did you hire the dwarves' guild as protectors? I mean, you obviously have a lot going on, so why not trust your own people?"

"Because I don’t trust my own people." Victor frowned. "Charlotte arranged her own marriage. She is outspoken against our people's reluctance to use technology. She has argued that not all of us can weave cloth or knap arrowheads. If these are still alright for us to own, why not other things that we could learn to make with our own hands? Everything in a car has to be made somehow. If some of us can make it, all of us could learn. If we can learn, perhaps that is enough to own. Her ideas are radical – maybe even dangerous."

I rolled my eyes. "Driving a car isn't more dangerous than drinking untreated water."

"Perhaps, but our people are slow to change. I want the best for my sister, and I needed to make sure she had the best protection possible."

"And what about you? Where do you fall in all of this?"

Victor gave me a small smile. "I told you."

"No, you said something about wanting your independence, but not where you fall politically. Wanting to have sex with a dwarf doesn't mean you want to change your society."

The smile disappeared. I almost regretted asking, but it was important to know. I didn't want to be the one-stop rebellion. Or maybe I didn't care… It was difficult to say. In any case, nothing could happen until after we got Charlotte back and this whole mess was figured out. I lifted my leg out of the mud to test my pain levels.

"It's feeling a lot better. I bet we can get going," I said. "Dwarves are hardy and we heal twice as fast as humans. Bet it's all fixed up with this healing mud."

"Let me see."

Victor didn't waste time wrapping his hands around my leg. I held in a yelp as his long fingers began probing. With the hot mud, it felt more like a massage. I closed my eyes, sighing in contentment as his hands worked from my ankle to my knee and back down. It was a silly thing to think, but nobody had ever touched my leg like that before.

"Hmmm. Want to join Owen and me on our team?" I asked. "We could use massages after a long day."

Victor paused, hands on my knee. I pushed my leg, trying to get him to start again, and his hands ended up on my thigh. I flushed but didn't move. The prince kept staring at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking and licked my lips.

"Uh… What did I say?"

"Yes."

I blinked, startled. "What?"

"Yes, I would like to join you and Owen. I have wanted to leave Raindrop, and the elvish way of life, for a long time. I just didn't know how. But if you will help me—"

"I—" Oh, boy. I didn't know how to respond to that.

"Yes?" he pressed, leaning forward.

"I wasn't exactly… I mean, it's not that I don't think you're great, but I was just joking. There are a lot of different things you'd have to do to get accepted into the guild and—"

Victor laughed, surprising me. "You are so serious."

So he was joking? "Huh?"

He lowered my leg back into the mud and leaned forward. His hands clasped my hips and he pulled me over. Heat flared through me as skin met skin and I barely suppressed a shiver. His grin drew me in, and before I knew it, his mouth was over mine. His mouth was ferocious, his hands strong as he brought me even closer.

Fireworks sparked through my brain, and I threw my arms around him. If it wasn't for the mud we were in, I might have been tempted to take things further. I didn't enjoy the thought of mud going into certain locations, though. His hands wrapped around my ass, and I pulled away, shaking my head.

"Um, no," I said, panting a little. Victor's face filled my vision. A streak of mud was on his cheek, his tanned skin flushed, eyes bright. I wanted to throw myself at him again. "Nope. This is not happening."

"What isn't?"

I squirmed, trying to free myself, but our positions made my movements… do something else. I stilled, my face beet-red. "This isn't. Okay, yeah, it was a nice kiss and all, but I don't date clients. It's against guild rules. And my own."

A sly grin crossed his face and he brushed his lips against mine again. "So when I ask you if you'll allow me to bed you, you threaten to shoot me but it wasn't an insult. Now when we kiss a little, you consider it dating? Hmm… I enjoy trying to figure you out. But I am going to take you up on your offer for drinks after… and here's hoping there will be more."

He kissed me again.

"What blasphemy is this?" a voice growled from above us.

Both of us jumped. We glanced up to see an elf standing over us. He was as big as a moose, with hair streaked with black mud and shoulders almost as broad as Owen's. He carried a crudely-made bronze sword in one hand. He glared down at us as though we had kicked his dog. Behind him were half a dozen other elves. I recognized some of them as the ones that had attacked us on the road.

"Blasphemy?" I repeated, blinking. My heart pounded. My gun was still in my clothes, out of reach. This big dude would cut off my arm before I could reach it. "What are you talking about?"

The elf ignored me, the bronze sword flicking out. It pressed against Victor's throat. I hissed in a gasp, hands curling into his shoulders. I hated the sight of the bronze against his pulse. One cut and it would all be over.

"How dare you bring this dwarf to our sacred spot?" The elf spat on the grounds. "Any last words before I take off your head, princeling?"

Chapter Six

Not happening.

I brought a fist up, punching the sword from Victor's throat. The blade cut into my skin but I ignored the biting wound, instead lunging half out of the pit to grab my gun. I aimed it wildly at the big elf with the sword and squeezed the trigger. My shot went wide, but the elf still jumped back. I took the opportunity to drag my body from the mud. He brought his sword down at me; Victor shouted, and a clash of metal rang as one of his knives deflected the sword.

The mud slowed my movements, but I still managed to get to my feet and press the base of my gun against the big elf's chin while he defended against Victor. The elf tensed. He lifted his sword, but I shook my head

"Only do that if you don't want to keep your head," I threatened. "And that goes for all of you. Even the quickest of your methods of killing me won't be immediate. I'll have time to pull this trigger."

I didn't glance around to make sure they were lowering their weapons. Doing so would leave me vulnerable to attack. The mud sucked down at Victor's body as he climbed out of the mud pit. He grabbed one of his knives and grabbed the head elf, putting the knife to his throat.

"Where is my sister?" the prince snarled.

I turned so our backs were together and aimed the gun at the other elves, making them back away.

"Your sister?" the big elf asked. "Charlotte is missing?"

"Don't pretend that you don't know where she is, Damien." This giant elf fathered Charlotte's baby? Whoa . I saw the draw – he was a monster. Too bad he wanted to kidnap her now. "Did you hire a human to take her, or did you have one of your men break the laws you cherish so much and drive that truck?"

"Truck?" Damien laughed. "What are you on about, Victor? If you've lost Charlotte, it's not my doing. That's what you get for trusting a dwarf to protect your sister instead of your own kin."

I grunted. "This dwarf has a nasty temper. I'll start shooting if you don't tell us where she is."

Damien's voice was low when he answered. "I did not take her. If I had, I'd have taken her back to Raindrop, not wander out here, tracking you. I thought you meant to throw us off the trail."

"Then why follow?" Victor demanded.

"I thought I'd use you to keep Charlotte from meeting that spineless prince she intends to bind herself to."

I snorted, but to my surprise, Victor released Damien. As I made a noise of protest in my throat, he turned to me. He grabbed my wrist and lowered the gun. I stared at him, slack-jawed. Was he insane? The elves all pressed in closer with their weapons raised. They were still planning on killing us. But when I tried to raise my gun, Victor's hand gripping my wrist tightly stopped me.

"Let me go," I said.

"Never mind them. You said that you received threats from trolls."

I flinched. "Uh… yeah, I did say that."

Victor narrowed his eyes at me.

"It was late, I was tired, Owen was tired. You were being all 'let's drive through the night'. I spent good money booking that motel, and if we didn't use it I'd be out the cash. Maybe that's not so important to you, but I can barely make rent since the guild bumped the team to a higher bracket. Nobody wants to pay that much for a half-dwarf and her male partner."

"You lied to me," Victor hissed. "Why didn't you just tell the truth?"

I shook him off. "Because in my experience, telling clients something they don't want to hear with just the truth doesn't work. We can't keep driving because we're tired? 'Why are you tired? I thought dwarves could go for weeks without sleep?' 'What do you mean you have to take a bathroom break? Why are you drinking so much water that you have to pee once every five hours?' It's exhausting ."

"Eloise—"

Damien cleared his throat. "As amusing as this is, let's not drag on the inevitable."

He gestured, and two elves leaped at me. My lingering distraction allowed them to yank both of my hands behind my back. Victor ducked under a fist that swung at him and punched one of the elves that held me in the face with his knife handle.

I growled in my throat. "Just stab him!"

The prince ignored me, dropping the knife altogether to jab two stiff fingers into the other elf's throat. When Damien stepped forward, Victor raised his hands. I rose the gun, and he twisted it from my hand and tossed it away.

If I still had my gun, I'd shoot him. "Are you crazy?"

"This does not have to end in death," Victor said.

Damien shook his head. "You brought this half-dwarf to a sacred place. You know you will die for this. I'll at least make it quick. I'll tell Charlotte you died bravely."

"I brought Eloise here, yes." Victor's arm snaked around my middle and pulled me tight against him. "But don't call her 'half-dwarf' as though that is all there is to her. She is also my wife-to-be."

I squeaked. My expression surely gave away the lie, but Damien didn't even glance in my direction. Instead, his gaze remained on Victor's face. A heavy frown creased his brows. The other elves glanced at each other nervously. So if I married an elf, I was allowed in the sacred mud pit? I tried not to look as shocked as I felt.

"You are going to marry a half-dwarf?" Damien pressed. "You, a prince of Raindrop? Your parents—"

"My parents don't know yet, but they will soon. She will be joined to the elves by marriage and blood. Already she carries my child." Victor lovingly caressed my stomach. Which, though covered in mud, was still naked. I shivered, wanting to hide. My face burned. "Elf, dwarf and human joined in one bloodline. What better significance for the future?"

All eyes fixed on my belly then. I curled inward, wrapping my arms around myself. "Okay, that is enough. I'm not pregnant!"

Damien chuckled, his expression clearing. He put away his weapon and bowed towards Victor. "I would expect something like this from Charlotte. But it seems you are more driven to progression than I realized, your highness. Congratulations on your coming child."

"I'm not pregnant," I insisted. "We haven't even had sex!"

"I would expect a dwarf to make such claims," Damien said, nodding towards me. "Your restrictive customs around sexuality are barbaric."

"Whatever! I'm not—"

He ignored me as he turned to Victor. "Was the child the reason you hired her to escort you and Charlotte?"

"I wanted to spend more time with my wife-to-be, yes," Victor replied coolly.

My eyes were slits by this time. I hissed a string of curses under my breath and reached for my shirt. One of the other elves offered me a handkerchief. Glaring at him and it, I took it and began wiping off the mud. Well, at least they weren’t going to kill us anymore. And it seemed like this pit really was magical. Not only did my leg feel better, but the cut on my hand was already scabbed over.

"Somebody still stole Charlotte," Victor said, starting to wipe the mud off himself as well. "Damien, can I count on your help to retrieve her?"

"What?" I demanded. "He was attacking us! You can't ask someone who was going to kill you five minutes ago to help us now."

Damien frowned at me. "I would not have enjoyed killing you. I have high respect for Victor. And Charlotte carries my child. I will do what I must to keep her safe. Even if in the end she doesn't choose me."

"But he was going to kill us," I said to Victor.

"He's not anymore."

I threw my hands into the air, shaking my head. "Elves !"

Chapter Seven

Elves and trolls were the only humanoids allowed to live in the national park outside of designated settlements. It had always seemed weird to me, but seeing the elf hideout, I understood why they were allowed.

If I had been a hiker, I wouldn't have even known the elves were there. Their dwellings – “houses” was the wrong word, but “shelters” were too primitive – blended into the trees above us perfectly. When Damien welcomed Victor and me up and gave us a room of our own, we found ourselves in a comfortable space, simple but elegant. There was nothing to sit on, but there was a bed. Not made from fur as I would have expected, but a full-on mattress with comfy looking blankets over them.

Suddenly, I felt exhausted. It felt like forever since I had last slept. I suppressed a yawn. I didn't want to hear any more 'dwarves and sleep' jokes from these guys.

I checked the bars on my phone while Victor and Damien went into another room, presumably to discuss politics or my upcoming wedding. I shook my head – how were we going to get out of that one, huh, Victor?

The cell had service, but I couldn't get a hold of Owen. When I activated my tracker, though, his location showed clearly. My stomach lurched. Maybe he was just in a situation where he couldn’t get to the phone. Or maybe he was hiding and couldn't make noise. I sent him a quick text, but there was no reply. At least we knew where his phone was. Tracking him there would be easy enough. I just hoped that we wouldn't find the worst-case scenario.

I headed out of the room, interrupting Victor and Damien as they were sharing a drink, and told them what I had found. Damien was equally interested and repulsed by my phone, and it took Victor and I both half an hour to convince him to look at the map to see where Owen was. Dude was hard-core traditional.

"Are you certain you lied about the trolls making threats?" he asked, bent over my phone but not touching it.

"Yes. Why? Do you think I'm lying—?"

"That's a troll camp. Where that little dot you say your friend is?" Damien glanced up. "Trolls."

My stomach cramped. There was severe unrest between the trolls and the rest of humanoids. Rumor had it they practiced murder-sacrifices. Maybe those missing hikers weren't just idiots who got lost in the backcountry. I shook my head, refusing to believe what this might mean for Owen. "No. Why would trolls want Charlotte?

Victor leaned against the table, face white. "Does it matter? Unless your Owen isn't with her."

I flinched. "He's with her."

"So we have to have a plan to retrieve them." Damien frowned. "A full attack will not be received well from the outside."

"Ya think?" I glared at him. "Killing people usually isn't received well. But, luckily for you, I'm trained for this sort of operation. I know what to do."

We spent the next hour discussing what to do. By the time we were done, it was late, and Damien decided that his men would sleep before we headed out. I wanted to argue, but Victor put an arm around me and pulled me back to 'our' room. I dragged my hands through my hair, wanting to scream.

"We can go after them ourselves," I said as soon as we were alone. "We could find that troll camp and—"

"Trolls are more active at night. You know that." Victor squeezed my hands. "And they're sluggish during the day. Elves are the opposite. We're not like dwarves, we can't go for three months without sleeping."

I knew by his tone that he was teasing, but I was in no mood for it. "I don't know how you expect me to sleep. I'm coiled tighter than a spring. I'd end up tossing and turning all night and just be exhausted still tomorrow. I can handle any trolls we run into tonight."

Victor sighed. "Eloise, even you have limits."

"Not tonight I don't. Except for sleep. I can't sleep. Not when Owen and Charlotte are out there in the hands of trolls. I know that nothing might be happening, but they took Charlotte for a reason. And they hired a human to do it? Or they ambushed the human. But him being hired to get Charlotte – that's what makes sense. They must have found out about Damien's attack and knew we'd be vulnerable, so they timed it for the human to come in and take Charlotte…" It sounded paranoid, but I couldn’t think of another explanation. "It has to be something big and important. So how can I sleep?"

"I know. I feel the same way." His hands slid to my hips and drew me in closer. "But we need to sleep. Perhaps if we burn off some excess energy…"

Was he really suggesting what I thought he was suggesting? I gaped, but I couldn’t deny the idea sounded pleasant. Guilt rose in me. "But… with Owen and Charlotte out there in danger—"

"It's an old custom among elves before the battle… to stay warm," Victor interrupted. "And yes, they are in danger, but we can't help them unless we can sleep. And I need the comfort right now."

His admitting that vulnerability melted me. I leaned against him, wanting to give him that comfort. Our lips were inches from each other. "But what about the rest of the elves? What will they think if they hear?"

"That you and I are to be married and we are comforting one another."

I didn't need any more prompting. The thought of comfort – any comfort – was appealing. And the thought of Victor needing this as much as I did, of no judgment or hesitation, was intoxicating. All my life I'd been surrounded by men who refused to admit they had emotion. Finding someone who so clearly cared and was willing to admit that… I threw my arms around his neck.

Victor met my fervor with intense passion of his own. His hands cupped my ass, pulling me up on him. I pulled one leg over his hip but kept the other planted, fearful that I was too heavy for him. The prince moaned as he moved to my neck. My skin tingled and tightened. My core heated, my head lolling back. He kept one arm around my waist and moved the other to my shoulders, allowing me to lean back and give him better access.

When he lifted me from the floor I yelped, but it was quickly swallowed by his kisses. He walked me to the mattress and laid me down, draping himself over me. The mattress was softer than I expected, with a slight woodsy scent that was quite pleasant.

"I have a confession," Victor murmured as he tugged my shirt up and off.

"What?" I panted, fumbling with the buttons on the robe-dress thing Damien had given him.

He buried his face in my neck again. The vibrations of him speaking against my throat made every feeling heighten. "When I asked for this at the motel, I was already planning on what position I would take you in while we were in the shower together."

I giggled, heat rushing to my face at that. "I thought about it, too."

Victor pulled away from me. He grinned and pressed one last kiss to my mouth before he sat back and removed my pants. His hands coasted my body, gaze drinking me in greedily. Despite the fact that I was still somewhat dirty from the mud pit, my hair was covered in tangles and full of twigs, and my now-stained undies weren't at all cute, I felt like the sexiest beast on the planet.

Well, maybe the second sexiest.

Victor's muscles pulled against his skin as he removed his robe and pants. I bit my lip, holding in a moan, as he eased his boxers off. He was everything I had imagined, and I reached for him. His hand ran through my hair, creating a pleasant tingling in my scalp.

When I took him into my mouth, he moaned. That moan had everything going haywire inside of me, but not as much as when laid down and tugged my leg over his chest so I straddled him. His wicked tongue lapped at me, making fireworks explode and knots twist tight in my core. I could hardly concentrate on what I was doing, but I was determined that he wasn't going to best me – I would last longer than him.

I trembled, clutching at the blankets beneath us as I continued my work, using every trick I knew to get him at my mercy. It didn't work. With need aching inside of me, I grunted in frustration as I surrendered. Victor grinned up at me when I turned; he waited until I pushed myself down on him, letting him enter before his arms shot out. They wrapped around me and pulled me flat against his chest. He rolled, pinning me beneath him.

A kiss cut off my protest, and then he began thrusting. Softly at first, but with increasing speed. I dug my fingers into his back, arching my back to him. The tightness inside was going to strangle me. Victor's mouth kept coming back to mine; he groaned into me. I held in a scream, but it came out in bursts, with every thrust. My legs thrashed as I fought to maintain control of myself.

When Victor's face turned red and he dropped onto me, jerking his hips to mine, his face in my neck. I couldn’t last any longer. As he finished, everything in me came undone. I screamed with pleasure coursing through me, clawing into his back. My body jerked from side to side, my thighs clamping over his hips and pulling him even deeper.

The shockwaves still made me tremble even after Victor rolled off me. He panted and flashed me a grin as he covered us both with a blanket. I pressed myself into his side, resting my head on his shoulder. Our hands twined together and I couldn't help but laugh. There was clearly something my partners in the past had been missing… This was hands-down the best experience I had ever had.

I loved the way it felt, to lie beside Victor, fully sated, feeling closer to him than I had ever been to anybody else. I was safe here in his arms. It was a great thing to feel.

"I was only a little girl when I was sent to train at the guild," I told him softly. "I can't tell you how often I cried myself to sleep there. Even then, I knew that nobody thought I was good enough to do it. My mom didn't want me to go, but my father convinced her it was the best for my future. Sometimes I imagine what I'd be like if I had been immersed in human culture instead of dwarf."

Victor ran his fingers through my hair. "What would be different?"

"I wouldn't be so angry at my dad all the time," I admitted softly. "He sent me away. Like he was ashamed of me."

"My parents always acted like I was a disappointment, too," Victor said softly. "I was never interested in ruling Raindrop or being a prince. I prefer to let Charlotte do that sort of thing. I'm interested in building things. I made plans for an electricity-generating windmill, you know. It would have worked, and I brought it to my parents. They destroyed my plans even though it was something I could build with my own hands. That was the start of my questioning. Do we hold out because we can't make these things ourselves, or because we think ourselves better than the world?"

I giggled. "I always thought it was the latter."

Victor snorted. "My parents would disagree. They want Charlotte and me to be just like them."

"They say they only want what's best for us," I said softly. "But sometimes I just think they're afraid we'll change the world too much."

"Maybe. But all I know is after meeting you, I could never marry one of the women my parents want for me. Not that they aren't good people," he added. "I've often felt frustrated by the fact that I couldn’t fall for a traditional girl. But I'm not a traditional boy, and I need someone who can help me change the world."

I snorted. "I can change the world?"

Victor kissed me. "If you set your mind to it. I believe you can do anything."

Chapter Eight

Nerves made my fingers twitch, so I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and focused on the road ahead of me. The elves kept a close eye on the trolls, mostly to avoid contact, and Damien had told me that there was a road that went directly to their camp. Every day they got a delivery of bread, milk, and meat. So, we decided to Trojan Horse it. Get everybody into the camp via a seemingly innocent object.

The first step was hijacking the delivery van. I'd done that part on my own by getting into the town and giving the driver a sob story that had him thinking if he gave me a lift he'd get lucky. As soon as we were away from the city, however, I turned my gun on him and took him to where the elves were waiting.

Now I drove the rattling vehicle, wearing the clothes we'd taken from the driver. A ball cap was pulled low over my face, my hair tucked under it. I wore his jacket, the smell of which made me gag, and we hoped that would be enough to stop the trolls from recognizing something was up right away. Victor and the rest of the elves were in the back of the delivery van, probably having their teeth vibrated right out of their heads.

Nobody gave me a second glance as I drove into the troll camp. I was surprised by what I saw. I expected a bunch of grimy tents set up around a campfire, but instead there were camper vans and even an RV. The trolls – large, lanky creatures with green-blue skin – huddled in their doors and at their windows. I didn't see any children.

I checked my phone, heart pounding shallowly. Owen's cell phone was here. The tracking app was good up to a few dozen meters. I headed through the camp, praying nobody stopped us as we drove over the bumpy, holey path that the elves apparently thought qualified as a road.

We made it through the camp without incident. Rather than soothing my nerves, it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The whole place was quiet and tense. Did they know who we were, and were they planning an attack?

I parked the van behind the single permanent building that the delivery driver had told us about and climbed out. Still, no trolls confronted us. I waited a moment, glancing around. Something strange was definitely going on.

When I went back and opened the back door to the van, the elves tumbled out. Most of their faces were green, which would have been amusing at any other time. I rolled my eyes at them and grabbed the walkie-talkies I had stolen at the town and handed them out.

"Stay discreet," I ordered. "Our best chance is to just get Charlotte and Owen and get back here without being seen. If you are seen, try to be friendly. Ask to borrow a cup of sugar."

"What?" Damien's brow creased. "Why would we want—"

"Never mind. Radio in if you find anything." I turned from them and grasped Victor's hand. This plan was somewhat desperate, and we all knew it. I wasn't sure what to say to the prince, though, so I just kissed him. "Find Charlotte."

He kissed me back. "Find Owen."

We dispersed, the elves seemingly melting among the campers. Now that I was on foot in the midst of it, it seemed much bigger. I kept my cellphone in hand, watching for Owen's little dot while moving as quickly as I could between the vehicles. I peered into the window of one to find it empty. Trolls weren't active during the day; why weren't any of them here?

I shook my head and continued. Soon I was as close to Owen as my phone could tell me. I tried the first few campers, finding them empty before I found a locked door. Pay dirt. I yanked a couple bobby pins from my hair and picked the lock. My breathing was shallow, waiting for any noise to warn me about an approaching troll. Even the air was still.

Inside, I found Owen. He was tied to the wall by his shoulders, his legs strung up towards the ceiling. His shirt had been torn away, and bloody bandages covered his chest and stomach. His face was one giant bruise. My heart stuttered at the sight of him and I rushed in.

"Owen!"

He cracked open an eye and gave me a shaky smile. "Hey. I was about to bust loose."

I pulled a knife from my pocket and sawed at the ropes hoping his feet in place. "What happened? Where's Charlotte?"

"Charlotte…" Owen closed his eyes and shook his head. "I jumped off that truck just before we got here. I saw them take her into the RV. Heard them talking about using her to get her brother. They want to sacrifice them, to summon a demoness that will help them… I don’t know. But they're going to kill Charlotte and the prince."

My heart jumped into my throat and stayed there. "Victor? They wanted Victor here?"

Owen's eye cracked open. "Don't tell me—"

I shoved the knife into his hand. "Can you free yourself?"

"Yeah. Now that I have this." He began cutting at the ropes. "Go."

"Delivery van behind the brick building. Go there after you free yourself."

"Kay. Go!"

I jumped out of the camper just as a cry rose up from somewhere deeper in the camp. The clash of metal against metal soon followed. I charged towards the sound.

I emerged from the maze of campers to find a battle. The elves were fighting the trolls. Dozens of them now stood in a circle, holding tight as the elves bobbed and weaved just beyond their long-armed reach. Damien had a half dozen trolls surrounding him alone. He stood like an ox, heaving his sword from one side to the other. Body bits and blood showered into the air all around him.

A scream sounded from beyond the wall of trolls; one of them darted out, grappling with an elf. Before they closed ranks again, I saw what they were guarding. Victor and Charlotte. More trolls were forcing them against a pole. Blood ran down Victor's face.

The trolls closed ranks again, shielding them from view. I didn't care. Yanking my gun out, I charged, firing rapidly at the wall of trolls. Several of them collapsed, others shouting and breaking formation as my bullets whizzed at them. The elves jumped into the break, knives flashing in the sun as they took on the trolls. I leaped over the dead, landing on the other side. A few of the guards turned to try to take me, but the elves were all over them now, and any that turned from the fight were soon dead.

"Eloise, no!" Victor shouted. "Go, save yourself."

"Don't be cliché!" I shouted back. Four trolls were tying him and Charlotte in place while a fifth dumped gasoline over them. I fired my last bullet at that one; its body jerked and fell, the gasoline pouring over its face.

"Eloise," Victor cried again.

I ignored him, going after the trolls tying him next. I chucked my gun at one of them, then dove in weaponless. My knuckles cracked as they collided with thick troll faces, but I managed to force one back. Victor threw his weight forward, making the ropes slip from the other trolls, and yanked his arm free. I jumped onto the back of the one still holding him; it was forced to release him as my arms wrapped around its neck.

Victor retrieved a knife and slashed at the remaining ropes holding him with one hand while blocking blows from the other. I growled, gripping my troll tighter. Its fingernails clawed my arms, digging through my skin. It gasped as I crushed its throat; a hand reached back towards my face. I closed my eyes, hoping that I wouldn't lose one to those long fingers.

Arms wrapped around my throat, hauling me back. I held on for another second until the troll went limp in my arms and black spots washed over my vision. I dropped it, reaching behind to find my attacker's eyes. A howl burst in my ear as my thumb found one, but the troll didn't release me. It squeezed tighter.

I kicked uselessly, then forced myself to go utterly limp. Nothing I did could loosen the grip. Black blinded me, my lungs screaming for air. My movements slowed; I couldn't remember what I could do and ended up just scratching at the arm choking me. Then there was another roar and the grip slackened. I dropped, gasping for breath. Hands grabbed me and I lashed out, but when my vision cleared, Victor stared into my eyes.

One of his arms wrapped around my waist, hauling me to my feet. The gasoline fumes radiating from him gave me an instant headache. I tried to stand on my own.

"I'm okay," I gasped.

Victor pushed my head down and swung over it. A sharp cry that abruptly cut off was followed by the prince lifting me to my feet. He grunted, spinning, and sliced across the throat of another troll. When he released me, I stumbled against the pole. Charlotte was still next to it, no longer bound. She hunched over her stomach, eyes wide as her arms wrapped around her pregnant belly.

"Eloise, I need you to get Charlotte out of here," Victor yelled. He leaped lithely between us and another troll. Once more, I was struck by how dance-like his fighting style was, but the clash of elves and trolls around us didn't leave much time to admire him. "Eloise! Please!"

I hated leaving him, but he would never forgive me if Charlotte got hurt. I seized her by the arms and pulled her upright. A troll swung at me with a knife in hand; I blocked the blow, then grabbed the troll's wrist and twisted hard. It snarled. I grabbed it by the back of its head and hurled it into the pole, taking its knife as I did so. I tossed it to Charlotte; she stabbed a troll charging her, then took its knife from it and tossed it over to me.

"Come on!" I punched through two more trolls, dragging Charlotte after me.

We broke through the fighting; the trolls were too concentrated on the elves to bother with two fleeing women. Charlotte stumbled, and I all but lifted her over my back and continued to run. She was heavier than I thought, but I wasn't about to put her down. I got to the delivery van just as Owen stumbled to it.

"Eloise," he grunted, eyes widening. "What's happening?"

"Battle," I grunted back. I pushed Charlotte into his arms. "Get her out of here."

Charlotte kept her arms around her belly as Owen lifted her into the van. "Where are you going?"

I didn't reply. Instead, I spun on my heel and ran back the way we had come; back towards Victor.

Chapter Nine

By the time I got back to the battle, more trolls had arrived and the elves were in a bad spot. Several of them were crumpled on the ground. My stomach churned, but Victor was still standing. His graceful movements had waned, though. Now he and the rest of the elves stood in a tight knot, standing solidly and blocking the attacks coming at them.

I glanced around, looking for a weapon that would serve me better than the small knife I had. My eyes landed on a folding chair. Better than nothing. I smashed it against the side of a camper until the joints broke, then took two pipes and tested them in my hands. Not exactly Escrima stick fighting material, but they would do. I filled my lungs with air, knowing that half the battle was intimidation.

If I got out of this alive, I was going to quit the guild. I was going to find something I actually enjoyed doing, and I was going to take my life into my own hands. I'd go into the mines if I had to. Enough with proving people who thought I couldn’t be good enough for this job wrong. Time to start proving to people that I could do whatever I wanted.

I charged, screeching. Half the trolls turned. I don't know what I must have looked like to them, screaming my head off as I came at them. A few of them backed away, but three rushed to meet me. I ducked under their arms and snapped my wrists out. The rods struck them squarely in the ribs, making them double over. The third punched at my face; I struck his fist away with a rod and whacked him across the face with the other. Blood spurted over his nose. I transferred both rods to one hand and struck him soundly across the back of his head.

It stumbled into one of the other trolls, allowing me to turn my attention to the third. A snarl was on its lips as I jumped at it. It struck aside my first blow, but I got in a second strike. By that time the other trolls had regained their feet, although the one I'd hit looked like it was about to collapse. I smashed one rod into its face; the aluminum wrapped around its head, bent uselessly.

As I turned to the others, a blaring horn shattered through the air. I flinched, as did the trolls. We all turned, and the trolls attacking the group of elves shouted and scattered. The delivery van barreled over their ranks, sending half of them flying. Owen twisted the wheel sharply, knocking into another group.

The two trolls attacking me redoubled their efforts, but a well of rage rose in me, bursting out with renewed energy.

I told him to leave. What was he doing here, putting himself in danger? That dumb dwarf!

As I smashed my rod over the one troll's head and broke the nose of the second, Owen leaped from the van. He charged right into the thick of the trolls, swinging a sledgehammer over his head. With his wild hair and a missing arm, he looked like a relic from a barbaric era. The sledgehammer swooped through the air, knocking several trolls off their feet.

I made sure my trolls were down before following Owen into the fray. Victor soon found me, and we stood back-to-back as we fought against the trolls. His energy was back, and I felt like the clumsy-footed partner in a dance. But my gritted determination made up for the lack of grace. Damien joined Owen in his driving assault, and bit by back we drove the trolls back.

"To me," a voice called out. I glanced back to see Charlotte in the back of the delivery van. She gestured frantically.

I cursed. When this was over, I was going to take off Owen's head. He was supposed to get her out of here!

Damien rammed into the group of trolls Victor and I fought. Victor grabbed my hand and pulled me away, charging for the van. Around us, the elves were fleeing as well. Damien and Owen held the trolls off. They were like two unstoppable forces of nature. Maybe I wouldn't kill Owen... I'd never seen him look this scary before!

Victor and I didn't get into the back of the van. He stopped at the doors and pushed me towards the front while he helped in the elves. I hesitated a moment, wanting to have something to say or do before we parted.

"I—" What could I say? "Don't get killed."

"You, too," he replied.

I dashed up to the driver's seat and scrambled in. The engine was still idling, and I waited anxiously while the elves loaded. Damien and Owen still fought, but they were bring driven back step by step. My hands tightened on the wheel and my heart hammered. Victor slammed the back door closed and ran up along the passenger side. He jumped into the van and left the door open.

I stomped on the gas, jerking the wheel around. The trolls fled as I drove at them. Damien fell back a step, but Owen seized him by the collar and all but threw him into the van as we passed. I slowed just enough for my partner to jump in after before I stomped on the gas and charged out of there.

The trolls chased after us, but we were too fast for them to catch up. We were free.

I reached around the two elves to punch Owen's shoulder. "What do you think you were doing? I told you to leave. Instead, you bring Charlotte right back into the battle? What is wrong with you?"

"I—"

"What's wrong with him ?" Victor cut Owen off. "I told you to get Charlotte and leave. Instead, you come running back. You were supposed to stay safe!"

"I got Charlotte out of there."

"You were supposed to—"

"Hey, I couldn't leave you," I interrupted.

"You should have."

Before I could reply, Damien rolled his eyes. "You two really are going to be married, aren’t you?"

"What?" Owen yelped. "When did this happen? You've only known each other for two days!"

"Didn't you know? They're going to be married and she's carrying his child," Damien replied matter-of-factly. "Isn't that right, Victor?"

Owen stared slack-jawed at the two of us.

"Drop it," I said sharply as Victor opened his mouth. "Owen, I'll explain later.

"You'd better."

I ground my teeth together. Once this was over, I was going to have to have a long talk with him. I'd never even mentioned leaving the guild before. I just hoped he would understand when I told him I was going to quit.

***

Flowerpetal was much more organic than Raindrop. There was nothing made from metal or brick, and the palace was more like a mansion. It sprawled out rather than up. We had arrived a few days ago, bloody, bruised and in need of some serious bathing. The elves of Flowerpetal had taken us in without question. A great deal of attention was given to me, so I figured they had been told about my supposed pregnancy as well.

The pampering was nice, though, and when Charlotte and her prince asked me to stay for the wedding, I couldn't say no. Damien and his men slipped away shortly after our arrival, and Victor assured me that they would not be interfering in the wedding. Ten of their number had been killed, and Damien was going to lead their mourning rituals.

My work wasn't done yet, though. I'd told the guild what had happened as soon as we were in cell range, and now they had called back with an update.

"We have spoken with the troll authorities," my direct superior, Zoe, said. "They've been looking for that group you fought for a while. They're known for going into other troll camps and driving them out, sacrificing the leaders in an attempt to summon their demon-goddess."

I shuddered. "So they picked Charlotte and Victor because their own people weren't doing the trick?"

"It appears so." Zoe's voice was cold. "We are sending our own people to investigate alongside the trolls. We had to include human moderators, but we will find those trolls that tried to kill you."

"Thanks," I said, then hesitated. "I quit."

Silence answered me.

"I quit," I repeated. "I don't want to work for the guild anymore. I never wanted this life, and I am not going to live a life that I don't want to live."

Zoe sighed. "Your father won't be happy to hear it."

"Yeah, I know. But I'll deal with it."

"Okay. I will hand in your resignation, then. I'll miss working with you."

A weight I never knew was on my shoulders lifted. I hung up as Victor slipped into my room. There were a few bruises on his face, but I didn't think it was any worse than my state. I grinned at him when he wrapped his arms around my waist. Things were finally calming down and I could concentrate on what our relationship was. Or was turning into, at least.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," I said. "I've had enough of all that nonsense. I'll be glad when I get all that great money that you're paying me."

"Money?" Victor purred. "I've promised to marry you. Why do you need money as well?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Please. We barely know each other. I think we have to wait at least a month before we can get married. Besides, you haven't even met my father." I flinched at the thought. "Scratch that, you're never meeting my father. Now, where's that check? I'm going to need every dime while I look for a new job."

A frown furrowed Victor's brow. "New job? You weren't fired, were you?"

"No. I quit," I said proudly. "No more violence for me. I'm going to… I don't know. Take up knitting or something. I'll figure it out. But I'm finally free."

"Does Owen know you quit?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He's good with it… I think, at least. He just said that he wants what's best for me. Maybe we can open a flower shop together. Dwarves gardening. We'd be a novelty at least."

Victor laughed and nodded. "That you would be. And now that I am no longer your client, we are going on a date."

"Are we?" I arched a brow. "What if I said no?"

"You won't. Especially not when you hear the plans I have. I have so many things that I am going to show you. So many, many things."

His lips inched towards mine. Heat flared through me as I imagined what sort of things he could show me. "There's more than what you've already shown me?"

"Of course. That was the very basics." He grinned as he kissed me. I melted against him, kissing him deeply, eager to learn all his moves.

Chapter Ten

I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to decide if I looked okay. The form-fitted jeans went well with the loose turquoise blouse I had picked out. My hair braided into a crown around my head gave me a feminine look. Maybe if I wore some jewelry the outfit would come together better. But I didn't make jewelry. I groaned as I reached into my closet for the dress that Victor had convinced me to sew. Would it be best to wear it instead of my jeans?

It had been almost a year since Victor had hired me and Owen to escort Charlotte to Flowerpetal. I had drifted for a while before I learned that the culinary arts were my calling. Owen stayed on with the guild and had found himself a new partner who was excellent at playing the damsel in distress for their new line of work. Victor had left Raindrop, much to his parents' dismay, and had taken almost three dozen young elves with him. Ever since then, we'd been sharing an apartment.

The door opened and Victor poked his head in. "Ready? They'll be here soon."

"I made supper. Do I have to wear a dress? Not that I don't like dresses, but this?" I gestured at the monstrosity I created. "My parents will think I've been brainwashed into a cult."

Victor came and checked out the dress. He snorted, which earned him a glare. Looking contrite, he put his arms around my waist and kissed me lightly. "Eloise, you are beautiful no matter what you wear. It's the first time you'll be meeting my parents, and I'm just a little nervous. But you're right, you made our meal and I made all of our furniture. That will have to be enough to convince them I'm not turning my back on all our traditions."

I managed a smile at that, though my nerves didn't change at all. I would be meeting his parents for the first time tonight, and he would be meeting mine for the first time. Ugh. Kill me now.

"You know what?" I pulled away from him. "I changed my mind."

"About dinner?"

"Yes. Actually, about all of it." I shuddered as I imagined the clash of the parents. Dad was still unhappy I left the guild. Me springing on the fact that I was dating an elf nearly gave him a heart attack. Even Mom couldn’t understand, although she at least tried to be supportive. There was still a lot of hurdles between Victor's culture and mine that we were navigating, but we were making it work. I just didn't want to deal with parents right now. "Why don't we just fake our deaths and run away? We can go to Brazil and be hermits together."

His lips twitched. I tried to give him the Death Glare, but all it succeeded in doing was making him burst out laughing. He twirled me away from the bed and kissed me again. "You don't have to be worried. My parents weren't happy that I left and weren't happy when I told them I was with a half-dwarf, but they're coming around."

"And my parents are getting used to it too," I admitted. "But wouldn't it be easier if they never met?"

"My parents won't bite."

"Yeah, but mine might."

"In which case, I will be prepared to defend myself. Verbally and physically, if need be. But it won't come to that."

He was right and I knew it, but that didn't make this situation any easier. It didn't help that lately my taste buds had been going crazy, and I wasn't entirely certain the meal I'd cooked was everything I'd been dreaming of.

I took a deep breath, calming myself. It was going to work out. Victor and I were together and we were going to stay together. Our parents would have to accept that.

"Did you get that knife for my dad like I suggested?" I asked anxiously.

Just because our parents would accept us being together didn't mean that I wasn't worried about how they would react tonight.

Victor nodded. "Yes."

His hand coasted over my hip to the slight bulge in my belly that the blouse just barely hid. I warmed from the inside out as I considered the little miracle that was there. Victor pressed his forehead to mine. There was a reason why we were getting our parents together tonight. There was nothing that could build a bond between people who had nothing in common than knowing that they were going to share a grandchild soon. My parents would be happy for me, I knew that.

There was a knock on the door and Charlotte peered inside. She held her little infant boy in her arm and smiled wanly at us. Her marriage was working out, although being a mother left her exhausted. "They're here."

The nerves came back, but this time I was able to push them aside easily. I twined my hand in Victor's, and we left the bedroom. It was time to meet the old and ring in the new.

*****

THE END

The Fairy King's Goddess

Description

“Among the gods, there were once three war sisters with incredible powers. One of them was killed and reincarnated into human form. You're her.”

Nikki has always known she’s different. She’s a changeling, a fairy child, an outsider. Her emerging magic, the ability to 'taste' other people's emotions, only adds to that.

But nothing is what it seems. A mysterious, sexy man claiming to be the fairy king Finvarra arrives, telling Nikki she's an ancient war goddess reincarnated into human form.

Is Finvarra telling the truth? Nikki can’t help but feeling drawn to his tale… and to the man.

When an ancient enemy reemerges determined to get his hands on Nikki, she and Finvarra find themselves face-to-face with the most powerful magic they’ve ever encountered.

There’s only one person who can reopen the gates to the Otherworld.

Nikki has to make a choice.

Or she may die. Again.

Chapter One

Mom's sadness tasted like lemons. Even from a young age, I couldn't drink lemonade, eat lemon pie, or even look at the color yellow because the taste of it was constantly in my mouth, always stronger when she was having 'bad days' and I had to stay in my room. Out of sight. Out of mind.

I didn't understand what was going on then. All I knew was that Dad didn't want Mom to see me. Depression was 'too adult' for me to know about, though I lived with its effects constantly. Even when the chocolatey taste of her happiness wrapped me in hugs and kisses, there was always an aftertaste of lemon left behind.

It was probably why I decided to go into psychiatry in school. I told Dad it was because of the salary, but I just wanted to be able to help my mother. I never felt like I belonged in my home. Maybe if I was able to give Mom some free therapy, I wouldn't be one more cause for her to have those bad days.

I approached the baby-blue house with knots in my stomach. Home for the summer holidays. My backpack and duffle bag made my arms ache, but I had enjoyed the walk from the bus stop. The familiar sights helped ease the nerves fighting in my stomach.

I sighed as I entered the house. A full blast of lemon coated my tongue. It was bad today. And I knew it was partly because of me. Any change in routine was hard for my mom, and even though she would never admit it, she was relieved when I had gone to university. I guess not being faced with her guilt every day was something that improved her mood.

"I'm home," I called vaguely to the depths of the house. "I'm just going to take my stuff to my room."

Dad called a muffled reply somewhere from the kitchen, where the smell of spicy spaghetti sauce was almost as powerful as the taste of lemon. I went to my basement bedroom to drop off my bags before I returned upstairs.

"I'll set the table," I volunteered after hugging Dad. "Are we having garlic bread?"

"With extra garlic, the way you like it." Dad smiled. His exhaustion was written in the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, etched more deeply than normal. "So, did you get that job for the summer?"

"Which one?" I'd applied to about twenty.

"The one that you were looking forward to, out in Buffalo."

It was the one that I was least looking forward to. It was also the one farthest from home. I grabbed clean plates from the dishwasher. "No, they decided they wanted someone with more experience."

"That's too bad."

"I've got an internship with the new psychiatric branch at the hospital here. I won't be treating any patients yet, but it's going to look great on my resume. Over three thousand students applied," I added.

Dad never thought much about me going into psychiatry. No matter how much I argued that it was a well-paying profession and was something I was pretty good at already, he never supported my choice. To his credit, though, he tried not to let his negativity show.

"And it's paying," I added. "Not much, but I'll be able to give you some money for rent and still have enough to pay for tuition in the fall."

Dad grunted as he added gluten-free spaghetti noodles to a pot of boiling water. "A paid internship, eh? Well, I hope they're not just looking for a token changeling. You know, with all the affirmative action that's taking place—"

"Dad, please ." I couldn’t help but snap. As if returning home wasn't hard enough. "Do you have any idea how insulting that is to me?"

I loved my parents, but they never failed to remind me that I wasn't 'really' theirs. I was a changeling, something that I would never forget. How could I, when I was the reason there was so much lemon in this house?

Rosemary Goodman was the baby that they had been excited to welcome into the world. She had been taken by fairies when she was only five months old. Before that, she had been a happy, sociable child. But then she stopped making eye contact, cried more often, refused to engage, and they knew she had been replaced. With me.

It happened all the time, human babies being swapped for fairy children. Since the old methods of leaving the changeling child on a fairy hill to entice the fairies to bring back the stolen child had been outlawed, most parents gave up the fairy child to adoption, too heartbroken over the loss of their little one to care for the replacement. Adoption rates for changelings were very low. Most ended up homeless on the streets after they grew out of the foster system.

At least my parents didn't leave me for that life. They tried their best to love me. But we all knew that I didn't really belong to them. I called them Mom and Dad, but, legally, they were just my guardians. I didn't belong to them. I belonged to some fairy mother and father who didn't want me.

"Look, Nikki, I'm just saying that people—"

"Dad, I have my masters and I'm working on my Ph.D." I yanked the napkins from the cupboard. "I am more than qualified for this internship. They accepted me because I have fantastic grades and my volunteering record is better than any they have seen before. They don't even know I'm a changeling. And you saying that they might have taken me because I am one just completely disregards my accomplishments."

"I never said—"

"I told you my lowest grade point was ninety-four percent. Are you going to tell me that all the hours I’ve spent studying aren’t the reason for my grades, but it's really the fact that I'm not human?"

He grunted again. My hands clenched. That was one thing I hated about my dad. He always thought grunting was enough. There was a sharp taste of black pepper in the air. Great. Now he was annoyed with me. I cocked my head, struggling to get myself under control. I didn't want to fight, not on my first day home.

That was the thing about having residual magic: I could taste the emotions of the people around me. Even from the time I was a child, I had done what I could to relieve tensions.

"How is Mom doing? Rosemary's birthday was last week, wasn't it?" My birthday was celebrated on the day that the Changeling Society officially declared I wasn't Rosemary.

Dad threw some green peppers into the spaghetti sauce. "Nikki, she loves you. We love you. Constantly reminding your mother about the baby she lost isn't going to help anybody."

My own annoyance spiked as I yanked open the silverware drawer for the cutlery. "Oh, you mean like if you brought up some fantastic news and instead of congratulating you, I had to remind you that I was a changeling? You mean like that?"

"Nicole Goodman—"

"Only Goodman isn't my name," I spat, my fists balling. "Nicole X. That's what's on my changeling certificate, what's going to be on my Ph.D. You kept me, but you didn't adopt me. I—"

I threw my hands into the air. This was a fight we had had so many times I lost count of how often we fought about it. But if there was one thing I knew Mom didn't need, it was for me to be in the house with emotions were running high. I took my plate off the table.

"I'm not going to eat."

Dad frowned at me. "Where do you think you're going? You just got in."

"Out. Lajila's on holidays too, I'm going to go see her and come back later. Maybe by then you and Mom can pretend you're actually happy I'm back."

I slammed the door on my way out. Frustration and anger burned through me as I kicked a stone down the street, heading to the old playground near my best friend’s home.

Why had I been happy to come home again? Usually, it wasn't this bad. I did love my parents, and I knew they loved me. They didn't keep me or take care of me out of pity or social duty. We had had happier times in the past before my magic started to develop. I guess until then, they had thought maybe the fairies had given Rosemary back, or maybe never even took her in the first place. After all, it wasn't like changelings had special DNA that could be tested. What changelings were tested for was vague at best.

But after my unique strains began to make themselves manifest, it was undeniable. I wasn't their Rosemary, I was something else. My magic proved that I was a fairy child.

I just wished that there was some way to go back to the time before my magic came in – to stop it from happening. To be human.

Lajila Malik, my best friend since we were children, was just exiting her house with her parents when I got to the playground. She grinned and waved when she saw me. I waved back, though half-heartedly. Mr. and Mrs. Malik were both dressed to the nines. Clearly, they were going out.

"I didn't know you were coming home today," Lajila said when I got closer.

"Yeah, I took an early flight," I lied. I'd told her when I was coming back, but she was busy. I didn't expect her to remember everything. "I was just going for a walk to stretch out before supper, and I thought I'd stop to visit. Looks like you're going out, though."

Lajila nodded, her dark eyes dancing. "I have been accepted into a surgeon's program for next year and we're going to celebrate. I'd love to talk, but we have a reservation and we're already late."

I smiled for her sake. "Congrats on the position. We'll have to talk later."

She hurried to the car, and I waved again as they drove off. Leaving me alone again. I'd just take some time to cool off, and then I'd go home. Starting fights the first day back wasn't going to help with the situation there. Maybe I'd pick up some cheesecake or something. Sweets always improved Mom's mood, unless she was on one of her diets. Maybe flowers instead.

I sat on one of the swings, rocking myself back and forth as a cool breeze rustled through my raven-black hair. Why couldn’t I go back to when I was a child – when 'changeling' meant that my real parents had left me with Mom and Dad so that I could learn how to live in the human world properly and bring back wonderful stories to Faerie when I returned?

"Nikki, you are not defined by the circumstances of how you got here," I told myself firmly. "You are a brilliant student, a creative thinker, helpful to the community, and a good friend. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your ass back home where it belongs and help your parents. You can't call yourself a psychiatrist if you—"

The most delicious scent I'd ever smelled caught my attention. It was like an ocean adventure, with the wind in your hair and the spray of seawater on your face and dolphins leaping through the air beside your ship. My mouth watered.

A voice spoke behind me. "I've finally found you."

Chapter Two

I jumped, glancing around for the man who belonged to the voice. He was rushing towards me from behind, and I jumped to my feet.

"Hold it right there!"

He skidded to a stop. I got a good look at him, and my breath caught in my throat. Auburn hair leaning more towards brown than red, piercing brown eyes, strong jaw, chiseled features… and that was just his face. My heart started beating faster. He wore a plain t-shirt that was slightly too small, stretching over sculpted muscles. His jeans were in the same way, showing off a delicious-looking body. Heat flooded my cheeks.

My reaction surprised me. I couldn't remember when I reacted this way to a guy, especially one I had just met. He must have seen the dazed expression on my face because he stepped forward.

"Nikki. I've been looking for you for a long time."

Despite how pretty he was, I moved back and held up my fists the way they taught in kickboxing class. I narrowed my eyes. "Okay, one, how do you know my name? Two, who are you? Three, why are you looking for me like a creepy stalker?"

He gave me a devilish grin that had my pulse racing and heat swirling in my core. Whoa. Not the reaction I thought I'd have.

"Are you implying that some stalkers aren't creepy?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again. What? The flirting tone wasn't exactly conducive to my thought process, but I shook it off and glared at him. "Don't try to confuse me. Answer my questions."

"It's complicated." His handsome face fell into a frown, and I tasted something sour in the air. I ignored it. "This is going to be very strange for you. But I think maybe we should start with the fact that you are not a changeling."

Not a changeling? "Um, no. We start with who you are and how you know my name."

"I found you through the national database of changelings."

He was looking for me because I was a changeling? Dread slipped into the pit of my stomach. There had been a spree of known changelings being kidnapped by a shady black-market organization, performing experiments to drain their magic. Was I their next victim? Drawing in changelings with a handsome man was the perfect trap.

"I'm calling the cops, so you'd better scram."

"What? Why?"

I backed up several more feet, bile churning my stomach. "You're one of those changeling hunters. You want to drain my magic and grind up my body parts for potions."

His face scrunched up, brow furrowing as he stared at me.

"Look, I don't have magic worth crap. Now get away from me before I scream. There is a neighborhood watch group. There's probably dozens of little old ladies on their phones right now, reporting you!"

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, mouthing 'wow' in an exaggerated way. "Jumping to conclusions, much? Look at me. What about me says 'magic hunter' to you?"

"If all magic hunters looked like magic hunters, then the police would be able to pick them up and we wouldn't have a problem," I shot back. "And then there's the whole creepy 'I've finally found you.' Something that somebody who has been hunting somebody would say."

"Or somebody that has been looking for somebody for a long time. Say, twenty-seven years?"

I was twenty-seven years old, and he couldn't be a day older than I was. If I had magic worth anything, I'd be able to blast him away and make a run for it, but my magic was limited to my unnatural ability to taste the emotions of the people around me.

I somehow doubted that it would be of any use against Mr. Hunter.

"Okay, I can see that you're paranoid now," the man grumbled, shaking his head. "I guess that makes sense, considering everything. But you have to believe me, I'm not here to hurt you. In fact, I want the opposite. You are being hunted, but not by who you think—"

"You can stop right there." I fished my cell phone from my pocket and tried to dial 911 without looking down at it.

My trembling hand slipped. The cell phone dropped. I dove for it. Even as I did so, the man lunged forward. He crossed the distance between us quicker than I thought possible. I opened my mouth to scream while throwing my palm up towards his nose.

A crack of thunder deafened me. Light flashed in every direction, and dirt filled my mouth. Rocks scraped over my skin. I was caught in a vice unable to escape. The thunder cracked again and it was all gone. I stumbled, falling directly into the man's arms. He caught me, almost tenderly, and helped me to regain my feet.

I pulled away from him, throat dry. The neighborhood and playground had both disappeared. Instead, we were in the middle of a field, with rolling hills spreading out every which way until they met emerald green mountains rising in the distance. Stone fences divided the fields, and herds of sheep baa- ed as they munched on the grass.

"As you can see, I have no need to steal magic." He grinned at me, my hand still in his. "I have plenty of my own. Welcome to Ireland."

Ireland?

I turned in a circle. It certainly looked like the pictures I'd seen of Ireland. But there was a whole ocean between home and Ireland… My head spun and I had to sit down. What the crap was happening? If he wasn't a changeling hunter, what was he? And more importantly, why did he kidnap me?

"Are you ready to hear what I have to say?" he asked, crouching beside me.

I cast him a glare but nodded silently. How had he even brought us here? I didn't know of anybody with enough magic to transport people like this. It was my opinion that the really great witches, wizards, and other magical folk had died out years ago due to persecution. It was only within the past few decades that witch-hunting was declared a crime. Many types of magic were still illegal.

The man settled beside me. The tart taste from before increased. Ah, so it was his emotions. That usually meant sad, but in this case, there was also something sweet mixed in, closer to happiness. First meetings always made it difficult to determine what people felt, but this was more extreme than usual.

"Where to start?" he mused.

"You name?" I suggested.

The man started and laughed. "Right. I forgot. I'm just used to everybody knowing me… I am Finvarra—"

"Finvarra?" I straightened, looking at him with renewed interest. We could have saved a lot of difficulties if he had just told me that from the start. "You mean the fairy king ?"

"King of the Daoine Sidhe ," he corrected. "Not fairies. I understand your confusion, though. There is a lot of misinformation about me and my people out there."

I gripped his wrist, my breath quickening. "Are you here to take me back home? To my real parents? Is that why you were looking for me?"

"No."

Disappointment hit hard. "But I'm a changeling."

"You're not a changeling."

My brow furrowed. "Uh, yeah I am. Ask anybody. I was even tested—"

Finvarra shook his head. "We don't go around stealing human babies. We certainly wouldn't trade our infants for human ones. Why would we?"

"Servants, to replace your children in the tithe of hell, because fairies don't produce breastmilk and the baby would starve without a human nursemaid – take your pick, the explanations abound."

My heart sank even as I tried to fill my voice with sarcasm. If the king of the freaking fairies said I wasn't a changeling… that meant I wasn't a changeling, didn't it? But then what was I? I had magic, and he flat out said he'd been looking for me ever since I was born.

"I have to be a changeling," I insisted. "Why else would you be looking for me?"

"No. Changelings don't exist."

I swallowed hard, looking away. My fingers curled into fists. It couldn't be. "I have to be."

If I wasn't, then my parents had spent the last twenty-seven years wishing for a daughter that they always had. Mom already felt guilty for wishing me away and Rosemary back. How would this affect her?

Finvarra put his hand over mine. He gazed at me with an indecipherable expression. "No. We never would trade away our own children for human babies. We have our own theories about why humans claim to have these incidents. In the past, it was not only to explain developmental issues or unexplained diseases but also to bring comfort to families that suddenly lost a child with no explanation."

I frowned at him. He was saying what was argued by many changeling-rights activists. "And in these days, it's used as an excuse to abandon children with social disabilities like autism? Is that what you're saying?"

"Among other things, but that’s a whole other issue." Finvarra laughed, sounding nervous, and ran his hands through his hair. "Honestly, I'm just delaying talking about the real issue here…"

An uncomfortable twisting in my gut told me I was the 'issue' he was referring to. He had sought me out, after all. Was I half-fairy, then? Did Mom have an affair with a fairy and get pregnant?

I plucked a blade of grass and wrapped it around my fingers, waiting for him to speak. He rested his hands on his knees, frowning at the beautiful landscape before us. I had always wanted to come to Ireland. But this was not how I wanted it to happen.

"What do you know of the Tuatha Dé Danann?"

I stared at him blankly.

He rested his face in his hands for a moment. "For a world that still uses fairies and magic to explain simple scientific phenomenon, you have a lot of gaps in your knowledge. I just did a press conference last month to clear up some of the misconceptions about the sidhe."

I had planned to watch it, but with finals, I'd been too busy. "Didn't see it."

"If you thought you were a changeling, why didn't you pay attention to your heritage?"

"Hey, it's not easy to have magic in this world. I've been concentrated on trying to fit in and get a job – school and everything." I narrowed my eyes. "What about the Tuatha Dé Danann? And why do you have a Canadian accent if you're an Irish fairy?"

"Sidhe ," he insisted. "And I'm not Irish. I lived in this place before the Celts. Human border names mean nothing to me. I don't even speak your language. It's magic, translating what I'm saying into what you best understand."

Ah. That made sense.

"As for the Tuatha, they're… they were a race that existed in these lands before me. Now you'd call them gods, basically. And among these gods were the Morrigan, three war sisters with incredible powers. One of them, Macha, was killed in the Fomorian war, but gods can't die that easily. She reincarnated into human form. And then when the form died, she was reborn once more. This has been going on for thousands of years."

Bile crept up my throat. Maybe Mom was this Macha. But I knew what he was saying. If I wasn't a changeling, but I had magic…

"You're her."

"No." I jumped to my feet and forced myself to laugh. This could not be possible. "No, I am a brilliant student and maybe a little weird, but I'm no war goddess. Take me home."

Finvarra scrambled to his feet. "You need time to process—"

"Take me home !"

The fairy – sidhe – looked sympathetic. "Okay. I'll take you home now. But just… just think about it. Your memories of your past lives are there if you look for them."

I shook my head. No way was I believing this crazy dude. I was not a goddess. I was just plain old ordinary Nicole X. And I liked it that way. Finvarra didn't speak again as he took me home. I closed my eyes against the thunderclap of transportation.

Once I was home, I'd forget any of this had every happened. I'd go about my life like I had before, only this time I'd be more grateful towards my parents. They loved me. I loved them. That was all I needed.

Chapter Three

Was I crazy?

Everybody knew there was a strong connection between our world and Faerie, where Finvarra ruled his fairy subjects. During the early Christianization period, there had been a concentrated effort to portray the fairies as nothing more than folk talk, but Finvarra had met with the Pope early on and sorted all that out. He had remained in close contact with world powers ever since. With the digital age, he was more and more outspoken against the ill treatment of witches and magical beings, like werewolves, mermaids, and harpies.

After he took me back home, I'd looked him up and watched dozens of news feeds about him. Humans were never permitted into his hall itself, although it seemed like he released a statement every other week to refute claims that humans had been kidnapped by fairies.

Magic was part of life. My strain was different, strange when compared to the magic used by humans like Wiccans. But I had always assumed that it was because I was a changeling.

But then I had the fairy king pop into the neighborhood to say that I was an ancient war goddess.

For the next two weeks, I agonized what to tell my parents, only to decide that right now silence was the best option. Fairies were well-known to be tricksters. Everything Finvarra had told me could be a lie. Still, he said he would be back in a month when I had time to research everything. I hadn't, beyond looking him up, but I still looked forward to when he would return.

Because I wanted answers. Not because he was hot.

I shook my head as I waited for the bus. It was early morning, the streetlights still lit to chase away the residual darkness of night. My breath misted in the air and a heavy dew sat on everything. I always loved this time of morning. It was peaceful. Today, though, I wished I could just stay home on my computer. I hadn't dared look up the Morrigan or Macha, but I knew I'd have to soon. Mom was making fudge brownies when I left. They were just what I needed to bolster my courage and find out what my past really was.

The bus pulled up to my stop. I gagged as I climbed on. It smelled like cigarette smoke. There were half a dozen other people on the bus, strange for this early in the morning, but I ignored them. They were all reading newspapers, anyway.

When Finvarra came back, what would I do? What did he want from me, anyway? If I was this Macha reborn, what did it mean? Was Nicole X even a real person, or just a persona I'd taken on, a persona that would be destroyed if my memories came back?

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I almost missed it when the bus driver turned left instead of right onto Fenning Street. I straightened, brow furrowing. Was this a new driver who didn't know the route?

None of the other passengers reacted to the wrong turn. A chill ran down my spine. Trying to remain composed, I pressed the stop button. Two minutes later we rushed passed a bus stop with no indication to slowing.

"I'd like to get off the bus," I called to the driver, but he didn't acknowledge me. "Hey, I want to get off the bus!"

I got to my feet. The driver continued to ignore me.

"Stop the bus."

I scrambled in my pocket for my cell phone. In unison, the other passengers lowered their newspapers. I froze, eyes widening. Bile rose in my throat. Thick, leathery skin covered their bodies. Their faces were distorted, with fishlike lips and a single giant eye in the center of their foreheads. The smell of cigarette smoke increased. I backed away as the creatures stood. As they stretched their fingers towards me, I saw they were webbed.

"Stop the bus!" I screeched as the creatures started for me. "Stop this bus right now !"

As I spoke, I felt something stirring inside of me. A powerful beating of wings, bursting up my spine and spreading out to my fingertips. Black streaks shot from my palms. The bolts sliced through the creatures coming at me, buffeting them to either side. The smell of burning rubber filled the bus; brakes screeched as we fishtailed wildly. The beams cut out abruptly, but sparks pooled at my fingertips. When I fell against the side of the bus, trying to keep my balance, it melted away, leaving a round hole.

I couldn’t spare any time to consider how this happened. I bolted from the bus, stumbling a little on my heels when I hit the pavement. I kicked them off as shouts rose from the bus behind me, and took off down the sidewalk. I didn't dare turn to see if they were chasing. I knew they were. My skirt clung around my knees, constricting my movement.

The scent of an ocean breeze washed over me and I turned towards it instinctively. I could taste the bitter orange of his worry before I saw him.

"Finvarra!"

Wet footsteps slapped the sidewalk behind me. Claws caught my shirt, tearing it. I banked a hard right, darting into the yard between two houses. The wooden fence separating me from freedom burst apart. Wooden planks and splinters flew every way.

Finvarra, wearing nothing but boxer shorts, leaped through the hole in the fence. A halo of fire surrounded him, his teeth bared in a snarl as he pushed his hands towards me. A wall of fire burst from his palms, heading in my direction. I didn't so much as flinch as I ran through the flames and into his waiting arms.

"Hold onto me," he murmured in my ear.

I clung to him, closing my eyes as bursts of color flashed all around me and thunder cracked in my ears. When I opened them again, we were in a thick forest, wide leaves filtering the sunlight green by the time it reached us.

"There were these things," I babbled. "They were after me. If you hadn't been there—"

"Are you hurt?"

I gazed up into his piercing eyes and shook my head. My heart still pounded and adrenaline pumped through my blood, but I was very aware of his body. The contours of muscle under my arms. The warmth of him, my breasts squashed against his chest. He had saved me. At that moment, despite my lingering fear, I wanted him.

As if reading my desire, Finvarra cupped my face in his hands and kissed me deeply.

Sparks exploded in my mind, the sound of giant wings pulsing in my ears. A delighted screech filled my chest and I threw my arms around him, pushing him against a tree. I parted my lips, giggling as his tongue slipped over them, his hands clutching my hips—

What. The. Hell?

I yanked away from him as suddenly as I had thrown myself at him. Heat traveled up my cheeks. I backed away from the impossibly handsome sidhe, eyes widening. He grinned at me, as though we hadn't just escaped from a horde of sea-like Cyclopes.

How did he even know where I was? Was he following me? Were those things his sidhe subjects, frightening me into using my magic?

I used magic. Not just a little trickling of tasting emotion, but full-blown magic . I had been attacked, I used magic, and then I started making out with a complete stranger? Something was wrong with me. Something very, very wrong.

"It's okay," he said, mistaking my silence for worry. "I've taken us to Central America. The Fomorians don’t have the magic that can bring them here. That's how we defeated them in the first place—"

He might have magic, but he didn't see my fist coming. It crunched against his face, sending shockwaves of pain shooting up my arm. The skin on my knuckles split open and I yelped, cradling my hand to my chest. Finvarra stumbled backward, eyes widening as he clutched his nose. Slick, red blood poured down his face.

"Ow," he mumbled. "What did you do that for?"

"I get attacked by those freaky looking things and you just happen to be in the area to rescue me?" I narrowed my eyes, raising both fists again. I tried to ignore the throbbing in my left hand. "Look at you, the big strong hero, rescuing the damsel in distress. You're in league with them, aren't you?"

He groaned. "And here I thought we were making progress."

"Finvarra…" I shook my head, disgusted at my own naivety. "You're not a fairy. You're a changeling hunter, just as I thought you were. You stole magic from other changelings, and when you saw that I didn't have magic, you put me in a situation where my magic would come out so you could steal it too!"

Finvarra stared at me, mouth agape. One hand was clenched over his nose, though it appeared that the blood flow had already stopped flowing already. The throbbing in my own hand was lessening as well.

Now that I had spoken my accusation aloud, though, I realized how stupid I was being. I dropped my fists and flinched. If he had spent twenty-seven years looking for me, he wasn't going to just leave once he found me. He must have been hanging around. Maybe those things that attacked me were the changeling hunters.

"I… I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean it. I'm just confused. All my life I've been the weird changeling, and suddenly I'm a goddess and then you're there, all kissing me… Why did you kiss me?"

The fairy king pulled his hand away from his nose. With a disgusted expression, he waved it through the air. All the blood disappeared, leaving behind a clean face and straight nose, as though nothing had happened.

That magic would have been really helpful when I was going through my zit stages. I took a deep breath, ready to forget the whole kiss thing and ask what those creatures were and why they wanted me, but Finvarra ran a hand through his auburn hair. The movement flexed his muscles, reminding me that he was half-naked. My gaze took him in.

My mouth watered. He was even better-looking without clothing. Hard, muscular body, with a V in his abdomen that made me want to tug down his boxers and see what it pointed to. At any other time, I wouldn't have minded seeing those delicious abs in full display. Heck, I didn't even mind seeing them right now.

The problem was that it was already a confusing situation for me. I didn't need my hormones making any more trouble. I tried to stop staring, but with little success.

"I kissed you because you're hot," he said with a wink. "And since I just rescued you, I thought I might get some hero-worship."

That stopped my staring. My hands clenched again. "You arrogant son of a—"

I cut off, tensing. The smell of burning rubber wafted through the trees, accompanied by cigarette smoke and the slow, shuffling footstep of a creature not used to walking on land.

Chapter Four

"They're back!" I cried.

A streak of white flew over our heads as Finvarra pulled me down. He cursed, eyes firing with a deadly light. Strange blue symbols glowed over his skin and a pair of gossamer wings sprouted from his back. My eyes widened, heart hammering.

"You really are a fairy," I breathed.

"Sidhe," he corrected and winked. "Stay low. I don't have enough magic to transport us again, but I still have some tricks up my sleeve."

I nodded, crouching down. More of the leathery, one-eyed beings shuffled through the trees, their faces towards us. A few brandished clubs, others ropes. One pointed at us and made a warbling noise. A bolt of light shot from its webbed fingertips.

Finvarra pressed a hand to a nearby tree. His eyes flashed green. Vines burst from the tree, wrapping us in a protective circle. White bolts shot towards us, hacking the vines into pieces, coming faster and faster. The trunk of the tree split open. Finvarra thrust me inside, then turned back. He held his hands out like a conductor, then brought them together and pushed out his palms while his torso swiveled and his feet stomped. The vines contorted, whipping over the creatures. One of them threw a knife; it narrowly missed Finvarra's head.

A screech rose from my throat, inhuman and filled with fury. I threw my arms open wide, feeling a powerful spirit inside me spreading wings. The world grew darker for a moment. I screamed. The ground split, cracking open beneath my feet. Fissures spread all around me, bursting in huge crevices under our enemies' feet. They slowed, primitive weapons raised. There was a moment when everything was silent.

I threw my hands forward, black streaks bursting from my fingertips. Insatiable rage bubbled up in my chest and I wanted nothing more than to see them all dead.

They turned and fled from me. I pushed the magic further, reaching for them – until Finvarra's arms wrapped around me. He hauled me back. The vines wrapped around us both, hiding the creatures from my view. The sidhe pressed me against the tree, his hands cupping my face. I could hear his voice, but was so wrapped up in my own mind I couldn't understand him.

Images burst over my vision. Flashes of what felt like dreams: me standing shoulder to shoulder with two others, our fingertips touching as we raised our hands to the sky. Darkness shrouding the sun. Black mists rising among the bloody battle going on below. The soldiers cried out, clutching their heads, then turned and battled one another. My sisters and I laughed…

"Nikki. Nikki, come back to me."

Finvarra pressed his mouth to mine. The kiss was like breathing new life into me and another image flashed through my mind; we were tangled together on a grassy knoll, pretty flowers growing all around while his hands coasted over my naked skin, a feeling of warmth and love pouring through me.

I gasped, shoving the sidhe away. Bile rose in my throat and I stumbled against the tree, retching. My head spun. Finvarra reached for me again, but I wouldn't let him near me. It was true. Everything he said. I wasn't Nikki, the girl who wanted to make everyone around her feel better. I was a goddess of war. Death lingered in my soul.

No wonder my parents never wanted me.

"Breathe," Finvarra said. He inched forward, resting a hand on the back of my neck. "Just breathe."

I wanted to push him away, but his touch was soothing. After several minutes, my breathing came back under control, and nausea stopped. I managed to stagger back to my feet. Finvarra watched me anxiously. I opened my mouth, wanting to ask about the second vision I'd had, but closed it again. There was no way I was going to get tangled up in a romantic situation right now – and if there had been anything between us in the past, it was over.

"I thought you said they couldn’t find us," I spat at him.

"They've learned magic," he said, turning away. "This is not good. We were only able to drive them off the first time because they didn't have magic. But if they have it now… What are their plans? And how did they get magic?"

"Who are they?"

"Fomorians. Ancient enemies to the Tuatha Dé Danann." He held his hand out to me.

I pulled back, narrowing my eyes.

"We were tracked here, and there will be more coming. The safest place for you is among the Daoine Sidhe, in my kingdom. We have powerful magic when we work together."

'We' as in him and me, or 'we' as in his people? Another wave of nausea passed over me, but I sucked in a deep breath and nodded. Maybe once we were there, I would be able to have some time to figure out what all this meant to me – and where I went from here. What my future was. If I even had a future.

"I have to call my parents," I mumbled. "I don't want them to worry."

Finvarra nodded. I patted my skirt for my phone, though my hands trembled so much it took me a moment to find the pocket I had sewn into it. I dialed my parents, ignoring the 'long distance charges' warning. I could taste the chocolate through the phone when Mom answered.

"Hey," I greeted.

"Hello, sweetheart. Did you forget something?"

Forget? Right. I was supposed to be at my internship. I'd have to call them next, tell them I wasn't coming in. But for right now, I needed a reason for why I wasn't coming home tonight. I couldn't tell Mom the truth over the phone.

"No, I didn't forget anything. I was calling to tell you I've been asked to take a full twenty-four-hour shift here at the hospital." There. That was good enough, right? "I know it's sudden, but I'm going to be able to sit with a patient who has Alzheimer's, and I think it would be really good for me. Sorry I won't be home for supper."

I held my breath, waiting for the bitter lemon, but the chocolate taste didn't fade. "That's okay, Nikki. I'm so proud of you. Make sure you eat."

Tears flooded my eyes, and a lump choked me. With life the way it was, sometimes it was hard to remember these little moments when I knew how much my parents cared. I struggled to keep my voice even. "That means a lot to me, Mom. I love you."

When was the last time I said that?

"I love you, too. And don't worry, I'm saving plenty of fudge brownies for you when you get home. Actually, maybe I should make another batch just for you."

My lip wobbled. "I know you're teasing, but that sounds great." If I stayed on the line any longer I'd break down, and she'd know something was wrong. "Well, they need me. I just wanted to let you know I wasn't coming home tonight." Would I ever come home again? "Bye, Mom."

"Bye, sweetie."

I hung up my phone. Finvarra laid a gentle hand on my shoulder; I shrugged him off, not wanting to be touched. "Let's go to this underground kingdom of yours."

"It's not technically—" Finvarra bit his tongue and nodded. "Let's go."

***

Finvarra's hall was nothing I had imagined it to be. I'd read plenty of first-hand accounts about people who supposedly visited Faerie and returned, but this… I expected everything to be bright and joyous, a constant party going on, maybe with a side of orgies. Instead, I found myself in a crumbling hall. There was music playing, but it was the kind of song you listened to when you needed to be sad. Various sidhe sat about the hall on broken steps and beside dry fountains, not doing anything.

"This is your hall?" I asked Finvarra under my breath. "It's… depressing."

"I know. It's been this way for a while. The sidhe aren't as happy-go-lucky as people like to pretend. Come.

He put his hand in mine, and I liked the warmth of it so much I couldn't make myself pull away. Instead, I leaned against him, enjoying the feel of his strength, and let him lead me away. A few sidhe glanced in our direction, but most ignored us.

Finvarra took me to a room that was almost an exact replica of my room back home. It had the same bed with the log-cabin bedspread, the nightstand with my psychiatry textbooks, the hand-braided rug I made when I was in high school. The biggest difference was it was open to the sky, with a multitude of stars shining down.

Exhaustion flooded me and I collapsed onto my bed. Finvarra smiled down at me, and I tugged his hand, pulling him down beside me. Just because it was awkward looking up at him… That was the only reason. Not because I wanted him to put his arms around me…

"We have to talk," I said decisively. "I'm an ancient part of an ancient trio of war goddesses, and I have freaky powers. I was killed, but how did I end up reincarnating as human? Who was Macha? Is she going to take over my body and destroy me?"

Finvarra sighed. "No. You are Macha. Your personality isn't just from the experiences you've had as Nikki, but all your past lives."

"All of them," I repeated. How many were there? "How did I die the first time?"

"There was a battle, and a Fomorian king, Balor, killed you. You returned in human form. It would have been easy enough for you to shed your mortality and become one of the Tuatha again, but you decided against it. You thought that the Morrigan needed humanity. Compassion. So you chose to stay, to live again and again as a mortal."

"So I've died a lot."

He nodded. "We have had this conversation many times. I think after that second death, you lost your memories. Death is traumatic. But you always decide to go back to live another human life. And that's what I—"

I knew what he was going to say, but I wasn't ready to hear it. I jolted from the bed, startling him. "I'm starving. Do I get a free pass from the whole fairy food thing, since I'm a goddess?"

"Fairy food thing?"

"When a human eats fairy food, they're bound to stay in Faerie."

Finvarra slowly stood. "Right. That thing. Yeah, you get a free pass… But we really should—"

I shook my head. "I don't want to talk. I want to eat."

His shoulders slumped, but he nodded. "Okay. Let's go get something to eat."

Chapter Five

I don’t know how I slept, but sleep I did. My dreams were full of Finvarra. His hands exploring my body, his mouth on mine, zings of pleasure singing through me. I woke aching for him in a way I had never experienced before. If he had been there, I would have pulled him to bed with me, heedless of the Fomorian attack.

As it was, though, I managed to get myself back under control by the time he strode through my door, carrying a bowl. I ran my fingers through my black hair, nodding in greeting. My heart was going at it like a bass drum, but I forced myself to remain calm and collected.

"Okay." I moved over so he could sit beside me. "Now. What questions have I asked that you haven’t answered?"

Finvarra smirked. His amusement tasted like almonds. I never realized how much I liked almonds until then… I hurriedly shoveled some of the food he had brought into my mouth. Oatmeal. But the best oatmeal that I'd ever had in my life. I gasped in surprise, distracted.

He curled a strand of hair around his finger. "Shouldn’t you be the one telling me that?"

About the questions. I shook my head. "Nope. I’m all confused, so it's up to you to tell me what I need to know. About my past and all that."

He moved back from me, dropping his gaze.

"Don’t pretend to suddenly be all coy."

The sidhe glanced up again, eyes dark and smoldering. I was taken aback by the look in them; raw and powerful, with a hesitancy that I didn’t expect. And yet there was also love. No. Lust… it had to be lust, didn’t it? He didn’t even know me.

Or maybe he did, and I just wasn’t the one who knew him anymore. I shoveled more oatmeal into my mouth, trying to ignore the ache building anew in my core. "Do I always lose my memories when I die?"

Finvarra shrugged.

"Thanks." Oops . I meant that to sound more sarcastic. Not sad.

"I have only found you a handful of times since your second death," he admitted. "But from what I've gleaned, you lost your memories after that death. Sometimes you've regained them, but whenever you die again, you're always born with no memory of your past… or our past."

The way he said it sent tingles down my spine. I gulped, my heart thudding. "Our past. Meaning what? We were comrades in arms, right?"

"And…" he took a deep breath and clasped my hand in his. It felt familiar, but unlike when the Fomorians attacked, it wasn't comforting. "We were close."

I knew what he meant. And even as I snatched my hand from his, two parts of me warred. One part said this was too much, that having a boyfriend I didn't remember on top of being a war goddess and having Fomorians coming after me was just going to destroy me. The other part cheered. If I laid on the bed and pulled him over me, then everything would be alright.

Except I didn't know him, and I had never had these feelings before. And the circumstances were all wrong. Weren't they?

He took a deep breath. "I know this is confusing. But Macha—"

The use of that name was too much.

I jumped to my feet. "No. I'm not her. There is nothing between us."

Finvarra flinched. Pain shone from his brown eyes.

"I'm not her!"

I fled. Finvarra shouted after me, but I didn’t stop. A wall of thorns sprang to life before me. Without thinking, I threw my arms to my sides and leaped. Black feathers burst from my arms and along my spine. My form shifted, prickles of pain running over my skin as I shifted form. Instinctively, I flapped my wings, and they took me over the thorny fence.

The stars dimmed as I flew. I didn’t notice as the ground beneath me became jagged and the plants withered away. I closed my eyes, heedless of whatever might lay ahead of me. Our past. He had said our past. We were close. Friends? Lovers? Husband and wife?

I wanted to go back, to hear what he had to say. To rediscover my past, find a way for it to fit in with my future. He had searched for me all these years. Was it because he loved me?

But if I went back to him and made love, the past I didn't remember would dictate my future. Who would I be then?

Something smacked into me, sending me spinning in cartwheels to the ground. Pain jolted up through my wing as I smacked hard into the earth. In a blink, the feathers had retreated and I stared at my arm, twisted into an impossible angle. Nausea swirled through my body, making my vision sway.

A growl made me turn. A huge shape, twice as big as a double-decker bus, moved towards me. Flames flickered in the dim forest, revealing a narrow, tapered head. Rows of sharp teeth gleamed. My eyes snapped back into focus as I gaped, stunned and horrified. A dragon with a sinewy, snake-like body crept towards me.

I tried to get to my feet, but white-hot pain shot up my arm and drove me back to knees. The dragon charged. I screamed, throwing my good hand out. A weak fluttering ran to my fingers, a black mist seeping from the ground. The dragon puffed out a single breath of fire, and the mist vanished. It lunged forward, maw gaping wide.

Before I could work up another scream, a star fell from the sky. At least, that was what it looked like. A streak of bright white, charging towards us. It landed hard on the dragon’s head. The dragon squawked, thrashing its neck side to side.

I grabbed a tree branch and hauled myself to my feet, cradling my broken arm against my chest. Everything swirled again. When my vision cleared, Finvarra stood against the dragon, a flaming sword in his hands. Silver armor reflected back red fire as he dodged among the dragon’s legs, slicing at its hard scales.

My heart lurched. A memory of pain slicing through my abdomen bubbled to the surface, of Finvarra's frantic shouts, him fighting against a terrible shadow while my sisters screamed in fury. I shook my head hard, dislodging the memory.

I had to help him. It was my fault that he was out here, facing off with a dragon. Maybe if I called the magic I'd felt. I lifted my good arm, concentrating on my fingertips. Nothing.

A howl brought my attention back to the fight. Finvarra drove his sword into the beast's ribs, drenching himself in blood, while the dragon howled and thrashed. It only succeeded in doing more damage to itself. Finvarra withdrew the sword and backpedaled, dashing from the dragon's flailing claws. The great beast shuddered. The flame flickered in its mouth. It collapsed on the ground, wheezing, and the light in its eyes went out.

Finvarra turned towards me. He pulled off his helmet and dropped his sword, offering a cocky grin. "You fly right into a dragon so I'd have to come rescue you, eh? Still making sure I'm man enough to be worthy of you?"

I cradled my arm, lightheaded again. "Was that the kind of person I was?"

The grin slipped off his face. "It was a joke, Nikki."

Nikki . It was both odd and comforting. I swayed, and when Finvarra hesitantly came towards me, I nodded my permission. He caught me as I collapsed. His worry was like tart pineapple on my tongue. Strange. I never liked the taste of pineapple – it always made me feel lonely. But with him, it tasted… right.

"Looks like this arm is broken," he murmured, tracing his hands over my skin.

His touch eased the pain. A white glow expanded over my arm, his brows knit in concentration. I watched as a mottled purple-black bruise pressed its way over my skin, then faded to brown, then green, and finally was gone. When Finvarra removed his hands, the pain was completely gone.

I swiveled my arm experimentally. It felt as good as new. Better than new, in fact.

"Wow," I muttered. "Your sidhe magic is pretty strong."

"Not as strong as yours will be, once you've got it back."

I pulled away from him. Being near him was both thrilling and painful. My heart hammered and I wanted to be closer, but my fear continued to hold me back. At least I didn't have the urge to take off running again.

"I'm sorry I took off the way I did," I said, hanging my head. "I don't really know what came over me."

"It's not the first time." He reached for my hand but pulled back. "I forget and push too hard sometimes. But you are the one who wanted to know."

Grimacing, I nodded. "I did. But then you were telling me these things, and I had these feelings… I don't know what to think or do. All I know is that once I go down this path, there is no going back. Mom and Dad won't be my messed up but loving parents. My dreams of being a psychiatrist will be gone. My whole life… I'm afraid I won't be me anymore."

But what was waiting for me just behind the veil of forgetfulness?

He cupped my face. "Your past doesn't mean that you aren't the person you are right now. And I know it will hurt, but I'm here for you."

It was the most comforting thing he could have said to me. I inched forward, my eyes on his lips. "Finvarra… were we—"

A wheezing noise behind us made us both turn. The dragon lifted its head, eyes still glazed, blood still pumping from its chest. At first, I thought it was going to rise as a zombie and attack again, but it didn't. It merely collapsed back down. A rattling breath made me shudder, then a green cloud seeped from its gaping jaws. Everywhere the cloud touched, grass withered.

Finvarra cursed. He grabbed my hand and began pulling me away, but the cloud moved faster. Almost as if it were drawn to me, it enveloped me. A smell like rotten eggs choked me.

Darkness overtook me.

***

The air smelled of minerals and tasted of pineapple. Surprised I could breathe at all, I stayed where I was, taking stock of my senses. The air was warm and humid, and I lay on something soft. Not a mattress. It was a little too scratchy for that. I opened my eyes, finding myself in a dim cave. The softness I lay on was a bed of grasses. Odd.

A splashing noise drew my attention to the far side of the cave. Ripples of light reflected off a wavy surface. A pool. I propped myself onto my elbow. Moist, warm air brushed against my face as I gazed at the sparkling water. Hot springs? It would explain the smell and heat.

Finvarra floated in the water, resting on his back, eyes closed. He was utterly naked, leaving me with blood rushing to my cheeks. My gaze didn't linger on his impressive shape for long. Over his torso were a multitude of scars, some fresher than others. A cut ran across his chest, scabbed over but clearly not old. The dragon? Or one of the other enemies that had come after me lately?

A wave of emotion fell over me. Love, lust, a mix of both. I wasn't sure. Uncertainly warred in me, but I knew that things would change in a blink, and I wanted this moment. To feel safe and loved.

My gaze lingered on Finvarra as I slowly removed my clothing. Memories flashed over my skin, filling me with fire. I knew what I wanted. Once I was naked, I slipped into the warm water, moving to meet him.

Chapter Six

As the ripples from my entrance into the pool brushed his face, Finvarra's eyes opened. He straightened in the water, bright brown eyes drifting over my naked form. They traced down my neck and focused in on my breasts before moving further down, but how much he could see under the sparkling water was a mystery.

"These are healing springs," he told me, gaze returning to my eyes. "Your body is still mortal. Bringing you here was the only way I could stop the dragon's breath from killing you… again."

I shivered at the raw emotion in his tone, but unlike before, it wasn't from fear. "You've seen me die before."

"Yes. I was there that first time Balor took you from me."

The name made my heart squeeze. I really should have done more research after my initial contact.

Well, Finvarra had lived through it. He'd be able to give me better information than Wikipedia, right? I opened my mouth to ask, but he answered before I could.

"Balor was a king among the Fomorians. He was born blind, but that never stopped him. His eye, when opened, would kill all who looked in it. His other skills were no less impressive. A master with the sword, he cut through our armies with glee. You and the rest of the Morrigan were determined to bring him down. You were killed. I was there. I cut down a dozen of his guard, but I couldn't get to you in time." Agony flashed over his face, grief poisoning the space between us with a sharp, metallic taste. "I never got to tell you—"

I knew what he was going to say. I didn't need to hear it. I pressed my fingers to his lips, silencing him. The air grew warmer between us as I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought myself to him.

Our lips met, sending fire flooding through my veins. Finvarra's skin was moist against mine, the heat he had absorbed in the hot springs seeping into my body. His mouth was hungry, demanding, pulling me deeper into this rabbit hole of emotion. And I had no desire to fight against it.

Finvarra pulled me closer, moaning with desire as he deepened our kiss. His tongue was wicked and quick as it explored my mouth. His hands frantically ran over my body, like he was trying to find every shape and contour to remind himself what I looked like. Which might have been exactly what he was doing.

He picked me up, pushing my legs to either side of his hips, and I gripped him tightly with my knees. I could feel his arousal pressing against me, not ready but clearly showing exactly what he hoped from all this. I laughed breathlessly, excited, nervous, and not wanting anything to break this moment.

"What's funny?" he grinned at me. "Ecstatic that the fairy king remains under your thrall?"

"I thought you said you were a sidhe, not a fairy," I teased, grinding my hips against him. He moaned and kissed my neck, but I stopped, suddenly uncertain.

"What's wrong?"

Blood rushed to my face and I bit my lip. "I don't know what to do. I've never…"

His eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

I tangled my fingers in the hair at the back of his neck, my gaze circling the cave. "I mean… were we together? Before I died?"

His gaze was electric when I finally looked back at him. He brushed his mouth against mine. "Yes. We were lovers. I have not had any woman since I lost you. Those stories about me kidnapping girls away from their homes? Pure fantasy. I haven't wanted other women."

Was he why I'd never felt drawn to any of the guys that I met? I hadn't lacked the opportunity to date, but I never wanted to. Was I holding out for someone I didn't even know existed? "What about my past lives? Have I…?"

"I don't know," he replied. "And I don't care. I would never fault you for being with other men. I might kill them for daring to touch what is mine, but I would never expect you to wait for me when you didn't even remember me. But you're saying that you…"

I bit my lip and nodded. "Sometimes I wondered if there was something wrong with me. And it's not fair for you to say that you'd kill the guys I was with if you wouldn't even be angry with me."

He laughed and kissed me again. "What can I say? I'm possessive."

Finvarra carried me to the edge of the pool and set me down, pulling his body away from mine just far enough to slip his hand between my legs. I clung to him as he pushed in a finger, using his thumb to trace small circles on my clit. The fire flooding my body concentrated in my core, twisting hard with pleasure. His mouth coasted down my body, concentrating on my breasts. All my muscles coiled. I looped my arm around his neck, struggling to enjoy each sensation and not get lost in it all.

The water splashed rhythmically, and I realized that he was handling himself with the same pace that he was slipping his finger in and out of me. My breasts seemed to swell under his attentions and I groaned, pushing them out further. I wanted to writhe and buck, but I forced myself to stay as still as possible. He built me slowly, everything becoming tighter than I could handle.

"Finvarra," I gasped, needing more. "I want you. Now."

He chuckled. "A little longer."

"Now." I rolled my hips, forcing his fingers deeper into me. He did something that sent a shockwave through me and I cried out. "Now !"

"Demanding. As always," he whispered, gripping both my hips now.

It was all I could do to stay with him as he entered. The pressure was unexpected, the coils of flame shooting down my legs as he started moving. I gasped, expecting a sudden burst of pain. But there was none. Only more pleasure as he continued to work my clit while rocking his hips back and forth.

The flames curled up and down. My head fell back as everything exploded. My muscles went limp, pleasure coursing through my veins. Finvarra's mouth was on my neck again, his movements harder. I clung to him, screaming in time with his movement, rolling to increase contact. It was simultaneously too much and not enough. Waves of black passed over my vision. I felt him finishing. He collapsed over me, half in the hot springs, half on me.

I carded my fingers through Finvarra's hair, marveling at the closeness I felt to him. He kissed my shoulder, neck and cheek, and finally let a long one linger on my lips.

"My strength and light," he whispered. "I love you."

I love you. The words echoed in my mind, opening the floodgates.

A thousand memories poured into my brain, tearing my mind to shreds. Pain flared through me. I remembered that day on the battlefield, facing Balor of the Evil Eye, the agony of life being ripped from my body. I remembered my sisters – I had sisters. Badb and Anand, the two parts that completed the Morrigan with me.

And I had other sisters. Mortal girls, who I never felt quite the same as me, brothers who never understood me, parents who struggled to love me. Hundreds of faces, the family I had loved, now all lost to the ravishes of time.

Then the murders started pouring in. People I had killed. People who had killed me. Again and again and again; knives slicing through my body, burning as a witch, drowning as my own father held me under the water.

"Nikki? Nikki, are you alright?" Finvarra's worried eyes peered at me.

I remembered the first time I saw the sidhe king, he a young man, I over a hundred years old. How he fought for my favor, how he had amused me until I granted it to him. We would ride in battle together, laughing at our invincibility. The friends we had buried, the way we had cried together, fought together, laughed together.

It was all too much. I screamed, pushing at my lover while my fingers tore into his skin. This wasn't me. This wasn't Nicole X, this was a ruthless goddess, a woman of untold power. Not me. It couldn't be me.

Finvarra struggled to hold me. "You're remembering."

He touched my face, but all of a sudden I didn't want him near me. The perfection of my first time was marred by the fact that it wasn't the first time. There was so much pain between us… there could never be a first time. We could never go back to when our love was clean and pure.

"Get away from me," I spat. The Morrigan rose in me, flapping her wings as black feathers sprouted from my skin. "A tiny little man –what have you done beside hiding in your halls and pretending you were a grand king?"

Finvarra flinched back from me. I regretted my words, but I couldn’t take them back. Not when so many memories pressed against my mind, threatening to break me. I threw on my clothes and fled the cave, letting my form shift into the war-bird I knew so well. As I flew into the sky, everything below faded into an indistinguishable blur.

My sisters. Badb and Anand would have answers.

I had remembered the Morrigan in some of my past lives and researched what happened to the Tuatha Dé Danann. Those memories came back, guiding me from Finvarra's land.

The Tuatha had left this world through an ancient burial mound, using it as a portal to the Otherworld when humans drove them from Ireland. Humans. Such delicate, fragile creatures. And yet they had driven the most powerful of us from their homes.

They'll pay , I vowed, but even as I did so, the taste of lemons filled my mouth.

Delicate and fragile? No. Humans were strong. Even at their weakest, they were not feeble. My wings faltered. I wasn't Macha. These memories were just that, memories. I had changed. I was human, I had parents. I had a home.

Was it still my home? Could I ever tell Mom and Dad what I had learned? I wasn't a changeling. I didn't replace their Rosemary – I was their Rosemary. Nicole X never existed, except as a reason to reject me as their daughter.

I pushed them from my mind and continued. I would find the Tuatha Dé Danann and retake my place in the Morrigan.

It was where I belonged.

Chapter Seven

When I got to the ancient burial mound where the portal to the Otherworld lay, I found it hardly recognizable. The magic wards about it had protected it from human industrialization, but the damage caused by natural forces was as devastating as any human device. Erosion had flattened the mound and the cement with which we had bonded the rocks together was crumbling. The entrance had collapsed.

The portal inside was sealed tight. When I pressed my hand against the stone wall that should have been an arch, the first doubts trickled into my mind. The memories of being murdered were pushed aside by the lives I had taken. My sisters and I used to laugh about it, to have competitions about who could kill the most in battle.

When we were bored, we would provoke the humans into battles with one another, playing them as if they were pieces on a chessboard. Did I want to return to that? I had changed when I met Finvarra, but there was a reason I kept choosing to be reborn human rather than return to the Morrigan.

The Tuatha Dé Danann were like gods to humans, and we, fallible and temperamental as them, drank it up. When I was part of the Morrigan, I would have said we were better than humans; like giants in their small worlds. They were mayflies, we the burning stars in the sky. But now I had seen it from the other side.

Were they right to drive us out? Would we have spread over the face of the whole planet, destroying everything in our path, if they had not?

A gentle, tinkling song filled the mound. I nearly jumped out of my skin before I remembered that it was my ringtone. I stared stupidly at it for a moment, forgetting what century I was in. My memories were drowning me, but my most recent one came back, a soothing balm to my scorched mind.

Mom and Dad might have struggled with me growing up, but I was never unloved. I didn't know how to go forward from here, but they didn't deserve to be just cut off.

I held the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Macha. It seems that this is the only way to get hold of you these days."

The male voice was pleasant, nondescript, the kind of voice that you fell asleep to in university lectures. But there was history between him and me, and the voice with its accompanying smug molasses taste dripping down my throat made me shudder. My lungs seized and the crow beat against my chest, everything dissolving into fear.

"Balor," I whispered.

He chuckled. "Ah, good. You've regained your memories. This will make things so much easier."

I wanted to throw the phone away, to run forever until I found some dark hole to blend into, somewhere that Balor would never be able to find me. He hadn't needed his poisonous gaze to kill me. Just his sword and my own arrogance. The pain of that first death was the worst I had experienced…

Or was it? Physically, perhaps. But after all the lives I lived, there were worse pains than a blade slicing flesh. Being a child neglected by her parents. Always trying my hardest, but never being good enough. Being betrayed by those I loved. Feeling like I would never belong. Being killed by the people who were meant to protect me. The constant fear that it would happen again.

My lives had changed me. Macha of the Morrigan no longer existed. New tears blurred my vision. Even if I could return to my sisters, I wouldn’t belong with them. Where did I belong?

"What do you want, Balor?" I asked.

"You."

"Dramatic, but that doesn't tell me a damned thing."

A loud sigh was my reply, and the smug molasses nearly choked me. The confusion of my changing emotions, fear, anger, sorrow, all wrapped themselves up in my chest, making it hard to breathe. With concentrated effort, I shoved them all aside, letting a pleasant numbness overtake me. It allowed me to think clearly – or at least somewhat clearly. Balor had set up a battle as a trap for me and my sisters once to kill us, but I was his only victim. He was probably looking to complete the job.

"Are you going to answer me?" I demanded. "Or are you just going to sit there like a smug cretin and pretend that you've got everything under control?"

Coconut tinged the molasses. That had made him angry. I smirked. Balor laughed despite his anger.

"Still the impatient one, I see," he said. "Very well. I want to speak with you, and since you kept running from the servants I sent to fetch you, I thought I'd have to go another route."

"We're speaking now."

"I meant face to face."

It was my turn to laugh. "So you can kill me again? I don't think so."

"Oh, but you haven't heard what I have to say. It seems you have developed an emotional connection with these humans. It would be a shame if that connection was… severed."

Icy dread drenched me. Shaking, I checked the number that had called me. Mom. He had my parents. I didn't care what problems there were between us, or about my long, complicated history. They were still Nikki's parents, and I was as much Nikki as I was Macha. I couldn’t let anything happen to them.

"You have my attention," I said.

"Good. Meet me on that little island where I killed you and they won't be harmed."

"I'll be there," I promised.

Balor hung up. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. My mind turned to Finvarra as I hung up the phone. He had spent so long trying to find me, and now that he had, I was going to leave him again. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I had to do this, for my parents.

Finvarra was better off without me, anyway.

***

The island where my first death took place was smaller than I remembered. The years of being beaten by the sea had eaten away at the shore. I could see from one side to the other, and it was all bare rock. A group was gathered on the other side of the island as I landed and shifted my form from crow to human. Many of them were the one-eyed Fomorians that had tried to take me from the bus, but there were a handful that would have been indistinguishable from humans.

Two, in fact, were human.

I strode towards the group, not seeing Balor among them. Was this a trap? I stopped several feet away and focused on my parents. Their fear was a nameless bitterness on my tongue, and I almost flinched back from them.

"Are you hurt?" I asked.

Dad opened his mouth, but a voice interrupted him. "I did not harm them."

I turned to the man who spoke. He was tall, broad-shouldered with a handsome face. Both his eyes were a piercing green, but I recognized the taste of molasses rolling off him. I looked Balor up and down. "You look different."

"As do you, Macha."

"Nikki," I corrected automatically. "Now let my parents go."

Balor gestured at his minions, and they dragged Mom and Dad to their feet. I tried to remain immobile as they passed by me, but Mom suddenly stomped on the foot of her guard and elbowed him in the face. She threw her arms around me, her lemon overpowering my senses. I held her tightly, feeling like a little girl again afraid of monsters under my bed.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I love you. I love you."

The Fomorians dragged her back again. I stepped forward to protest, but they opened a portal and were gone before I could speak. My heart hammered. "Where did you take them?"

"Back to their home. I am a man of my word." Balor touched his chest and mocked a bow.

I steeled myself for what was to come and turned to him, raising my chin defiantly. "You've stolen yourself magic."

"Not stolen. Cultivated."

"Why are you even doing this?" I demanded, tossing my black hair and putting my hands on my hips. "Both the Fomorians and Tuatha Dé Danann are ended, why do you want to carry on the feud between us?"

"Our feud? No." Balor shook his head. "You were an honorable opponent, Macha. I bear no resentment to you or your people."

I didn't correct my name this time, a frown furrowing my brow.

"I can understand why you might think that I want to continue our battle from those millennia ago, but look around." Balor gestured in a wide circle around both of us.

There was something familiar in the shape of his jaw and cheekbones, but not reminiscent to the monster that killed me all those years ago. He saw me staring at him rather than at the desolated place that was once our battleground, and his hands dropped. A wry smile crossed his face.

"Wondering why I look so different?"

"Yes. I assume it's some sort of magical mask."

He shook his head. "Like you, I was killed. But my opponent did not kill me in a good battle, facing strength against strength. It was a human, invading the depths of the ocean. They have no business there. My people had already been driven off one home, we weren't going to lose another. But they brought the fire under the water. They killed me and destroyed my court. Imagine my surprise when I was born again as one of them."

"Fire under water… You were killed by a torpedo? And reincarnated again as a human?" How many more of our kind walked the human lands, thinking they just didn't fit? "Like me."

Balor nodded and stepped forward. "Yes. It took me several years to learn that as a human I could use magic and to teach the remnants of my people to use it. But our magic is still new, it's young, and no use against atomic bombs and machine guns. And that is why I need you ."

I didn't like where this was going, but I kept my mouth shut. He brought me here for a reason, and I needed to know what it was.

"You are the only one who can reopen the gates to the Otherworld so that the Tuatha Dé Danann can return. Finvarra will lead the Daoine Sidhe to follow you, and with the Morrigan restored, we can join together, Tuatha and Fomorian, to drive back the foul humanity that took our rights to our lands and kingdoms all those years ago."

Chapter Eight

My eyes widened. Push back humanity and reclaim what was taken from us? Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fomorians, joining forces to wage war against the bombs and destruction of humankind? To reclaim a place to belong…The thought was tempting.

But we had had our chances, and we were selected for elimination.

If the Tuatha and Fomorians were meant to rule the earth, we would be ruling it. And what would happen to the humans if the portals opened and the Tuatha came back? How many more would die? Of us and them both. They drove us away with arrows and swords, and now they had nuclear bombs. What use was any magic against such formidable weaponry? The toll on the Earth would be devastating. None of us would have a place to belong if we were all dead.

"Our time ended," I told Balor, shaking my head sadly. "Maybe there isn't a place for us anymore. We need to accept that. Find a new way to live."

Balor's eyes narrowed. "Let's think about this, Macha—"

"My name is Nikki."

For a moment, it seemed he was too stunned to act. His face twisted in fury soon enough. He lunged forward, hands grasping for my neck. I threw out both my hands, but only a weak mist seeped from my palms. The millennia I had spent repressing my magic was clearly showing. I had already tapped my strength by fleeing Finvarra, fighting the dragon, and getting myself here.

Balor stopped, jaw hanging loosely at he watched my feeble magical attack wither and die. I lowered my hands, heart pounding hard. I couldn't defeat him when I was still a full-powered Morrigan. There was no way I could survive him now. And he knew it.

"Being human has taken its toll on you. Will you still even be able to open the portal?"

"Probably not," I rasped out as he moved closer.

He shrugged and grinned. "We'll see. But if you refuse to help me, I'll just have to kill you again like I did before. And who knows, maybe this time you won't come back."

I'd never be able to explain to Mom and Dad what I was. I'd never be able to tell them how much I loved them, and that despite the strain in our relationship, I knew they always loved me. They would never know that. And Mom, she would blame herself for this. I couldn’t imagine how much worse her depression would get.

And Finvarra… he deserved more than me running away from him like I did. My heart ached, breaking at the thought of losing him again. When was the last time I told him that I loved him? Had I ever told him?

"Wait," I blurted as Balor reached for me, magic sparking over his fingertips. "Wait."

"Changing your mind?"

I shook my head. "But isn't it the honorable thing to let me say goodbye to my loved ones before you kill me? Especially since my magic is so weak, I'm basically helpless against you."

Balor tilted his head to one side, studying me. I held my breath. Honor among the Fomorians was different than among the Tuatha, and both groups were far different than humans.

"You want mercy, is that what you are saying?" he asked me.

Mercy was not something that our people had much experience with. "Perhaps that was what made humans so much stronger than us," I said slowly, "their ability to show mercy and compassion to each other. It strengthened their bonds. Us, all we ever did was tear each other apart."

The Fomorian king snorted. "Mercy has no place in war."

He reached for me again. I braced myself for death, praying it would be quick when a trumpet blast sounded overhead. We all turned to find a sky full of silver stars. My breath caught in my chest as they got closer. Sidhe, all of them dressed in silver armor, were flying through the air on gossamer wings towards us. Finvarra was at their head, twin daggers in his hands.

How had he found me? It didn't matter. As Balor cursed, I slipped from his grasp and called out to my lover. "Finvarra!"

The king made a beeline for us, eyes narrowed in concentration, lips pulled back in a fierce grimace.

"Rise, children of the sea!" Balor bellowed from behind me.

I whirled again; the waves crashing onto the shore took shape, one-eyed beings with leathery blue skin. Their arms ended in sharp blades, and as the sidhe drew nearer, these new creatures howled and stamped their feet. It was just like last time. There might not be as much room on the island now, but as long as Balor lived, they would keep coming. Hundreds and thousands of them to each one of our number. It would be a bloodbath.

"Kill them all," Balor ordered.

Finvarra shouted something to his army, but I couldn’t tell what he said. They flew up, forming a tight knot, then dropped down among Balor's army. The clash of steel and the shouts of frenzied warriors made the crow blossom in my chest again.

"Nikki," Finvarra breathed as he dropped beside me. "My soldiers will cut a path for your escape—"

"No," I snarled, snatching one of his daggers from him. "He won't stop hunting me unless he's dead."

I could see that Finvarra would have liked to throw me over his shoulder and fly off, but there wasn't any time to continue arguing. Two Fomorians came at us from behind while Balor thrust his hand into the earth. Cracks formed around his fist. I spun out of the Fomorians' range while Finvarra lithely leaped behind them. He stabbed one in the back and when the other turned to face him, I darted in and cut its throat.

Both of us charged Balor as he drew a sword from the ground. I stumbled against Finvarra, recognizing the blade. I remembered it thrusting through my body and I couldn't breathe.

"Come and die again," the Fomorian king taunted.

"You are the only one who dies today," Finvarra seethed, leaping between us.

Balor swung his sword at Finvarra's head, but the sidhe dodged the blow; he got in close enough to stab at Balor. The Fomorian spun away at surprising speed. His hand flashed green, and a bolt of magic struck Finvarra straight in the chest. He stumbled back, gasping, and Balor swung his sword up.

"No!" I shouted, throwing myself into the fray. My dagger bit Balor's side. He roared and swung around, his elbow driving into my face. Pain blinded me as I heard my nose crunch. Wet, leathery hands wrapped around my throat from behind.

Finvarra vaulted from where he was, bringing the dagger down just beyond my ear. A squelching noise was followed by my clothes suddenly drenched in water. The creature had dissolved back into the sea. I gasped noisily, trying to regain my footing, as Balor charged us again. A sidhe jumped in his way, only for his blade to pierce through her body.

I planted my feet in the ground, gripping my dagger. The crow beat against my chest, but I couldn't trust my magic. I didn't have the control I used to. Finvarra fanned out from my side, coming in at Balor on his left. When the Fomorian deflected his blow, I jumped in again. Balor grunted as my dagger skittered over his arm. Blood blossomed, but he hardly seemed to notice.

"After I am done with you, I will open the gates to the otherworld," he vowed. "A human sacrifice should do it… perhaps a woman that has a trace of magic in her from giving birth to one of the Morrigan."

Mom.

Later, I wasn't sure what I did. All I knew was that a well of fury and hatred rose in me, and all my energy was focused on destroying Balor. Finvarra may have shouted something, but all I remembered was dropping my dagger and spreading my arms. Balor lunged for me, his sword driving towards my heart, but a fountain of black burst from the ground between us. He stumbled back, terror coming over his face. The black mist spread over the island. Cries and fear and pain echoed across the ocean, and the Fomorians stumbled about blindly, attacking each other and the sidhe alike. Finvarra called for a retreat, and the sidhe took wing, hovering over the battlefield.

Balor stumbled back from me, terror lighting his face. I stomped my foot, pulling my arms towards my chest then pushing them out again. A blast of wind burst from my palms and knocked him off his feet. Another had him rolling in the white waves off the shore.

"This ends now," I whispered.

Black spots swayed over my vision, the magic dancing haphazardly through my body. I threw another blast towards him, and my knees buckled. I fell to the ground, my mists around me sinking back into the earth.

The Sidhe dropped in among the Fomorians again. Their swords sliced through them easily, but more were emerging from the sea.

Finvarra faced Balor now, matching him blow for blow. Both had lost their weapons. I picked up my fallen dagger, but I could feel my magic still draining from my body, and I didn't have the strength to lift the weapon. Balor sunk his fist into Finvarra's stomach and threw him into the midst of newly-born Fomorians, then advanced on me.

"We could have been great together," the Fomorian king said, snatching his sword from the soaked earth.

Two sidhe tried to face him, but there were quickly cut down. He drove the sword towards my chest. I managed to get the dagger up, deflecting the blade at the last second. It cut through my shoulder. Balor lifted the sword again–and something slashed across his throat. Blood splattered from the wound as he staggered around. Finvarra stood behind him, dagger in hand, and finished him off. As the massive body fell to the earth, his army disappeared in bursts of water.

Finvarra caught me as I collapsed, utterly spent. He pressed his lips to my mouth and I drank in the taste of him. "You're going to be okay," he promised. "You're going to be okay."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I shouldn’t have left you."

"You were frightened and overwhelmed."

I touched his lips. "But I never told you."

A wave of black rolled over my vision. The power of the Morrigan was too powerful for this mortal body. If I didn't sever my connection again, it would kill me. I struggled to focus on Finvarra again. If I was going to die again, he needed to know something before I was gone.

"I love you," I whispered. "I love you, Finvarra."

He kissed me again, and the world faded away.

Chapter Nine

My cell phone woke me up. Cracking my eyelids open took great effort as I patted my nightstand, looking for the phone. I held it to my ear and yawned.

"Hello?"

"Nikki! It's about time you answered." Lajila's voice came over the line. "I've been trying to get hold of you for days . What are you up to that's keeping you from talking to your best friend?"

I blinked, trying to think. Everything came rushing back and I choked a minute. How was I still alive? For that matter, how long had I been asleep? Where was I now? I swallowed hard. What did I tell my friend? "I've been busy." I yawned again. "Lajila, I just woke up… I'll have to call you back."

"Okay, sleepyhead." Her voice was light, completely unaware of what had nearly happened to the world. "Bye."

"Bye."

I hung up and looked around. I was in my room, in my home. The air tasted of so many different flavors I couldn’t tell the mood of the house. I did, however, smell Finvarra's ocean-adventure scent in the mix. It gave me the bravery to get out of bed and head downstairs, though my stomach twisted itself into knots. How were my parents going to react to me now that they knew the truth? Would they still want to be my parents?

Mom and Dad sat at the kitchen table, arms wrapped around each other, while Finvarra sat on the other side. His voice was a low murmur, too low for me to understand him. A plate of brownies sat between them. I took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen. Mom's gaze flickered to me, and she leaped to her feet. But then she froze, staring at me as though I was a stranger. Dad slowly stood, looking at me with the same expression.

"Hi," I said awkwardly. "Are those fudge brownies?"

Mom nodded. "Yes. I was hoping they were still your favorite."

I plucked one from the plate and bit into it. The chocolatey flavor exploded on my tongue and I couldn't help moaning in delight. When I reached for a second while still chewing the first, Mom burst into tears. I jumped, startled. What had I done wrong? She raced around the table and threw her arms around me.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

Dad hugged me as well. My gaze darted to Finvarra, eyes wide. He smiled softly at me and got to his feet. "I'll wait outside."

There was so much crying going on in here that I wanted to go with him. Even though they were both hugging me, the worst case scenario flashed through my mind. They were crying and apologizing because they didn't want me around anymore and felt guilty. They were going to kick me out. They were going to say that now they knew what I really was. They couldn’t love me anymore.

"I'm sorry I never loved you enough, Nikki." Mom pulled back and wiped her eyes. "All this time I was mourning a child that I had all along. I won't blame you if you never forgive me."

I squeezed her hand. "Of course I forgive you, Mom. This is all so strange and difficult to wrap my mind around, but I'm still the girl you raised. I'm still your daughter."

Mom stroked my cheek with the back of her hand. "I never realized how much I was neglecting you until I thought I might lose you."

"That goes for both of us," Dad said, his voice thick. "We love you, Nikki."

I embraced them both again, relief breaking over me like waves on the shore. Things had changed between us, of course they had, but now we could at least set things back on the right course. Despite my thousands of years' worth of memories, I still needed them. Telling them about my relationship with Finvarra could wait until things were a little more stable, though.

Speaking of him…

"I need to go talk to Finvarra," I said, extracting myself from my parents' embraces. "I just want to make sure he doesn't go running away before I can… figure things out. I'll be back in a few minutes."

I grabbed another brownie before I headed outside. At first, I was afraid Finvarra had left since I didn't see him. But after dashing down the road, I found him in the playground where we first met… at least, in this lifetime. I brushed my hair behind my ear as I walked up to him. He sat on the swing, long legs stretched out before him, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Hey," I greeted him when I got closer. "Want a brownie?"

He eyed my offering. "No, thanks. Watching my weight."

I rolled my eyes at his lame joke, then took a seat on the swing beside him. He dragged his feet against the ground, pushing himself back and forth.

"So," he said. "I don't know if you remember, but when you thought you were dying, you told me that you loved me."

His tone was carefully light, preparing to brush it off with a laugh. I flinched, remembering all the years I had him dancing on a string for me. If I hadn't died and become human, I'd still be teasing him. Macha had not been a good person. But my experiences had changed me. I reached for his hand.

"I should have told you millennia ago," I told him. "I've been in love with you since we first kissed. I want to talk to you about this Uonaidh though," I added, trying to look fierce. "I looked you up on Wikipedia. When, exactly, were you going to tell me you were married?"

Finvarra threw his head back and laughed. "Uonaidh? They're saying I'm married to Uonaidh?"

"Humans. They like their romances."

"Uonaidh," he repeated, his laughter turning to chuckles. "That's funny. She's like a sister to me."

"I know. Even before I remembered about us, I dismissed her as your wife." I smiled wryly. "I would have to kill her if it were true, though."

"Now who is the possessive one?"

I shrugged.

Finvarra clasped my hand in his. "Speaking of Uonaidh, I've left her in charge of the sidhe for now, until you and I have figured out what we're going to do and be." The mirth died from his face. "I don't know if you can feel it, but when you used your magic against Balor… it was too much for your mortal body to take. You're… you're not human anymore. Getting your magic back, it…"

He trailed off. I wet my lips but said nothing. I had been so focused on my parents and what would happen now that I didn't pay much attention to myself. But now I felt it, that easy power flowing through my veins. The crow inside, nesting happily. I felt comfortable in my own skin. I couldn't remember the last time I felt like this.

"Yes," I whispered. "I can tell now. I'm one of the Tuatha again. So… this means I'll stop aging, doesn't it? But my humanity is still here. It's more than just physical form. I'm still me."

"You're still you," he agreed. "And I love you."

I smiled, loving hearing those words after so long. "I love you, too."

Finvarra caught the chain on my swing and pulled me over to him. We kissed, chastely at first but with growing passion. Flames leaped alive in my belly, my skin tingling with desire. I was going to have to figure out how to tell Mom and Dad that I'd been dating him for almost three thousand years here, soon. But for the moment, I melted into his arms and cared about nothing else.

There was a lot to do in this world. So-called changelings were abused by society, and that had to change. There had to be a better relationship between humans and the Sidhe and other magical races. Eventually, Finvarra and I would have to return to the Daoine Sidhe, but that could wait. I had earned a break to get to know my parents again.

We started swinging together, our happiness tasting like sunshine in my mouth.

*****

THE END

The Highlander's Fantasy

Description

“I canna promise we'll come out of this alive and together, Katherine Rose. If nothing else, we will have tonight.”

Katherine Rose has inherited a house in Scotland from a great-grandfather she never knew. She wants to sell it and go back to her job in forensic reconstruction in America. But then she stumbles upon a tarnished silver badge that transports her back to the year 1630...

... and into the arms of the handsome, brave Highlander Thomas Morrison. Thomas comes from the year 2795. In that time, a massive war has wiped out most of humanity and if the Clan Rose doesn’t stop the war, all of humanity will be lost.

The only way the war can be stopped is when Katherine and Thomas work together.

The plan is straightforward. All they need to do is find the one person who can unite the world in peace. The only problem is that that person is a princess who died just shy of two years old in 1687.

With all the time in the world and history working against them, Katherine and Thomas must use their creativity and strength to pull off an act that seems impossible.

And as if fighting time isn’t enough, Katherine finds that she is drawn to Thomas with a passion she has never known before. Will they be able to keep their cool and save the world? And is there a place for love, or will time separate them once again?

Chapter One

2016

The wool cloth was heavier than I expected. It was faded, the color a dusky gray with a hint of red, rather than the vivid scarlet it had once been. It was blocked off into squares by a white thread (now gray-brown with age), with stripes of blue (now a slightly darker gray) intersecting these. It was a beautiful piece of cloth, despite its age. Or maybe because of it.

Tartan , I reminded myself, mentally reciting what I had read off the internet when I had first decided to come to Scotland. Tartan: a cloth woven in a plaid pattern. Each particular pattern is linked to a specific Scottish clan. 'Plaid' was also used as a word for cloaks and clothing, not just the pattern of the tartan.

I wrapped the long tartan around my shoulders like a blanket. It had only been a few weeks since my great-grandfather had died, leaving me his property in Scotland, a little acreage in the middle of the forest a fair distance from the city of Nairn. I hadn't even known that my great-grandfather was alive until after he had died, let alone that we had family property in Scotland. But apparently I was his last living descendant, and he knew about me.

My grandfather had immigrated to America during World War Two. He died when I was a little girl, and all I remembered of him was his accent, which was thick and powerful, coupled with a booming voice which scared me so much I hid in my room every time he came to visit.

Now, as I looked at myself in the mirror, wrapped in the tartan that had belonged to his father, I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened between the two of them. Why were they so estranged that I had never even heard about this place?

The tartan didn't look quite right, so I rearranged it, flinging one end over my shoulder and pulling it up over my head. Katherine of Clan Rose. That was who I was.

Or was it? I was born in America and didn't really know anything about Scotland except kilts and bagpipes. After learning about my inheritance here, I had begun researching my genealogy, and was shocked to learn that I still had a good amount of distant relatives here. They even had a castle, Kilravock. It really was a romantic place. I had spent hours reading about it to sate my curiosity.

Contacting those relatives was something that interested me, but I wasn't sure what to expect from them. Maybe it would be better to just quietly sell the house I'd inherited and return to America, to my job in forensic reconstruction, giving faces back to the long-dead. It wasn't exactly what I had had in mind when I started to pursue a career as an artist, but it paid the bills. Someday I'd do something I actually enjoyed.

At the moment, though, I decided that the watery light filtering through the windows was perfect for a picture. The tartan, paired with the wool skirt and peasant blouse I had chosen to wear that day, made me look like I had just strolled off the page of a history book. I whipped my cellphone out of my pocket for a selfie. After taking a moment to find the right pose, I snapped a picture.

I looked even better in the photo than I did in the mirror. I'd dropped my phone a few days ago, resulting in all the pictures it took having an almost sepia tone. Everything in the picture was zapped of color, but the tartan was even more crimson than it was in real life. I liked it so much I took another with a slightly different pose.

When I looked at the second picture, my heart began pounding.

Behind me stood a man. Tall, wearing a red kilt and dirty white shirt, he was a shadowy, faded figure, blurred and out of focus except for the stunning blue eyes staring at me. I whipped around, but there was nobody else in the huge, empty room. I had heard no footsteps, hadn't even seen anybody in the mirror or cell phone as I prepared to take the picture.

An amused whisper brushed against my ears. My prickly Rose .

"Hello?" I called instinctively. "Whoever is there, this isn't funny!"

There was no answer. I pulled the tartan off, going to the window to see if there was anybody out there. A tickly feeling rose on the back of my neck like I was being watched. But unlike when I watched horror movies and felt like I was about to be attacked by zombies, this feeling wasn't menacing. It was just there . A little uncomfortable, but nothing more than that.

I pulled out my cellphone again and snapped a few pictures of the room, but they all turned up empty. The kilted man was still in the original picture, though. I shivered, grabbing the bag with all my camera equipment in it. Talking a stroll through the woods seemed like a good idea.

Just my luck , I thought, as I slung my equipment on my back and picked up the duffle bag full of all the neat old stuff I'd found throughout the house. I've inherited a haunted house.

***

The forests here were different than the ones I was used to back in America. Everything was green with moss; it was growing on all the fallen logs, and even inching up the live trees. Back home I'd expect dry, white-blue lichens. Even the pine scent of the dense foliage was different, damper somehow, filled with the promise of ancient mysteries.

Or maybe it was just that this was part of my heritage, while my family lines weren't very old in the Americas. Here, though… my ancestors had once strolled through these woods. If I closed my eyes and listened hard enough, I could imagine the sounds of musket fire and clashing swords echoing through the trees.

It had rained overnight and water dripped onto my head from the canopy overhead as I set up my camera. I didn't know how long I'd be staying in Scotland, or if I'd ever be back, but it spoke to my artistic side. The dappled sunlight coming through the leaves helped to relax me from the leftover jitters that the ghost had given me.

Given my line of work, I generally wasn't spooked easily, but ghosts, even if I didn't think it was a threatening ghost, were not exactly conducive to concentrating on having a vacation. I wanted to get away from dead people for a while.

I wonder if he was my great-grandfather.

My mother had always scoffed at my father's superstitious nature, but he had passed his love of the supernatural on to me. We loved to visit supposedly haunted mansions and parks. More than once we’d actually seen the ghosts, moving from one room to another, going about their business as if they were still alive.

If Dad was still alive, he'd love to visit this old place.

He would probably spend hours trying to figure out who my new ghost was: his name and story, maybe even why he had stuck around on this mortal plane. A smile tugged at my lips. I just hoped the ghost hasn't been around when I was changing my clothes!

It was probably some sort of glitch in my phone , I thought sadly. But if he shows up again, I'll have to figure out what to do.

After my camera was set up, I arranged the tartan around myself again and rifled through my duffle bag. This was all my great-grandfather's stuff that I was keeping, no matter if I sold the house or not. A smoking pipe, an ancient dirk (which I tucked into my belt), a pair of worn leather shoes. I intended to check to see just how old it all was, but at the moment I wanted to take some pictures.

Finally, I found what I was looking for. It was a small box, pine or maybe spruce, carved with the image of a rose. Underneath the flower was a banner which read 'constant and true'. It was the motto of the Rose family–or clan. I wasn't sure exactly what to call my extended family, despite my brief research online. I just wasn't all that familiar with Scottish culture.

Another reason why I ought to contact my family here. It might not be my culture, but it is my heritage.

I brushed aside the thought, opening the box. Inside was a tarnished silver badge.

It looked ancient, with patches of black and bronze obscuring the image engraved on it. Without my research and seeing the Rose Clan's badge online, I doubt I would have ever guessed that it was a harp, surrounded by a circle made of a belt. The motto would be written across the top. The words were too old and covered in tarnish to read now. A professional jeweler might be able to clean it up. I liked the ancient feel of it, though.

I admired the badge for a moment, wondering if one of my ancestors, as tall as a tree with shoulders as broad as a barn, had worn this as he shouted war chants while rushing at his enemy, brandishing a broadsword, his crimson kilt stained with blood. I ran my thumb over the faded harp.

The instant I touched it, a hurricane grabbed me and turned my brain inside out.

Everything spun around me and I stumbled, falling to my knees. My stomach churned. Sweat broke out across the back of my neck, but in the next second, it was over. I flopped into the cool ferns, gulping in deep breaths as I tried to reorient myself. Physically I felt fine, if a bit winded, but my brain was still in the hurricane, trying to make sense of what had happened to it.

Eventually, I lifted my head to see that the forest around me had changed. The trees were bigger, roots snaking out every which way. I lay on a hill that hadn't been there moments before, and a rock I'd never seen was close by my head.

I stumbled to my feet. My duffle bag and camera were nowhere to be seen. The tartan was still wrapped around me, but rather than a faded piece of cloth, it was a brilliant shade of crimson, shot through with pearly white and striking dark blues. It felt finer, too, less roughened with age. The badge in my hand was still tarnished. I pinned it to my skirt with trembling hands.

What had just happened? I scrubbed my face. Was this a dream, or had I been drugged and dragged out to the middle of nowhere? Had I eaten something funny and stumbled around the forest in a delirium?

Fishing my cellphone out of my pocket, I saw there was no signal. Great. Not only had I had some sort of blackout, but I had no way of calling for help.

Hesitantly I made my way forward, listening to a silence so deep it unnerved me. A fine mist hung everywhere. It was prime real estate for a werewolf attack, if I believed in such things. Which I didn't .

There was a gap between two trees ahead of me, and passing through them, I found myself standing on the cusp of a little hill. Below me was a winding dirt road. A man was walking along this road, his footsteps heavy, tired-looking. He stopped when he saw me, eyes widening. I stared back at him. He wore a rough shirt, black, with large sweat rings under the arms, and a pair of black trousers. A coat, also black, was slung over his arm, and a weird, squarish hat sat on his head.

I saw a flash of movement in the trees on the other side of the gully. A man, tall as an oak tree and just as broad, crept out of the trees. He wore a red kilt and a giant broadsword at his side, and even from this distance I could see that his eyes were a stunning shade of blue.

And he was pointing a gun at the man on the road.

I screamed, "Look out!"

Chapter Two

The man on the road whirled as the gun went off. He jumped to one side. A spray of dirt exploded from where he had been standing. His attacker snarled, rushing down as he drew his broadsword. Those blue eyes flickered to me and he stumbled. The mistake cost him. The man on the road was already running, and unweighted by weapons, quickly outpaced his attacker. The red-kilted man slowed and stopped, mumbling under his breath.

He turned to me, then. His skin was paler than I had expected, his hair so black that it made him look almost ghostlike. A dirty, homespun shirt clung to him, damp, showing off his sculpted muscles. His arms were thick enough to be able to crush me like a twig. Those blue eyes pierced right through me as he sheathed his broadsword again.

My breath caught as he started up the hill towards me.

Even though I still couldn't believe this was really happening, I also couldn't stop the fear from flooding me. I turned and ran, my sneakers sinking into the mossy forest. The tartan still wound around me snagged on trees as I barreled through them. But as fast as I was, the man in the kilt was faster. In seconds he was on me.

Thick arms wrapped around my waist and I screamed, scratching at his arms. My attacker let out a surprised noise and attempted to grab my wrists, inadvertently releasing me. I bolted and he grabbed me around the waist again.

"Will ye stop that, ye daft woman?"

The annoyance in his voice made me redouble my efforts, and I threw my head back, cracking it against his nose. He stumbled backward, dragging me with him, and said something in a language I didn't know. Gaelic?

"Stop that!" He whirled me around and pushed me against a nearby tree. His blue eyes narrowed into slits. He gripped my wrists as blood poured from his nose. "I canna believe they'd send me someone like ye. Ye've ruined it all, ye ken that?"

What was he talking about? He didn't seem like he was going to hurt me, though, so I stopped fighting. He grunted, passing his gaze over me as he released me and shook his head. His fingers plucked at my tartan and he let out another grunt.

"What's this, then? Ye of the Clan Rose, yet ye come dressed like that ?"

"Were you expecting me?" The question was out before I realized I didn't care. "Who are you? Where am I?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "Ye're American."

I tugged my wrists free of him and moved away, folding my arms. I remembered the dirk in my waistband, but he was so quick and strong I doubted I would have time to retrieve it. My fingers still itched to try.

"Ye dinna ken?"

I scrambled around my brain to make sure I was understanding him right. My father would occasionally say things like 'ken' instead of 'know' but it wasn't like I knew anything about Scottish speech patterns, and that was without even thinking of the various regional dialects there would be. I took a deep breath.

"My name is Katherine Rose. I just inherited a house near Nairn—"

The man held up his hand, stopping me. "What year are ye from?"

What year ? My eyes nearly bugged from my head as I stuttered my answer. "It's 2016."

He scrubbed a hand over his chin, which seemed remarkably well-shaved, and shook his head, a flash of understanding coming to his bright blue eyes. "Ye weren't sent."

"Sent by who ?"

He ignored my question, wiping blood from his nose. He gave me a wry smile and bowed. "Thomas Morrison at your service, lass. We'll have to get ye some more appropriate clothes. Ye'll be burnt as a witch if ye go around walking with rubber soles on your feet. Ye look all wrong… did ye ken what ye were doing?"

I looked down at my sneakers. I noticed that he wore leather shoes stitched up around his ankles, under which were thick stockings that clung to his well-shaped calves. His tartan was red like mine, but with a different pattern. It had thicker white stripes, with black lines and squares making up the plaid, rather than my blue. I wondered how significant these differences were, and almost asked before I remembered that I had seen him try to kill a man. He was not a friend, and the sooner I got away, the better.

He smiled as I backed away from him, and shrugged. "Ye have the look of a rabbit that dinna yet realize it's in the fox's jaws."

It was a pretty good expression of how I felt. There was a niggling at the back of my mind that said I already knew what was happening, but the words that had popped into my head were so impossible that I refused to give them any credence. Instead, I lifted my chin, trying to look braver than I felt, and asked the question that was more pressing than anything else.

"Why were you trying to kill that man?"

If he had a good reason, maybe I didn't have to be afraid. He was very good-looking… What am I thinking? I must be in shock.

"He was a lynchpin."

I blinked, the word coming as a surprise to me in this setting. A frown crossed my face. "Lynchpin?"

"The man was traveling as a priest, but he isn't one." Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the bleeding. I felt a little bad seeing the damage I had done before reminding myself that I had just stopped a murder. "He'll go to a tavern this night and get himself killed by a lad by the name Macdonald for groping his sister. The lad'll be hanged on the morrow."

I blinked. A dreadful feeling squeezed my insides, and I struggled to pull in a proper breath. Thomas couldn’t know what he was telling me. Ghosts, I believed in. Psychics? Not so much. And yet he spoke with such certainty… was he mad? Or was that honor reserved for me, the one who found herself believing it?

By saving that man's life, had I just condemned another to die?

"If Macdonald had lived, he would have met Mary of Modena when she arrived from Italy to join her husband James the Seventh–or Second, if ye prefer the English title. The two would have fallen in love and fled back to Italy, preventing the birth of James Francis Edward."

I pressed myself against the tree, trying not to believe the insanity pouring from the Highlander's mouth. It couldn’t be real. And yet…

"Without the birth of a Catholic heir to follow James, the so-called glorious rebellion could be avoided," Thomas smiled at me again. The blood had stopped flowing down his face, but what lingered there was dark red and made him look possessed. "Welcome to 1630, Katherine Rose."

***

1630

I was convinced in equal parts that Thomas was crazy or I was. Even after he procured more 'suitable' clothing for me, I wasn't sure if I should believe anything that was happening. I could be hallucinating, unconscious, or in a coma. Time travel couldn't happen, certainly not with the unexpectedness that I had experienced it.

Thomas burned the clothes I had been wearing, right down to my sneakers. In the end, it was what my new clothes smelled like that convinced me he was telling the truth: soap and wood smoke, with an undeniable hint of lingering body odor. No hallucinations could possibly be that detailed. At least, I didn't think they could be.

We walked for at least two days, though it felt far longer to me, until my feet were blistered. I was still trying to wrap my head around what had happened to me.

When we finally came to our destination, I was so relieved that our trek was over that I couldn’t keep denying that I was in another century. With my acceptance of that fact came a sense of relief, and my natural curiosity bubbled to the surface.

It was a huge stone building, several stories high, with a multitude of windows build into the bricks. Dark shingles covered the multiple slanted roofs, and a box-like tower stood to one side of the main building.

Kilravock Castle. I recognized it from my online research. The home of the Rose Clan's baron–or laird, as they were more likely to call the master of the castle these days. Or were they? Was there a difference? My brow furrowed, but I dismissed that problem. The castle looked a little different from the pictures I'd seen, but this was definitely it.

1630. The current laird would be one of the Hughs. There were a lot of them… I frowned as I mentally went over the list. Finally, I found the right one.

Hugh Rose, 12th of Kilravock. 1577-1643 . My direct ancestor.

My head spun and I stumbled. Thomas caught me by the elbow and helped me along. How could I be in 1630, about to meet my great-great-great… however many greats-grandfather? But even as my mind rebelled against the possibility, my natural curiosity was piqued. I hadn't been able to find out much about him, except that he married a Margaret Fraser and had three children, two girls and one Hugh.

There were a lot of people working around the castle, and I openly stared at them. The men wore homespun shirts and belted kilts, the women heavy-looking dresses. They all wore tartan plaids, although the women's were brighter, with bolder patterns than the men’s. A fine rain drizzled from the sky, making everything look a little damp.

Inside the castle was dark, but warmer than outside, and thankfully dry. It had been misty or raining ever since I had arrived in this time, and I was beginning to wonder if I was going to grow moss like the trees and rocks we passed. Thomas ushered me deep inside the castle, occasionally murmuring words of greeting to passing people. Their stink made my eyes water, although I sadly reflected I couldn't smell all that great, either.

Eventually, I found myself in a cozy study. A thick woven carpet was on the floor, and a merry fire crackled in the hearth. A great oak desk sat nearby and a chaise was on the opposite wall, next to an oil lamp and a shelf of books. I itched to go take a look at them, but the intimidating figure standing beside the fire froze me in my tracks.

He was shorter than I was, though not by much. His hair was black, shot with white, and there was a familiarity in his brow and jaw that reminded me of my father. Beside him was a woman who could have been my twin. She had dark hair, dark brown eyes and bowed lips, with a delicate curve to her chin that I always admired on myself.

"Thomas," the man greeted, his rumbling voice reminding me of a bear. "Were you successful?"

Thomas shook his head, a regretful look coming over his face. "I faced unforeseen difficulties, my laird."

So these people were Hugh and Margaret. My ancestors. I studied my distant great-grandmother, shocked by the similarities between us. Through all the time that separated us, we shouldn’t even be recognizable as being related. After all, it had been hundreds of years, with generations of other genes introduced into my genealogy. And yet we were practically identical!

I realized the laird and his lady were both staring at me by this time and I flushed. Was I meant to curtsy?

"My laird, my lady, may I introduce Katherine Rose, from the year of our Lord 2016," Thomas said, putting a hand on my lower back.

Hugh's eyes sharpened as he looked me over again. "Strange. I have never heard of one traveling outside the castle."

Chapter Three

Margaret insisted on dressing me in yet more new clothes. They were finer than the dress Thomas had produced for me, smelled better and consisted of a shift, skirt and bodice with an outer jacket that fit snugly and gave me shape. I thought I looked quite elegant. She would hear none of my arguments against wearing stays, however.

"Do ye want folk to think ye're a loose woman? Ye're of the Clan Rose, not a slut," she said firmly.

I wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, but she was so insistent that I inevitably gave in. Surprisingly, the stays were not cinched so tight that I couldn’t breathe. Rather, it felt more like I was wearing a tank top made of leather. It was uncomfortable but not unbearable, at least while I was standing.

The heavy, numerous skirts, however, were a real drag. I didn't know how anybody could do anything with that amount of fabric hanging off their bodies. No wonder women were thought to be a lot weaker than men during this time period. Given the extra weight on me, I felt winded climbing the stairs.

After I was 'properly' dressed, Margaret led me back to her husband's study, and we both sat on the chaise while the men stood. My cell phone sat comfortably in my hand, the only reminder I had that I wasn't from this time. Without it, I might have wondered if I was crazy, dreaming about cars and planes and other things that seemed completely inconceivable in this time. Hugh seemed quite intrigued by the phone, but other than asking what it was called, he pretended it didn't exist.

"Well, it seems that we have some talking to do," Thomas said, keeping his eyes on me.

I nodded. "You seemed to expect that I wasn't from around here when we met. Where… When are you from?"

"I was born in the year 2765."

My jaw dropped. I was over seven hundred years older than him?

"The Clan Rose have always been travelers," Hugh said. "Our family has a sacred duty to prevent wars and destruction, to follow the tides of time and redirect the flow when necessary."

"I was sent back by the Rose Clan," Thomas added. "I was born at the tail end of a massive, destructive war that we hoped could be prevented."

"Over a thousand years earlier?" My eyes must have been wide as saucers.

Thomas nodded. "The seeds started now. Time is a slippery thing. Tracing back the origins of a disaster is a difficult thing to do."

I swallowed, making myself nod like I understood. "But I just found out that I was from… well, not that I have Scottish ancestry, but that I had family that was fairly…" I wasn't sure what I was saying, so in a rush, I explained everything: my great-grandfather, inheriting his house, researching my heritage. Both Hugh and Margaret nodded when I said I was their descendant, like they had expected that.

When I was done, Hugh took a moment, looking at the badge now pinned to my tartan. He shook his head. "I dinna ken what to answer ye. I was not granted the magic, though my sister, Katherine, like ye, and my wee Agnes both have the gift. Neither are here a'the moment, and I suspect young Thomas is eager to return to his own time. But ye have been sent to us for a reason. Go with him and ye may learn why."

A pang of disappointment hit me. I wanted to stay, at least for a little while. I wanted to get to know these people, how they lived, what their thoughts and feelings on things were. Did Hugh and Margaret love each other, or was it an arranged marriage? How many of their other descendants had they met? Had they ever met my great-grandfather?

"Come with me, lass," Thomas said, holding his hand out to me. "Ye'll get your answers where we'll be going."

I sighed and nodded. Finding out why I had randomly traveled through time, when Thomas and Hugh both seemed to think it had to take concentrated effort, was more important than sating my curiosity. And after we knew that, perhaps I could return, and ask all the questions that were burning in my mind.

Thomas' hand was rough with callouses, but it held a warmth and solidarity that helped ease some tension from my body. He drew me in and wrapped his plaid around me, pulling me even closer, until our faces were so close I thought he was going to kiss me.

Honestly, after everything that had happened, I almost hoped he would. Kisses I understood. Maybe a quick peck would help me get more accustomed to this whole situation…

"Be warned, lass," he said. "Traveling again so soon is not for the weak of heart."

I wasn't sure what to make of that statement, but I nodded seriously. "How do you travel? Do you click your heels together three times?"

Apparently, they didn't have The Wizard of Oz in the future. Thomas’ brows knit. As I began to explain, the hurricane took me again. This time was better, because I had Thomas' arms around me, anchoring me to something. It was worse, though, because I knew what to expect and dreaded it. If it weren't for having my arms around him, I would have spun out of control. And somehow I knew that would mean death.

***

2795

Landing wasn't the right word for when we stopped, but I didn't know of a better term to use for when I felt solid floor beneath my feet again. I clutched at Thomas, breathing in the clean, soapy scent of him. Funny… he looked so dirty, yet he had none of the smell that I associated with unwashed body.

He put an arm around my waist, supporting me. When I pulled myself together and looked up at his face he grinned, eyes twinkling.

"I've never yet met a Rose that canna hold her travels."

I mustered up the dirtiest look I could. "Excuse me, that's only the second time I've ever done that."

"Aye. As I said. Most of us that have that little experience would be puking up our guts right about now."

"Oh," I mumbled. I was feeling nauseous, but I never got sick easily. Once I had eaten three hot dogs and two milkshakes before going on a roller coaster. I’d got a little woozy, but nothing more than that. It was helpful in these circumstances.

"Well, we'd best report in. Our Maggie the Seventh should have an idea of what to do with ye."

Maggie the Seventh. Interesting. "Will we meet the laird, too?"

"There are no lairds, not anymore." A dark look passed over Thomas' face, but he shook his head, leading me from the study. "It's odd that we haven't had a welcoming party."

"Your speech…" I blushed as he looked at me. "The way you phrase things is strange to me. Like, it's a mix of what I'm used to and what I'm not used to. It's odd."

"Not as odd as that accent of yours."

"I'm American." I flushed, feeling almost like I should apologize for that fact. I tossed my hair back, glaring at him. "What's wrong with that?"

Thomas' eye gleamed. He opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment a group of men turned the corner. They were shirtless, all with strong, muscular bodies, paint streaking their faces and chests. Every one of them wore kilts, though theirs were more blue and green, rather than the red Thomas and I had. Each held a broadsword that glowed with a slight blue light.

Thomas shoved me behind him, ripping his sword from his belt as the men charged at us.

"Run!"

There was no way I was getting anywhere in these stupid stays and heavy skirts. I'd trip for sure. Besides, I wasn't leaving Thomas alone. I pulled my dirk out of my pocket and retreated back into the study. Had I seen a sword over the mantelpiece? Yes!

In the corridor the clash of swords rang out, filling the walls with a loud din. It made me shudder, but I wasted no time–Thomas might be strong, but he was facing a dozen men. I sliced at the ties in my stays, then cut away the outer layers of my skirt before I grabbed the sword.

It was lighter than I expected, and as soon as I grasped the hilt, the same blue energy that had been around the other swords surrounded it. There was a slight vibration to it, and with a shout, I charged back into the corridor.

Thomas was surrounded by men, holding his own for now, but there were too many of them. One of them whirled behind him, kicking his leg. He fell with a grunt of pain, and a second man clubbed him in the face. They turned at my approach. I slashed at the nearest one; he easily dodged my blow, and when I followed it up, he blocked it.

All eyes were locked on me. None of them moved to attack–because I was a woman? I screamed, swinging my sword. One of the men reached to grab me, but I brought the sword down. He howled, withdrawing. I stabbed at another man.

By this time Thomas was back on his feet, though blood trickled down his face. Planting his feet firmly, he joined me in my frenzy. Bit by bit, we drove the attackers back. Some part of my mind realized that they were oddly reluctant to harm me, but I ignored it. When Thomas stumbled, the whole lot of them turned and fled.

"And don't come back!" I screamed, stomping my feet and hollering.

Thomas regained his feet, wincing as he leaned against the wall. I turned to him, assessing his injuries. His face was a mess, but other than that, he had only suffered a few scrapes. Relief flooded me. I ripped a piece of cloth from the tattered remains of my skirt so he could stem the flow of blood from his nose.

"Well, lass, ye're a lucky one."

"Lucky?" I repeated.

His glance went to the broadsword that I had dropped to the floor. A grin crossed his face.

"Ye could have gotten me killed. Having to defend ye as well as myself? Have ye ever used a sword before?"

Blushing, I shook my head.

He shrugged. "Lucky," he repeated. "Lucky they weren't interested in killing either of us. But ye're a tenacious lass, and for that, ye have my respect. Now, my prickly Rose. Let's find out what's happening here and why the Macdonalds were attacking us."

Chapter Four

Trees were encroaching on the castle. Pines bigger than anything I had seen before surrounded the stone structure like ancient guards. They reached so high they blocked out the sun. Thomas assured me that nearly all the Highlands now had days of permanent dusk from the growth of these trees. When I asked how they could have grown so big in the few hundred years since I lived, he just shrugged.

"We dinna have the science to really explain that anymore," he admitted. "In the 2600s, the digital age collapsed, and we no longer ken how to build things like combustion engines and guns. We still have certain weapons, like the sword you used, that are relics of ancient times and have some sort of internal power source, but that's all. There are teams of scientists who go back to find technology to rebuild it, but…"

That would account for the gas lanterns that lined the corridors. I followed him through the empty castle, unnerved by the silence here even more than I had been by the forests in 1630. I kept expecting more highland warriors to jump out at us, but everything seemed empty. The walls were in a state of disrepair, moss lining cracks in the stone.

"So what's your mission?" I asked. "The reason you wanted to prevent James Edward Charles from being born?"

"James Francis Edward," he corrected. "And it wasn't that I dinna want him to be born, but we tracked it back, and the glorious revolution…" Here he shook his head and a dark look crossed his face. "Well, it's complicated. History would be significantly different if it were to never happen."

"How?"

"I told ye about the war. The digital collapse dinna destroy nuclear weapons, and the year I was born, they were set off. Wiped out almost ninety percent of the population. The remnants of us are now a collection of warring tribes and clans. I've seen the future. In a century, humans will no longer exist."

We continued on. I shivered as I considered what Thomas had told me, but even as I did, a resolution built in me. Maybe this whole situation was completely messed up, but there were a few things that I knew with absolute certainty: I believed everything Thomas had said, and I would do whatever I needed in order to stop that awful future from happening.

My resolve hardened as I thought about this beautiful planet. I wanted to protect it, and so I would.

Eventually, we entered a cool, dark cellar. Thomas shifted some wine barrels and pressed his thumb to a black stone in the wall. It glowed red, and the wall appeared to dissolve. Wow . With his broadsword and kilt and the gas lanterns that lit our way, it looked like magic. Maybe it was magic since he had said they didn't have much technology anymore.

"Holographic projection," Thomas explained, beckoning to me.

I stepped into the room. My eyes widened. Computers lined the walls, all running calculations. In the center of the room was a chair surrounded by a glass orb. A woman with brown skin and oval eyes glanced our way. She rushed to Thomas, embracing him.

"Where's Maggie?" he asked.

"She's talking with the Mackenzies, asking for support against the marauders. Ye saw the Macdonalds? Third time this week we were attacked." She shook her head and turned to me. "And who might this be?"

"Katherine Rose, 2016. Katherine, I'd like ye to meet my sister, Ruby."

"Pleased to meet you," I replied automatically, though I was still staring around in awe at the room. "I never would have thought you'd have technology like this in here when you have gas lanterns out there."

"We have to keep our levels of technology under wraps, or the other clans will accuse us of witchcraft. Most of the Roses were killed, ye ken, during the Witch Fever of 2541." Ruby turned to her brother. "2016?"

He nodded. "She traveled, but she dinna ken how she did it."

Ruby nodded and pulled me into a separate room. She had me explain everything that had happened in detail and then took the badge from me. She slipped it into some sort of scanner. After reading the results, she handed it back to me.

"It's imbued with Time Energy," she said. "I dinna ken why. It's similar to the one we use to power our travels. All our travelers have an implant, ye ken, connected to a Rose badge we keep powered through the building of the castle."

"It's why we need to be inside the walls to travel," Thomas explained to me. He turned to his sister. "But how did it send the lass back?"

"Ye're a Rose, maybe it activated when ye touched it."

"But what is it?"

Ruby made a face that said she wasn't happy with her lack of knowledge. "Maggie suspects our badge was sent to us from the future. We canna travel past a hundred years in the future, ye ken. We think it must be from then, sent back so we can stop this war from happening."

"How?"

Ruby shook her head. "I'll have to consult with Maggie when she returns. In the meantime, brother, take the Rose to a room. She looks like she's about to fall down."

Thomas nodded and offered his arm to me. I hadn't realized just how tired I was until that moment. I expected to be taken back upstairs, but instead Thomas led me to yet another room down in this hidden cellar. It was bare except for a cot, which I gratefully sat on. I wrapped my tartan around my shoulders and smiled shyly at him.

"Can you sit with me for a while? It's a lot to take in."

He nodded and sat. "What would ye like to talk about?"

"My prickly Rose," I blurted.

Thomas raised a brow.

"You called me 'my prickly Rose' before."

"Aye."

"Well, it's not the first time I heard that." I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and flipped to the picture I had taken with the blurred man behind me. I held my breath. The blue eyes in the picture were the same striking blue eyes now staring at me. "I think it was your ghost."

Thomas studied the photo for a moment. "I'm not certain I believe in ghosts. Maybe it's a time bleed. Ye say this happened hours before ye fell through time?"

I nodded.

"Aye, that's it then. Ye were seeing what was yet to happen. No ghosts." He gave me a crooked grin that had my heart fluttering. "More likely, I'll be standing in your house someday. Nothing to be worried about."

"I wasn't worried. About the ghost, I mean." My heart continued to flutter. "My dad and I both could see ghosts, you know. I mean, I always thought they were ghosts. But maybe they were just time bleeds like you said… we were seeing people who lived in another time…"

I couldn’t really think about the ghosts anymore, not when he was so close, looking at me with his beautiful eyes set deep in his strong, pale face. He and Ruby must only be half-siblings or something. I swallowed hard, inching forward unconsciously.

Thomas' gaze flickered to my lips, making my cheeks flame. Was it because he could see what I wanted, or was he feeling the same draw? As an artist, I knew I tended to romanticize things, and it wouldn't be the first time that I had misread signals that didn't actually mean anything.

This time, I wasn't wrong at all.

Thomas bent, his lips briefly brushing against mine. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. The Highlander drew back, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his dark hair, mussing it up adorably. I longed to run my fingers through that curly mop but forced myself not to, instead folding them into my lap.

"I'm sorry," I said automatically, though I knew I didn't actually have anything to be sorry about.

"Dinna be," he said gently. "I'd like nothing more than to kiss ye until ye canna speak anything but my name. But it's the time." A wry smile crossed his face. "I canna let myself be distracted, ye ken. Not when the world's at stake."

I nodded, trying to hide my disappointment. "I understand."

"Will ye be alright now, lass?"

"Yes. Thank you."

His fingers gently brushed my cheek and then he was gone. I sighed in disappointment and flopped onto the bed, wrapping my tartan around myself like a blanket. It was going to be difficult to sleep tonight.

Chapter Five

Maggie the Seventh was the last of the Roses and had once been their most effective time traveling agent. Now, she was grey-haired and wrinkled, with clouded eyes and a hunched back. When I first saw her, I thought she looked more like a grandmother than anything else, tucked into a wheelchair with a crocheted afghan around her knees. Was it the traveling or just age that had done this to her?

As soon as I was brought before her, she straightened and peered at me with a frown on her face.

"Katherine Rose, eh?" Her accent was as North American as mine, which I found oddly comforting. "I've been wondering when you'd show up."

"You expected me?"

"Yes. And yet you happened to go back and unwittingly interfere with our attempts to change Scotland's history in the seventeenth century."

She had a strong voice despite her physical frailty. I noticed that she was wearing the Rose badge on her breast.

"I'm sorry. I didn't even know I could time travel until Thomas explained."

"Hmmm. Well, it only proves what I suspected all along. That's one point of history time won't let us change. That's how it works sometimes. Our best efforts are in vain because time chooses a random messenger to interfere with our interference. You wouldn't believe how many times I tried to stop Rwanda. In the end, we can only do what we can do, and save the lives we can save. Which is why we are no longer going to attempt to prevent this war."

It took me a moment to realize what she meant. My whole body stiffened, and beside me, Ruby and her pale brother both protested. Maggie gazed at us all calmly until we had quieted enough to let her finish. She folded bony hands over her lap and locked eyes with Thomas.

"We have to work with history and war sometimes. So we will not prevent the war that started this apocalypse–rather, we will end it sooner. I will give you the details later…" She glanced at me, and I had a feeling that she was going to tell Thomas something about me that I wasn't supposed to know yet. "In the meantime, you and Katherine here will be sent back for another mission."

I suddenly wondered if I was looking at one of my descendants. The thought had me shivering. I wasn't even certain I wanted to have kids, and I certainly didn't have a significant other. I was almost thirty, and there had been a time when I thought that I would have a dozen babies and a hard-working husband when I got to that age.

Thank goodness I outgrew that!

Maggie gestured to Thomas, who took up a position behind her and wheeled her towards the other side of the room. Ruby and I followed her with a frown, me with unbridled curiosity. What could I learn about my heritage and future here? I burned to ask more questions but now didn't seem like the best time for it.

We have lives to save, I reminded myself.

"Queen Anne Stuart. Born February 6, 1665, died August 1, 1714." Maggie typed something on the keyboard that Thomas had wheeled her to and the image of a pale-skinned, dark-haired woman in a low-cut gold dress wrapped in a royal purple cloak appeared on the computer screen. "She became the queen of England, Scotland and Ireland on March 8, 1702. She was the last of the Stuart monarchs. Her father, James the Second and Seventh, was Catholic, but at that time it was common for girls to live away from their fathers, and so her uncle had her raised Anglican."

Maggie turned to face me. I nodded to show that I was paying attention, and she smiled.

I have cousins still in Scotland. She's a Rose, but that doesn't mean that I'm her great-great-great grandmother.

"Queen Anne's first live born child, Mary, died February 8, 1687. Smallpox. You need to go back and preserve her until we can retrieve her to be sent back to the right time when she can be presented as a queen and end the war before it reaches its most disastrous proportions."

I wasn't entirely certain what Maggie was saying. A frown creased my brow and I shook my head. "How will a princess from the 1600s end a war in…" Centuries apart. How could one person do that?

"The wars started because the monarchies were dead all over the world." At my stunned expression, Maggie nodded to Thomas, and he turned to me.

It took me a moment to remember what we were trying to do, I was so lost in his gaze. He was so handsome and had such a strong, determined face. Looking at him, I knew that he would do whatever was necessary to stop this apocalyptic world from happening. Maybe, after we had succeeded, distractions wouldn't be such a big deal anymore… I knew I would like to get to know him better.

"Ye live in a time when democracy is generally thought of as one of the most positive forms of rule, but systems of government are constantly in flux. Given the right circumstances, anything can end badly. All governments can be corrupt. Rigged elections, certain members of office declaring martial law… eventually, it all descends into chaos. Before the war, there were certain groups that felt all monarchies should be wiped out, and went from country to country, killing anybody with a claim to any throne. Well, a few years after that, mob rule destroyed everything. Heads of state turned against each other."

"Because there were no kings and queens?" I shook my head. I had always found the idea of being a princess romantic but had never thought monarchies were actually necessary–or even all that great. One person just shouldn’t have that much power.

"It's more complicated than that," Thomas admitted. "But if I'm reading Maggie's calculations right—"

"Having someone of royal blood emerge at just the right time would be able to unite various countries and prevent the worst of the war," Maggie interrupted. "As odd as it may sound to an American like you, whose democracy means everything to her, in this case, having young Mary to present as queen is our best bet at stopping the war from going nuclear."

I nodded, trying to understand, but it was all too much to wrap my head around. All I could do was trust my gut, as my dad always told me to do. It worried me a little that maybe it wasn't really my gut telling me to trust Thomas, but I did trust him. And if he trusted the rest of them, that was good enough for me.

"So we are going to go back in time again and kidnap a princess. That shouldn't be too hard." I shook my head. It was more likely that we were going to end up getting our heads chopped off. "When?"

Maggie gave me another wry grin. "It's more complicated than that, Katherine. History must remember that she died. Those who loved her must be given closure for their grief. So you must get to her on the day of her death and put her in stasis, so that for all intents and purposes, to the people of that day, she is dead. And then you must bring her back to the castle here and hide her. Transporting her through time when she has an illness like smallpox could spread it throughout all of history, causing it to resurface at any time. We have the technology to cure her when we reawaken her here."

"Okay." Nerves churned in my stomach. "What can go wrong?"

"Plenty." Thomas stepped up beside me, putting his hand on the small of my back. "I dinna like the idea of Katherine coming on this mission. She has no training in time travel."

"She's a Rose," Maggie replied, her voice a little sharper than I thought necessary. "She doesn't need it. But you can take a few days to teach her how to defend herself. I saw the security tapes of the Macdonalds’ attack. She needs to learn how to use a knife."

***

Several days later, I lay in my bed, physically so exhausted from self-defense training that I should have been sound asleep the second my head touched the pillow. I was too nervous, though. Thomas and I were being sent back on my first official mission the next day. We would arrive at the beginning of January 1687. That would give us enough time to travel from Kilravock Castle to London. Then we needed to infiltrate Windsor Castle, where young Princess Mary was slated to die from smallpox, just shy of two years old.

Except if we were successful, she wouldn’t die, and would become queen hundreds of years after her birth.

Why does it have to be a Stuart princess? I shook my head. Maggie had explained something about that, but I had been too nervous to pay attention. The politics all went over my head, anyway.

The door to my room creaked open. I pulled my dirk from under my pillow, but Thomas' voice softly called my name. With a sigh of relief, I sat up. He brought an oil lantern in with him and sat beside me. I really wanted distraction, and probably would have thrown myself at him if I wasn't so shy about his reaction.

"Tomorrow," I said.

He nodded, taking my hand in his. "Katherine, I ken ye're frightened, but I willna let anything happen to ye."

I wasn't so much frightened as nervous, but Thomas' reassurances made me feel better regardless, and I nodded, swallowing hard, as I squeezed his hand. "I know you won't."

His fingers brushed against my cheek, his piercing blue eyes locked on mine. "Good. Because while we're there, if I tell ye to go and leave me—"

"Not happening."

An annoyed look crossed his face.

"We go together, we return together." My grip on his hand tightened. "Deal, or we don't even do this."

Thomas studied me for a moment before he smiled and nodded. "Deal."

His lips were on mine before I had even registered he was going to kiss me. His mouth was hungry, his arms moving to embrace me. I pushed aside my worries for the morning and kissed him back, matching his passion with my own.

Chapter Six

Thomas moaned as he teased my lips open, deepening our kiss. My hands trembled as I pushed my tartan and badge aside. Thomas gently tugged my nightshirt up around my waist. It was all I needed to understand. I felt like I was in the middle of the hurricane that had shot me through time, but I pushed it aside, not thinking about the mission, my confusion, or my doubts. This was all that mattered, the connection I felt with him coming to bloom.

I tilted my head back as he moved from my mouth and focused on my neck. I gasped, swirls of heat tightening my stomach. My eyes slid shut.

"What happened to not having any distractions?"

"I spoke with Maggie," Thomas replied through his kisses. I found his belt and fumbled with the catch, our bodies so close together there wasn't much room to maneuver. "She told me that the only thing worse than distractions is regrets. I canna promise we'll come out of this alive and together, Katherine Rose. If nothing else, we will have tonight."

He urged me to lie down, helping me with his belt. I tugged his shirt over his head and he responded in kind, leaving us both exposed to each other. As he knelt between my legs, we took a moment to look over each other's bodies. He was even more beautiful than I had thought. His skin was smooth and taut, muscles hard and as defined as though they had been chiseled from marble. There was a light smattering of hair on his chest and in a line below his navel. Everything about him was big, and the heat inside me tightened even further.

His fingers lightly traced between my breasts, making me shiver. His eyes seemed to get even brighter. A grin broke over his face. One of his hands took mine, our fingers twining together, as the other slipped between my legs. I arched into him, just able to have the sense to grasp him and return the favor. The heat flowed through my body, and Thomas let his head fall back, moaning.

It didn't take too long before we were too impatient to wait any longer and we crashed together, making love in a frenzy for our first–and quite possibly last–time, when we could forget about all the troubles waiting for us outside this room.

"My prickly Rose," he whispered.

"My time-travelling highlander," I replied, and then we began moving together, our rhythm picking up until we could no longer speak.

***

1687

"I wish there was a way ye could tell us when we were getting visitors."

I woke to the sound of a deep, amused voice in my room. A voice that was not Thomas’. I gasped, knowing only that I was naked and that Thomas was naked beside me.

My thrashing as I tried to make sure I was covered was probably worse for my modesty than if I had laid still, but I was still half-asleep. My tartan twisted around me, the way it had been when I fell asleep, and as I scrambled to cover myself, my cell phone dropped from a pocket I had made for it.

Thomas grasped my shoulders, stilling me. Blinking, I peered up at the man who was staring down at us with an amused expression on his face.

"Hugh?" I blurted out before I saw the differences between the laird I had met and this man. His chin was slightly more elongated, his eyes a lighter shade and his style of clothing, while similar, was just different enough to indicate a different time.

"Hugh Rose, fifteenth laird of Kilravock." He bowed.

"Katherine Rose of 2016," I answered before Thomas could. I pulled the blankets a little higher. "And a distant granddaughter of yours, so it's completely inappropriate for you to be standing in a room where I am not fully dressed."

Hugh turned his back but didn't leave. "If ye do not have the courtesy of warning a man when he will have guests, then perhaps it is not I that is inappropriate, Mistress."

That's completely beside the point . I wanted to argue, but now was not the best time for it.

I almost said I hadn't even realized that we had traveled, but I didn't think lessening his faith in his descendants was a good move, especially not considering why we were here. I snatched up my cell phone and wrapped my tartan firmly around myself. The rest of our clothing had disappeared. Thomas raised a brow at me and I stared back.

What was Maggie thinking, sending us back like this?

Eventually, he smiled and explained to Hugh why we were there. It hit me suddenly that if Hugh the fifteenth was answering us now, it meant the Hugh I had met before was dead. A lump formed in my throat. He and Margaret had been so kind… I wanted to ask them so many questions…

Was this what time travel was? Meeting people once, and then never seeing them again?

After Thomas had given the highlights of what we were there for, Hugh was silent for a long time. He told us to stay where we were, then left. I was afraid he was going to throw us in the dungeons for suggesting that we should kidnap a princess, but soon after, he returned with clothing. I noticed that Thomas didn't protest that he was given a Clan Rose tartan instead of his Morrison colors, but then I realized how ridiculous it would be to quibble about something like that.

"When did we travel?" I asked Thomas, once Hugh was gone.

"I dinna ken. Maggie would not have sent us without preparation. It must be your powers that did it, Lady Rose. Did ye touch that badge?"

"I don't remember. And it's Katherine, not Lady Rose." I scowled.

We dressed quickly and were ushered to Hugh's study–the same room I had met the previous Hugh in. I blinked away sudden tears as I saw how similar and yet how different it was.

"I canna provide much help to ye at this moment," Hugh said seriously. "I can spare a map, a week's worth of food and a pocket or two of coin. If ye are determined this is your path, I ask ye not to wear Clan Rose colors. Scotland is divided, and Clan Rose would prefer to stay as neutral as possible, so we might survive should there be another war."

"Kilvarock is still in Clan Rose hands in my time," I assured him. "Fun fact, the Rose family is one of the only families in Scotland where the family line is clear from… well, this time to my time."

Hugh smiled, and looked a little sad. "But if anybody can ken how time changes, it is our family. I canna take risks."

"Of course." I pushed my hair behind my ear. "Don't worry, we'll do everything we can to minimize the–stasis!" My eyes widened as I stiffened, turning to Thomas. "We don't have the stasis thing that we need to keep Mary alive until we can cure her in the future!"

Thomas shook his head and reached into the pocket of my tartan. He pulled out what appeared to be a black sticker. "Maggie gave it to me before I came to bed last night. Ye just need to put this under the bairn's tongue and it will activate."

I took the sticker, fascinated. What century was it from? How did it work?

Hugh shook his head. "If our neighbors knew what happened in these walls, we'd all be burnt as witches. Ye'd best be on your way. The journey to London willna be easy. May God speed ye along and bless ye."

I slipped the little stasis device back into my tartan pocket. Thomas and Hugh were discussing the best way to get to London, but I tuned them out. My biggest concern was what we would do once we were there. How would we get into Windsor Castle in order to put Mary into stasis? And after that, how would we get her out without getting killed ourselves?

Chapter Seven

I had never understood the meaning of a place actually smelling of sickness until those days I spent in Windsor Castle. Thomas and I made London in good time, but we still only had days to work our way into the castle as servants. Eventually, I was able to get in by masquerading as a nun.

It surprised me how readily I was allowed into the sick rooms. It was probably because they were so desperate for any cures they could get. I also had the feeling that there was something about time travel energy that opened doors to travelers. Or maybe Maggie had sent others in to help Thomas and me along on our quest. I never really found out.

In any case, on February 8, 1687, I found myself by the bed of the Lady Mary, a tiny little girl who was about to die.

I looked down at her, my heart pounding. Thomas had told me about Queen Anne's children. Through her life, she would have five stillborn children and seven miscarriages. Her younger daughter, Anna Sophia, had died just six days before from smallpox. She would have a further two children who lived less than a day, and a son who died at age eleven.

In total, she had seventeen pregnancies and not one child who lived to adulthood.

I wasn't entirely certain how I could take little Mary from her. No mother deserved to go through that much pain. I wasn't entirely familiar with what sort of queen she was, but that didn't mean that she should just lose all her children.

In the end, it was only the knowledge that Mary was going to die if we didn't do this that had me slipping the stasis sticker under her tongue. Her tiny body was covered in scabs and she whimpered in pain. Smallpox was a horrible disease. Seeing this was much worse than the skeletons I worked with in forensic reconstruction.

Her breathing had been labored, her body shivering and feverish. There was a quick flash of light after I put the sticker in place, and then the toddler was still. I stroked her dark hair from her face, blinking back tears, and hurried away, hoping nobody had seen me.

***

Two days later, Thomas prepared the chest we would be using to transport Mary back to Scotland while, somewhere, she was being prepared for burial. He had blankets and pillows inside, although he assured me that being in stasis meant that Mary wouldn't come to any physical harm. For all intents and purposes, she was dead, but the field kept her body from degenerating and kept low-level brain functions intact that would prevent brain damage.

"We'll have to be ready to leave quickly," he told me.

I scrubbed my hands against my skirt. Though I had been washing and bathing regularly since I had started tending the sick at the castle, I couldn't help but wish that I knew if I had been vaccinated against smallpox as a kid. The last thing I wanted right now was to end up dead myself.

Thomas paused in his preparations, looking up at me with a worried look in his eyes. "Katherine? Are ye ill, lass?"

"No. I'm fine. It's just… stealing her before she's buried. How do you know it won't be an open casket funeral?"

Thomas sighed. "It willna be. Dinna be afraid, lass. While ye were learning how to handle a dirk, I was brushing up on my history. We'll be back on our way to Kilravock with the wee princess before ye can blink."

"And why can't we just let her be buried here, where history put her, and then dig her back up in the future?"

This was the part that had been bothering me most about the plan. If we were successful, then Mary would be hidden near Kilravock. But the risks in transporting her there were tremendous. It seemed smarter to just come here for her.

"In the time when we will be digging up the princess, London's not much more than a crater of lava. It was the nucleus of the war. Not even the stasis pod will survive that." Thomas grasped my hands as I continued to scrub them against my skirt. "Dinna be worried, Katherine. Ye'll stay with the wagon and if I'm not back by dawn—"

"I know. Leave without you."

"Aye." He kissed me quickly. "Not that I believe ye'll do it, ye prickly Rose."

He was right not to believe I'd leave without him. I just wished I could protect him as he went to retrieve Mary. Not that he needed my protection. He was a strong warrior, brave and clever. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against his.

"Just come back," I whispered. "Don't make me come after you."

"I will come back. I promise."

Thomas kept his promise. Hours after he left me, he was back with little Mary's body. Getting back to Scotland gave us no difficulties, either. I got sick a couple of times, and feared I was going to die from smallpox, but in the end, it was only food poisoning. All and all, it was far easier than I had expected.

Hugh welcomed us back to Kilravock Castle, and when we showed him the small, abducted princess that all our hopes for the future rode on, he was silent, staring at the tiny figure.

"Why her?" he asked, looking between Thomas and I. "There are plenty of wee princes that could be the future king. Why this fragile lass? Why a queen ?"

I answered, a distinctive bite in my voice. "Historically, kings cause wars and queens end them."

I didn't care if it was true or not. I was tired, and my whole body ached from our long journey. The way I was feeling, I had no patience for Hugh's 1687 sexism. Luckily, other than shaking his head and muttering something under his breath, he didn't push the issue further. Where to bury the princess until she could be retrieved was another question that arose. That one, I already had an answer to.

"We don't know how much construction the castle goes through," I interrupted Hugh and Thomas, as they debated whether the cellars would be a good place for her. "But I know the house that I inherited from my grandfather. It was built in the late seventeenth century, which is now. So we build it, and we put a secret room nearby where the princess can go."

Hugh looked startled. "But how are we meant to keep an eye on the lass and ensure she comes to no harm if we dinna ken if the building will be kept in the family?"

"I am going to inherit it," I repeated. "It’s a risk, but no more risky that putting her in the ground here, where she might be dug up by a bulldozer."

"A what?"

Thomas put a hand on the laird's shoulder. "The lass has a point. Her plan is sound. We will have to trust ye will do as we ask. Katherine and I have been out of our own times for nearly two months now. It's affecting both of us. It's time to go home."

Home. I pulled my tartan around myself, my shoulders sagging with relief. I didn't realize until that moment how much I wanted to be in my own time again, with my television, indoor plumbing and maybe some Advil for the beginnings of the cold I was starting to feel. Honestly, given all the differences in germs and diseases, it was a surprise I hadn't started any plagues or caught one myself.

"I dinna ken if that is the best—"

"My laird," I interrupted, "pardon me, but have you thought of a better option where to keep Mary?"

Hugh was silent, giving me my answer.

"Well then," I continued. "Mary will be buried where I say. The Rose family has a duty. Are you going to shirk it because you doubt me?"

Hugh narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, then with a sigh shook his head. "The lass will be buried where ye say. Just give me the location."

"Good," I said. "Get me a map."

***

2016

The next day, Thomas and I stood where my house would one day be built and I clutched my harp badge. I can't really describe in words how I learned to willfully travel through time, but that day I suddenly knew how to activate my badge and how to direct it to where to deposit us.

My tartan was wrapped tightly around the both of us. I closed my eyes–there was a brief rushing, spinning feel around me, but when I opened my eyes again, we were in my house. The mirror reflected us back into the room. I blinked, looking around, hardly able to believe that I was finally back.

I turned back to Thomas, still smiling, but the expression on his face froze me. His shoulders were sagged, his mouth pressed tightly together. He was slightly paler than normal, but with his kilt and homespun shirt, he still looked like perfection. The sadness in his eyes was made all the more dreadful for it.

"What is it?" I asked, stepping forward.

"This is goodbye."

My heart began hammering. "Goodbye?"

"I have to return to my own time and ye have to stay here."

I shook my head. "No. No, I'll come with you."

"Ye canna. Changing time stretches the body, and ye canna be outside your own for more than three months at best before ye simply die. I meant to tell ye, to explain why we canna be together, but I lost my mind whenever ye smiled at me. My mind… and my heart."

I swallowed hard. It was dry and scratchy, and the room was spinning around me. It was too hot. "Thomas, please."

"I canna."

He crossed the room, pulling me into one final embrace. Our bodies were crushed together as he kissed me deeply. He didn't open his eyes as he released me. My legs shook too much to follow after him. "Goodbye, my prickly Rose."

Then he was gone, his kilt swirling around his legs as he walked out of the door. I tried to go after him, but I was too weak. I tried to call, but my throat burned and I couldn't speak.

I collapsed to my knees, a fever burning through me. My body convulsed, my back felt like it was breaking and my head was about to split in two. My body heaved, emptying my stomach. Just before I blacked out, I saw my skin was covered in small red circles.

Chapter Eight

I wasn't aware of anything happening around me until I woke up in a hospital. I was alone in a room, with tubes and needles all hooked up to me. My head pounded and my throat felt dry. I glanced around, instantly thinking Thomas was with me, but he was nowhere to be seen. For a brief moment, I thought I must have dreamed him, but I shoved the thought away violently.

He was real and my adventures were real.

Several people in full protective gear came into the room, and I learned that I had been in a coma for three weeks after being found by a passer-by who had peered through the windows and seen me, delirious from smallpox. It was the first case in the UK since 1978.

Fortunately, I didn't seem to have started a plague since I hadn’t come into contact with anybody. The treatment I was given at the hospital prevented my skin from scabbing, which meant I also did not end up scarred. I was kept for observation for a while after I woke, but eventually, I was declared fit to leave. My house was thoroughly cleaned. I was sent home without much ceremony.

An investigation, I was told, had found I had probably contracted the virus from an old piece of tartan, which had been destroyed.

I knew the truth, though. The tartan had been exposed through me, not the other way around. I had contracted smallpox in Windsor Castle, 1687. I didn't dare tell them that, though. They'd think I was insane.

And just like that, it was over. With my tartan destroyed, the last shred of proof that I had traveled through time was gone. I had lost my cell phone somewhere. My badge was still with me, but no matter how often I held it and tried to activate it like I had learned how to do, it just wouldn't work. Had Thomas switched it off somehow, fearing I would inadvertently travel and get myself killed?

Thomas. Every night I ended up thinking of him, wondering what his future was like, if he had also caught smallpox and if our mission had been successful. More than once I cried myself to sleep, like a heartsick woman. Which I was.

I tried very hard not to think that my adventure was a figment of my coma. I even looked for some secret door down in the cellar, to try and find where little Mary might be hidden. There was nothing, and so I filled my time researching my ancestry, learning everything I could about the people I had met.

For the most part, though, I wrote down everything I could remember, from what I wore, what the clothes felt and smelled like, to the people I met and their general personalities. I sketched them, too. Seeing their faces take form through paper and pencil helped to ease the sense of loneliness I had at being thrust back into my own world, my own time.

It just didn't feel like mine anymore.

And then one day while I was laying on the couch, absently shading Thomas' face while watching a documentary on the 'glorious rebellion', I heard a quick rap on the door. Frowning, I went to answer it and found, instead of a person waiting for me, a manila envelope. Inside were pictures.

A selfie I had insisted on taking with the second Hugh I had met, since I didn't take pictures the first time I was there. Windsor Castle grounds bustling with women in huge skirts and men in fur-lined cloaks. Even a sideways snap I had risked taking when I found myself in the same room as Queen Anne. I remembered thinking at the time that I was glad to have had the wits to keep my phone mostly turned off during our trip, so I had just enough battery to snap that photo.

I looked up sharply, scanning the area around my home. There was only one person who could have brought these to me…

There! My heart jumped to my throat as I saw a flash of scarlet among the trees. Shoving the pictures back into the envelope, I tossed them into my house and ran after him. I was still recovering my strength, though, and by the time I reached the tree line, I was panting for breath and the scarlet was gone.

"Thomas!" I shouted, with all the strength I could muster. "Come back to me!"

When there was no answer, I blindly plunged into the bush, continuing to shout as loudly as my lungs would let me. I wasn't watching where I was going, and soon I was utterly lost. A fine mist soaked me through. I continued to shout, desperate to find my Highlander.

"Lass, ye're meant to continue your life, not lose it in the woods."

The familiar deep voice, tinged with amusement, made me freeze. For a long moment, I was too afraid to turn, afraid that he wouldn’t be there, that I would be back to where I had started. But then his fingers brushed the back of my neck and I spun on my heel, throwing my arms around him. I kissed him with such ferocity I actually forced him back a step. He chuckled and pulled me closer, teasing my lips open.

Eventually, though, I had to breathe and pulled away. "You came back to me."

"I dinna mean to," he confessed, his voice rough. "I just couldna leave it alone… Maggie'll have my hide when she learns I jumped without her permission. But I needed to see ye one last time, to leave those pictures so ye wouldna think ye had made it all up. And I needed to see ye were alive and well for myself… I looked ye up after I returned. My heart nearly died when I saw ye contracted smallpox."

"I'm fine," I assured him, clutching at his shirt, my eyes greedily drinking him in. I couldn't resist milking it a little. "Well, I'm fine now . I was in a coma for three weeks." Thomas paled and I regretted saying it, so I shook my head and smiled. "I'm fine. Especially now you're here."

My Highlander didn't seem convinced and scooped me into his arms. My legs were shaking from exertion, so I let him. Besides, it felt good to be next to him, to be able to smell him and taste his lips on mine. With a happy sigh, I put my head on his shoulder, squeezing a little to make sure he was real.

Thomas carried me back to my house. When we got to the den, he settled on the couch, still keeping me in his lap, and glanced around with a raised brow.

"Are ye my stalker now, Katherine?"

I glanced around at the copious amounts of drawings I had made of him, but I wasn't ashamed. "I wanted to remember everything about you. Speaking of which, you are not leaving without me again."

Thomas' eyes sparkled. "How do ye mean to stop me?"

I shifted so I was straddling him. "By any means necessary. I will keep you my prisoner for the rest of my life, I swear to it…" The excitement from being so close to him again faded and I toyed with the ties on his shirt, not looking him in the eye. "Are you staying?"

After a moment's silence, Thomas brushed his lips on mine. "I canna, my Rose. This isn't my time. It'd kill me to stay.

"Well, maybe you could stay for a month, and then I could go stay in your time for a month…"

"I still have duties to keep time flowing properly."

"It's the duty of the Rose family," I muttered. "You're not a Rose, are you?"

Thomas shook his head but shrugged. "I might not be a Rose by blood, but I've always felt I was at heart."

"Well, maybe you ought to marry into the family, then." Heat flooded my cheeks as I realized what I had said.

"Is that a proposal, lass?"

I swallowed hard. "Of course not. We haven't even said that we love each other."

He grinned. "I love ye, then."

My head jerked up, nearly hitting his face. His eyes captured mine and held them.

"I love ye, my prickly Rose. I have since I first laid eyes on ye. I was so busy looking at ye that I failed my mission if you'll remember."

I did remember, though at the time I hadn't thought anything of it.

"I love you, too," I blurted out, pushing myself more firmly against him. "I love you. I don't care how we do it. I'm a Rose, I'm meant to time travel. You and I are meant to be together, and we will find a way."

He touched the badge I always wore these days. "Maggie thinks that'll do it. That as long as ye wear it, the more unpleasant effects of time travel willna affect ye."

So it would work. Euphoria erupted from me and I kissed him hard, clutching at him–we had to make up for lost time, and I was determined to make every second count.

***

2795

Maggie frowned at us when Thomas led me into the room, clutching my hand. She shook her head and muttered something under her breath, but didn't comment. She looked tired, defeated, her whole being slumped in her wheelchair, making her look tiny. It didn't really suit the woman I had gotten to know from my time here before. From what Thomas and I had seen out of the windows of the castle, the trees were just as wild as they had been when I first came.

"It didn't work," I said, knowing what it all meant. My shoulders slumped. Everything we had gone through was for nothing. "Why didn't it work?"

"We retrieved the child Mary while you were gone," Maggie said to Thomas, ignoring me. "The stasis pod failed sometime in the twenty-second century."

My stomach clenched, and Thomas let out a pained gasp.

"The child is naught but a skeleton. We've failed. There is no stopping this war or the end of humanity." Maggie sagged further into her chair. "There is nothing else to be done."

Chapter Nine

"No."

Maggie and Thomas both looked at me with blank expressions.

I shook my head firmly. "We aren't just going to give up. Constant and true . I might not have known the Rose family motto for long, but I do know it means we can't give up."

"I have spent my life trying to stop this war from happening," Maggie said. "I don't have any strength to give it anymore, and I am the last of the Roses."

I swallowed hard at that, but I shook my head again. It wasn't going to end like this. If they were done fighting, I'd do it on my own. Somehow. "I'm a Rose. There's a reason I was sent through time to meet you now. I am not going to give up. The stasis pod is still working in the twenty-first century, right? So you give us the cure that you were planning on using on Mary, we go back to retrieve her and then bring her back."

"Medicines don't travel well into the past," Maggie said. "We have tried that before, and it only works a fraction of the time. Otherwise, we'd have cured Mary when you retrieved her from the palace and brought her back here."

"Do you have another stasis pod we can put her in?"

Maggie shook her head.

"Then we have to try the medicine. We can go back to my time when I own the house and dig her up."

Thomas coughed. "There is a problem with that…"

I tensed, my euphoria over figuring out the problem dwindling. Somehow I knew what he was going to say. "Hugh didn't listen to me, did he? He buried her in the castle."

The look on Thomas' face was all I needed in answer.

***

2016

Getting into Kilravock Castle back in 2016 posed no difficulties for Thomas and me. All we had to do was stand in a room that was part of the original structure and go back. My ability to activate my badge had returned. Neither I nor Thomas nor Maggie could say why it had stopped working after my run-in with smallpox. It had worked just fine to get Thomas and me back to the twenty-eighth century, though.

The best theory was that it sent me to where I needed to be, not where I wanted to be. I needed to be in 2016 to retrieve Mary, but I also needed to be in 2795 so that I knew I needed to retrieve Mary.

Finding Mary and getting out of the castle, however, was going to be a much, much more difficult task. It turned out that my great-grandfather's grandfather had stolen the badge now in my possession from his father and, by this point in time, the Roses had actually forgotten their mandate. It would still be a few years before they would get the gift of time travel back. This meant that, unlike in the sixteenth-century highlands, Thomas and I would not be getting help from my relatives.

Thomas had been able to travel in my time by sneaking in and out of the castle, but he had almost been caught both times. We hoped his luck would hold this time when we needed it most.

"I hope ye'll be able to make that badge work again once we're done here," Thomas said, hacking through the cellar floorboards while I kept a lookout. "I doubt anybody'll be daft enough to let us back in after this."

"Just hurry," I whispered, peering down the hallway. Loud music played upstairs, and I hoped that would hide the sounds of construction down here.

It took Thomas only a few minutes to chop through the boards, but another hour of digging before he finally pulled out a casket. My heart pounded in my chest as I abandoned my post, quickly coming to his side. If the stasis pod had already failed…

Thomas opened the casket. Inside the little girl lay nestled, looking exactly as I remembered her looking when we left her. Dark hair, skin covered in those horrible poxes, utterly still. We wouldn’t know if she was still alive until after we deactivated the pod and it stimulated her heart to start pumping again and her brain functions to return to normal.

"I'll carry her," I offered, scooping up Mary before Thomas could protest. "You lead the way."

Holding that still, tiny body was like cradling a corpse to my chest and it made me shiver. I wanted to keep her close, to protect her, even though I knew it was ridiculous.

We headed up, keeping a careful ear out. I wished I had thought to make Thomas change into a less visible kilt, or maybe trousers–even in the dim light, the scarlet glowed. We had studied the plans for the contemporary castle, although things hadn't changed much from now to when Thomas was familiar with the grounds. Occasionally there would be an increase of noise and we'd have to hide from approaching footsteps, but for the most part, we were well away from the populated areas of the house.

Finally, we were almost at the front doors. I sped up, my heart thumping in relief. We were almost out, and nobody had seen us—

"Hey!"

Thomas and I both froze at the voice behind us. Slowly we turned to see a man standing in the hallway, his eyes wide as he looked from Thomas' kilt to the pox-marked toddler in my arms. He didn't seem to think that we were any threat, though, because he approached without a visible weapon.

"Who're ye and what are ye doing in this house?"

"I'm Katherine Rose," I said hesitantly, then cleared my throat. "I'm a time-traveler and this is Thomas Morrison, also a time traveler. This here," I nodded towards Mary, "is the Lady Mary, oldest live born child of Queen Anne Stuart."

The man's jaw dropped. He was so focused on me that he didn't realize Thomas was approaching before it was too late. As the man took a deep breath, my Highlander spun him around, clamping a hand over his mouth and nose. I hadn't realized just how huge Thomas' hands were until that moment. He held the man tightly, though his captive fought against him. I watched, wide-eyed, as the man's eyes rolled. He struggled for a moment longer before going limp.

Thomas lowered him to the floor and quickly arranged him in the recovery position.

"He'll be fine," he assured me, no doubt seeing the look of shock on my face. "Make haste."

He took Mary from me, cradling her in one arm, and seized my hand. We ran out into the night, hoping that nobody had seen us flee.

***

By the time we made it back to my house, it was morning. I hurried inside, knowing we didn't have much time to do this. No doubt the cops would be looking for us by now.

I laid Mary on the floor in the living room, wrapped in a blanket. Even though the stasis pod was meant to keep her unconscious until it had restored her bodily functions, I wanted to make sure she would be warm. I was also very aware that she might vomit. While I had already gotten the sickness and was immune (at least, I thought I was), I didn't relish the idea of burning down the house and everything in it to ensure we prevented another outbreak.

Thomas knelt beside me, the syringe with the smallpox cure from the future in his hand. My throat felt dry no matter how often I swallowed, and for a brief moment, I was afraid that I was going to get sick again.

"Are ye ready?"

I nodded.

Thomas fished the stasis sticker out from Mary's mouth. We waited several tense seconds, and then her little body bowed as though she was in terrible pain, her eyes flew open and she pulled in a deep gasp. Thomas plunged the needle into her neck. The amber liquid disappeared into Mary's body and he tossed the syringe aside.

"How long before we know if it worked?" I asked, holding Mary still to keep her from injuring herself as she thrashed

"Minutes. Half an hour at most. The pod is still restoring blood flow, and the cure should be disseminated as that happens." Thomas squeezed my hands and I realized he was shaking even more than I was. If this didn't work, could we go back and find another heir who had never got the throne to bring to the future and claim it then?

I gasped as Mary's skin seemed to ripple . The scabs shrank in size, then disappeared altogether, fading away as though they had never even existed. I glanced up at Thomas; his eyes glowed.

"We did it," he whispered. "We actually did it."

***

2723

As a young woman, Maggie looked exactly like me and our distant ancestor, Margaret. The similarities in how she and I looked were what finally convinced her that I was actually a Rose and that Thomas and I had come from both the future and past, delivering the little princess Mary to take her place as queen and, hopefully, prevent the war from reaching its apocalyptic peak.

I itched to take a look around, to check out the various energy fields and hovering vehicles. It shocked me to realize that the level of technology had decreased to such an extent in Maggie's lifetime. But then, a war that caused the end of humanity would do that.

After we explained what had happened in Thomas' time and what Maggie needed to do now, she gently took Mary from me. All around her, her colleagues pressed together, tears in their eyes as they considered what this meant for their futures. The toddler beamed at all the attention she was getting and clapped her hands.

"Are ye well, lass?" Thomas whispered into my ear.

I nodded, leaning against him. All the recent traveling we had done was catching up with me, especially since I hadn't fully recovered my health after my bout of smallpox. "I just can't believe it. We finally did it… I guess I don't know what to do now."

He turned his back on the rejoicing that was going on and smiled at me. His fingers brushed my cheek and a wicked gleam came into his eyes. "Oh, I have ideas, lass… but we'll need to get back to a time when I have my own private chambers."

My cheeks heated at that, but my eyes brightened and I nodded eagerly, clasping his hand. "How soon can we get there?"

Chapter Ten

2795

I was nervous about returning to Thomas' time. After all, we had changed things, and I was afraid that the people we had met in our timeline wouldn't know us. Thomas successfully allayed my fears while making my head spin; he explained that the epicenter of change was similar to the eye of a hurricane, allowing those directly involved to hold conflicting memories of events.

The castle was quiet when we arrived back in 2795, but it was easy to see right away some of the differences that our actions had caused. Namely, rather than oil lamps lighting the corridor, a small ball of blue light lit itself as soon as we appeared. It hovered over us, lighting our way. Thomas' jaw dropped and he shook his head.

"Wow."

"Wow, what?"

He gave me a dazed look. "Ye ken what I told ye about different timelines of memory? Well, I just got mine from this timeline… it's amazing, Katherine. The war… we actually stopped it. My life… my parents are still alive. Ruby's married with three wee bairns. It's amazing, Katherine."

A bright smile blossomed over his face, and tears actually pricked his eyes. I held his hand as he processed everything that had changed in his life. I felt a little jealous. My memories were all the same. And it made sense; if the war had never happened, I never would have been brought here in the first place, and I wouldn't have learned anything of this time.

Eventually, Thomas began walking again, leading me through the corridors, which looked newer, somehow. They were in better repair if nothing else, than the last time I was in them.

"Good Queen Mary," he murmured. His eyes lit up. "She united the various countries… Albany. They call it Albany now. Like Arthur of old. Ah, Katherine… I never felt at ease before this. And now, with ye here… this truly is home."

***

The next morning, we were woken by a loud crashing and banging in the corridor. I blinked blearily, confused for a moment, but Thomas' warm body next to mine had me relaxing again. There was the sound of children's laughter, quickly followed by Ruby's voice telling them to be quiet so they didn't disturb their uncle.

I wrapped my arms around Thomas, but he slipped out of bed, hastily dressing before he threw open the door. He bounded down the hallway, leaving me to scramble, clutching the blanket to my chest, to close the door. The last thing I saw was him swinging a boy of about five into the air.

I got dressed as fast as I could and dragged my fingers through my hair, trying to look presentable. It was in vain, though, because moments later Ruby knocked on my door and hauled me into another room. She made me bathe and then dressed me in woolen skirts and stays. I scowled at her.

"You realize that these things disrupt the internal organs, don't you?"

"Only when they're pulled too tight. Otherwise, they're excellent for back support," Ruby replied, her dark eyes twinkling at me. "Besides, ye have to look presentable for Her Majesty."

I forgot about the uncomfortable amount of clothes I was being stuffed into. "Mary's here?"

"Good Queen Mary, Unity herself, defender of humanity, etc. And she is most eager to meet ye, Lady Rose."

"I'm not a lady," I protested. "I'm just Katherine."

Ruby made a noncommittal noise in her throat and finished fastening me up. Soon I was in a grand parlor, seated on a white sofa that conformed itself to my body, a teacup in my head, staring at two elderly women seated across from me. Thomas was at my side, and he was beaming.

One of the women was clearly older than the other, and it took me a good while to recognize her as Maggie. She sat straighter than the Maggie I had known, and she didn't have the same damage in her eyes. She was in a wheelchair, just like in the previous timeline, but she seemed younger and stronger. The other woman, her hair a darker shade of gray, was Good Queen Mary. There was no trace of the toddler that I had taken from Windsor Castle all those centuries ago, but she shared similar traits to the portraits I had seen of Queen Anne.

"Lady Katherine. It is good to finally meet my savior," she said, a distinctive Scottish accent in her tones, and no wonder, since this was where she had grown up–though there was a certain enunciated quality to her words that reminded me of old black and white movies. "I've been told stories of your heroics since I was a child."

"It really wasn't all that heroic," I replied. "I mean… I kidnapped you."

"I would not have survived to my second birthday if you had not." Mary smiled kindly at me, looking very grandmotherly, rather than queenly. "I would like to hear more about your journeys, but at the moment we have other, more pressing issues to discuss."

Maggie took up where Mary had left off. "I understand that you wish to stay in this time with Thomas?"

I glanced over at him, squeezing his hand. "Yeah. My parents are dead, and I was an only child. Plus I'm pretty sure that the Roses of Kilravock back in my time are going to be sending the cops after me. Thomas and I did sort of break into the castle. And attack somebody."

Thomas shifted guiltily.

Maggie chuckled. "I'll show you the news about that sometime. But as I was saying, normally there are… troubles that happen when an individual stays a lengthy period in a time that is not their own."

"But my badge should solve that, right?" I touched the badge that I wore like a brooch.

"Yes… and no. Yes in that I think it would take care of that problem, and no, I don't think you actually need it."

I frowned at Maggie. "What do you mean?"

Thomas was also frowning. He shifted but seemed content to let the old woman gather her thoughts. I wasn't quite that patient, and after a couple of seconds asked the question again.

"Since we have not had to spend so much time figuring out how to stop the war, we have been able to research how time traveling actually works. There has always been one person in every generation that has the gift of traveling without help or facing the ill effects of traveling." Maggie thought for a moment, then nodded at the broadsword over the mantle. "Can you pick that up for me?"

"Why?"

"Please indulge an old woman."

My brow creased, but I did as she asked. As it had that time I had grabbed it when Thomas and I had fought off the Macdonalds, it began to glow and vibrate. Turning back, I looked over at them all, trying to figure out what the significance was. To my surprise, I found Maggie, Mary and Thomas all beaming at me.

"That sword is activated by DNA. Specifically, by the DNA of the lairds. You might not be directly descended in the lines of succession, but you are descended from a laird–the last descendant."

I took a moment to scrape my jaw off the floor before shaking my head. "But you must be—"

"I'm a Rose, Katherine, but I am not descended from a laird. I was adopted."

"But… but when we met when you were younger, you looked exactly like me. Exactly like Margaret…"

"Her sister was my ancestor. It’s amazing how genes reoccur through the generations. Whether coincidence or not, I can't say."

I nodded, giving up trying to figure that one out. I wasn't a scientist.

"There must always be a laird of Kilravock, just as there must always be a Rose to stand constant and true against the tides of destruction. You weren't brought here just to prevent a war; I believe you are meant to restore your family legacy. To take your place as laird."

There was a lump in my throat that I had a hard time swallowing down. "But lairds are men."

Mary rolled her eyes at that. "And you are from the twenty-first century? I thought those notions were done away with by then."

My cheeks burned. I set the broadsword back into its place above the mantle. Staying, yes, being with Thomas, of course. But being a laird ? That seemed like a lot of responsibility to agree too… I met Thomas' gaze and he smiled at me, his gaze full of love and support. Well, if I did decide to accept being the laird, then I knew I could lean on him when I needed to.

"I think I will accept," I said. "But let me get used to this time a little first, okay?"

Maggie nodded and turned to Thomas. "I'll leave that in your hands."

"And I will take great pleasure in it."

He gave me a wink that had my heart melting. I knew that I would love getting to know this place as much as he would love showing it to me. Thomas stood, taking my hand in his, and I couldn’t help but grin.

Whatever the past and future held, I knew that I could face anything as long as I had my time-travelling Highlander by my side.

*****

THE END