The buzz of the tattoo gun vibrated against my skin until the bone in my hand ached from holding it steady. This was my third tattoo of the night—and the longest by at least two hours. I hadn’t stopped to stretch, and now my neck and shoulders were paying for it. The way I hung over my work, hovering and squinting to get it just right, left me stiff and aching. It was a pain in the ass, really, the soreness that would inevitably follow tomorrow morning. But I loved it. The concentration required for the precision of the lines. Bringing an art piece to life on the canvas of someone’s skin. It was a thrill every time, even if this one was so large and time-consuming. We were on our third and final session, but at least the patient was compliant. Strangely silent, actually. But it was better than when they complained.

When I was finally finished with the bright blues of the seascape, and the aqua scales of the mermaid’s tail had been shaded in to the edge of the fine lines, I switched off the machine and set it aside. On the table before me, Sean stirred and sighed as if he’d just woken from a peaceful slumber.

“Is that a wrap, then?” His Irish accent was still thick despite the fact that he’d lived in Havenwood Falls for as long as I could remember. And I’d grown up here.

I nodded my head. Only Sean could sleep through a full-color back piece. “That’s it,” I confirmed.

He sat up slowly, his large back and broad shoulders probably just as stiff as mine. If the numbness had worn off enough to let the pain set in, he didn’t show it as he swung easily to his feet from the table where he’d spent the last few hours facedown. His graying hair was disheveled, but then my short blond hair probably looked about the same. My own shirt clung to my back where the stuffiness in the room had left me coated in sweat. It wasn’t something I minded. Not when it was the result of giving someone a fresh piece. A shower did sound heavenly right about now, though.

Sean stood and stretched and then fell still again, waiting for what we both knew came next. Standing behind him, I slathered a thick layer of Vaseline over the mural I’d given him and then wrapped it in plastic. When I tried reminding him of the care instructions, he waved me off. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. This ain’t my first rodeo, girl.”

He was right. This was his fourteenth, if I was counting correctly.

I let it go and slid my gloves off while he shrugged into his button-down. He left the buttons open on the top half, revealing a hairy chest and the edges of the older ink that covered his shoulders and flowed down his arms.

“You’re catching up to me,” I told him with a raised brow.

“Nah. None of mine are worth even half of those.” He nodded to the various tattoos flowing up and out of my black tank. My arms were covered down to my wrists, and my chest was inked up to the edges of my collarbone. The only tattoo that I hadn’t done myself was a small symbol on my left shoulder. Magical in its own way, but not like the rest. If the Court of the Sun and the Moon, our local leaders, only knew their mark wasn’t the only one on my body that held spells . . . Thankfully, they didn’t. Yet.

Sean studied the hawk on my forearm with sharp eyes. Something like fear jangled my gut at the way his attention caught on it. His words finally sank in, and I stiffened.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Sean blinked, but the gleam in his eye remained. And the certainty in his tone was unmistakable. “Come on. You know what I mean, Gwen. They say your tattoos are more than just ink.”

Motherfucker.

Fourteen times this guy had been in my chair, and he’d never once let on he knew about me. About what I could do. If he had, I damn sure wouldn’t have inked him. Partly out of principle. Mostly, to avoid this exact conversation.

“Look, Sean,” I began. “I think you’re mistaken about what it—”

“No mistake. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe.” He looked believable enough, and I had known Sean for a long time now, but even so, my gut roiled with fear and the guilt that always gnawed at the edges. “Honestly, I’ve just been hoping you’d pour a bit of that magic of yours into some of the ink you’ve put on me. I’d never tell a soul if you did.”

And there it was.

The request that only the really plugged-in residents of this town bothered to make. They wanted the magic. Too bad for them I wasn’t giving it out anymore. Not unless I was forced, but that was another issue altogether. And if the first thirteen pieces I’d done for him were any indication, Sean should have known that already.

I narrowed my eyes. Maybe he was sent here to test me. Maybe Ada was checking to be sure she was still my only customer when it came to the top-tier services Tragic Ink could provide.

“Look, you got what you paid for. That’s all I’m offering,” I said in a tone that left no room for argument—or more questions.

He shrugged and backed off, heading for the door. “Sure, no problem. Next time,” he said.

The way the words hung there, even after he’d left and the door had clicked shut behind him, made it hard to tell what he meant. Did he mean he’d see me next time? Or that he’d expect the bonus package next time?

I made a mental note not to tattoo Sean, the Irish healer, ever again.

Then, shoving aside my anxiety, I straightened the studio and shut everything down for the night. I checked my phone, which had been set to silent while I worked, and read the five texts from Aelwyn, my foster mother. The first three were reminders about what time she was expecting me. The last two were warnings not to be late again. I texted her back to let her know I was on my way, hoping I wouldn’t have to hear a lecture about how tardiness was a form of disrespect—Aelwyn wasn’t strict, but on this she’d always been a dog with a bone—and hauled ass while I cleaned up. Hurrying as I shut off the lights and the neon “Open” sign, I locked up and took off into the frigid night for Aelwyn’s house.

The few residents that were out walking on Main Street never even noticed me as I slipped out the front door of my second-floor tattoo shop and down the stairs, taking a hard right into the alley that ran between my shop’s building and the next. From there, I cut through the back alleyway that ran behind Eighth Street until I reached the narrow space where I parked my truck.

Sliding in, I fired it up and slid my palms together to warm them while I waited for the engine to heat to something warmer than the frigid temperature outside. Winter in the mountains of Colorado was not exactly tropical. To ward off the chill, I let some of my human glamour slip. In the shadows of my truck, I felt my ears lengthen and come to a point at the top and the shape of my face narrow.

My human glamour made me appear shorter than I was, so without it my head brushed the roof of the truck. My suddenly longer legs bent more sharply at the knees, too cramped for the seat, but I dealt with it just long enough to let the fae blood inside me heat my skin. Between that and the heating vents, it was enough.

I waited until my hands and toes had warmed. Then, just as quickly as I’d let it fall away, I called my glamour back up, and by the time I blinked, I looked human again. Blonde, slender, and covered in ink, though that last part never changed, glamour or not. The tattooed star tingled a bit as the magic it was laced with settled back into place. I’d had it since I was a kid, a requirement for all the permanent supernatural residents of Havenwood Falls. It was also the symbol that housed my glamour and logged me with the Court of the Sun and the Moon so they could keep track of who was supposed to be here—and who wasn’t human. It also helped lessen my weakness to iron, which was a nice benefit considering the stuff was literally everywhere these days, and all fae were sensitive to it.

As I’d grown older, the fact that I’d chosen such a common symbol had irritated me, but I knew if I had to choose all over again, I would still pick it. The stars had always called to me, even as a little girl. In fact, when Ethan had sprung to life that first time, it had almost made sense to me that I’d conjured a creature with wings. My heart had always craved flight.

Almost as if he knew I was thinking of him, the gray hawk inked on my arm seemed to twitch impatiently. “Easy, boy,” I muttered and shoved the truck into gear, rumbling out into the empty alley and from there to the outskirts of town.

The drive wasn’t long, but it was just treacherous enough this time of year to slow me down even more.

Aelwyn had always been supportive of my tattoo business. She’d been the one to encourage my art and to help me discover what sort of magic I was capable of using with it. She’d also been there to see Ethan come to life. And because of her support, I knew, once a week, she willingly ate dinner late just so we could have this time together after my work was finished. Still, keeping her waiting was a good way to be greeted with a lecture. I wanted to avoid that part if possible. A hot meal settled better when it wasn’t preceded by a tongue-lashing.

My stomach twisted as I wondered if I would be the only dinner guest. Just as quickly as I thought it, I shoved it away. He hadn’t been there in months, thanks to the bar he’d bought last year taking up so much time. And even when he did show, we barely spoke. It had been like that for years now. What was one more awkward dinner?

Nothing, I told myself. It was nothing. He was nothing.

* * *

It was utterly dark when I parked in front of the old Victorian where I’d grown up. Trees surrounded it, with only the winding drive ribboning in from the mountain road providing a view of the place. My headlights cast a narrow beam over the front entry, and I frowned as I pulled to a stop directly in front rather than off to the side where I usually parked. Something wasn’t right. Trying to figure it out, I looked around to check the solar-powered lanterns that led the way across the lawn to the front door. None of them were lit. The porch light wasn’t either. I looked closer and frowned. Even the lights inside were off.

Something anxious curled in my gut.

I left my headlights on and the engine running as I got out. Taking care to keep to the shadows, I crept around the shrubs as the gray hawk on my arm stirred and scratched. This time, I didn’t hold back. The darkness would shield any prying eyes, and besides, I might need him. Despite the cold, I peeled my jacket away, revealing my tank top and bare arm underneath.

With silent permission, I let the magic call him forth. On a sigh, he raised his beak, already on alert, and in the next blink, the hawk had peeled itself away from my skin, its body filling in with form and feathers until it was much more than the ink outline I’d drawn on myself years ago.

With a sharp keening sound, my familiar took to the skies, soaring up and over the rooftop, doing a quick loop to investigate. I slid my jacket back into place and took a shallow breath, my eyes half-closed as I concentrated on the magic that allowed me to see the world through Ethan’s eyes. I rarely allowed him loose like this so close to town where humans might see, but the darkness and the slithering unease that raced up my spine left me too anxious to resist.

When Ethan had done a full loop and found nothing out of the ordinary, I blinked, clearing my sight and refocusing on the yard in front of me. Slowly, with a silent stealth inherent to fae, I crept toward the front door.

I tried glancing in through the darkened window as I passed. Nothing moved inside.

My heart beat faster.

Aelwyn had been old when I’d been brought to her as a baby. Even by fae standards, which was saying something, because of how slowly we aged compared to humans. If she’d lost her balance and fallen . . .

But that still didn’t explain the dark house.

With a steadying breath, I tried the knob, twisting it in my hand and shoving inside. The hinges creaked, and I waited, listening. The scent of mistletoe hit me first. Not unusual. Aelwyn had an affinity for the stuff, and her garden out back was covered in it. But something was off. I just didn’t know what.

Somewhere in the back of the house, there was the tiniest creak of a floorboard.

I flew into motion.

Racing for the kitchen, I tore down the narrow hall, skipping the living and dining rooms as I passed them on my right and left. It was dark as hell, but I knew my way around this house, lights or no.

When I reached the kitchen, I flipped the switch and was a little surprised to see the overhead light come on so easily. It washed the room in a yellowish tone, and I blinked at the sudden change. The back door stood wide open, the yawning darkness of the backyard beckoning me. I almost obeyed, but something out of the corner of my eye stopped me.

I whirled, searching.

A pot stood simmering on the stove, red sauce bubbling up the sides. Another pot sat in the sink. Spaghetti. She’d been making my favorite. When I caught sight of a chunk of white hair peeking out from behind the stove, I closed the distance, curving around the pantry and pulling up short.

My lips parted, but no sound came.

I dropped to my knees.

My mother lay on the floor, her legs curled at an awkward angle. Her white hair was splayed around her face, fanning out around her so that the ends were mixing with the pool of blood that was leaking fast from her abdomen and chest onto the floor underneath her.

“Ma,” I choked out, my hands hovering over her uncertainly.

All I wanted to do was help her. But I had no idea how.

At the sound of my voice, her lids fluttered and then her blue eyes opened, squinting as if in pain. They widened when she saw me. “Gwenllian.”

“What happened?” My voice cracked as I struggled to hold back a sob. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. It is too late to help me.” She pressed her lips together, and her face contorted sharply.

A sob escaped. “Ma, please. You can’t—”

I broke off, unable to say the word.

Die. She couldn’t die. Not yet. Not like this.

“Listen to me now,” she said quietly. “Hush and listen. I have kept this from you solely for your own safety. I thought I would have more time, but . . .”

“More time for what?” I asked through tears that blurred her face until I could barely make her out.

She drew a slow, pained breath. I squeezed her hand, willing her to go on. Part of me wanted to tell her to save her breath. To hang on while I ran for help. But something held me there. Something that knew these were our last moments, and I wasn’t willing to waste them on pointless efforts. I blinked until I could see her weathered cheeks and light eyes once more.

“Gwen, you are special. Important. I’ve done all I can, but they have never stopped hunting you. You must not let them find you. Leave this house. Don’t come back. Find Rhys. He will know what to do.”

“What are you talking about, Aelwyn? Who is hunting me? Who did this to you?” Her words jumbled against each other in my mind—all of them taking a backseat to the puddle of blood I was now sitting in, while still more leaked from the fresh wounds on her chest. The horror of watching her bleed out this way overrode any sense I might have made of whatever secrets she was trying to spill.

She clutched my hand much too weakly, her eyes pleading with mine. “You are a bright star, Gwenllian. Much too bright to conceal. But you can’t hide anymore. They have come for you. And you must not run from that. You must not run from who you are.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” I sobbed. “Who am I hiding from?”

Aelwyn didn’t answer, and for a terrifying moment, I thought she was already gone. My head bowed, and I leaned in to lay my head on her shoulder, my cries filling the silence.

“You will,” she whispered, so low I might have missed it if I hadn’t been lying so close to her lips. “Rhys will protect you. He always has.”

“Rhys?” I sat up, confused and heartsick at the thought of asking him for anything.

“Promise me,” she said, because Aelwyn knew. She’d always known. Somehow. “Please.”

“I promise,” I said, my voice breaking. My heart ached, because it was a promise I would keep no matter how much I didn’t want to. The first stirrings of rage began in my gut. Even now, I could see the life fading in her, and I knew that when she was gone, I would have nothing else stopping me from my revenge. “Now tell me who did this.”

“I love you, nighean.”

Daughter.

It was what she called me when she was trying to comfort or reassure me, usually when my magic had gone awry or my heart had felt broken. And it was absolutely broken now. “I love you too, Ma. Don’t go.”

She didn’t answer.

My shoulders shook as I lay with my cheek against her shoulder and my hand still squeezing hers. A coldness had seeped into her skin, and now, it felt odd, like I was holding onto a stranger. Thinking that only made me cry harder.

Outside, Ethan gave a sharp call, and I jerked my head up, blinking away the tears that blurred the kitchen cabinets as I looked toward the open door. For a split second, it all slid into place. The reality hit me that Aelwyn was gone and someone had taken her from me. And that someone might still be close by. For a moment, that was enough to dull the grief and sharpen my thoughts.

I looked down at Aelwyn. Her blue eyes were closed, and her chest no longer moved with the rise and fall of labored breaths. I swallowed back a scream as I searched for a pulse. I found none.

And just like that, my helplessness vanished. Instead, I had purpose. Not once in my life had I chosen violence to solve something. In fact, the only time violence had occurred at my hands, I’d spent the next few years punishing myself for it. But now, tonight, violence called to me. The idea of avenging Aelwyn made my blood sing.

No longer frozen in shock, I rose slowly to my feet. When I heard Ethan call again, I sucked in a breath and twisted toward the door. It was a battle cry. The call he used to let me know when he’d found his prey. Sometimes, when I loosed him in the woods behind the house, we’d hunt together. Him with his talons and sharp eyes as he soared overhead. Me with the bow and quiver I kept in my old room upstairs. Tonight, though, I had a feeling he wasn’t signaling dinner.

I wiped my bloody palms on my dark jeans and ran to the knife block, yanking free the largest of the blades. I clutched it tight in my stained hand before racing out into the darkness in the direction of Ethan’s call. If Aelwyn’s murderer was still out there, I was going to find them. And when I did, I was going to kill them.