To survive, they’ll have to think outside the circle.
Were-lion Lachlan Garvey is closing in on the Brightwater women, the last of a Shamanic line that the Council wants eradicated for their murderous use of magic. One minute he’s in his animal form, examining a dead body in a patch of charred grass. The next, he wakes up human—naked, shot and lying in a circle of his own blood.
Dayna Brightwater is sure the man she’s bound with a blood spell is the one who just murdered her twin sister. Yet even if she did have the stomach for revenge killing, she doesn’t have the power. But what to do with him now? If she lets him go, he’ll kill her, too.
Trapped in the path of a deadly magical fire, Lachlan has to think fast—and talk faster—to convince the beautiful Shaman he’s innocent. As the roaring flames creep closer, Dayna must choose. Trust Lachlan and use magic to save them both…or flee. And live with the knowledge she caused his death, proving that no Brightwater is capable of love.
Product Warnings
Contains a naked hero who’ll do anything to save his life...including saving hers.
Copyright © 2012 Shona Husk
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
Dayna and Clarissa were following in their mother’s murderous footsteps and using the lives of others to feed that craving. What they did with all that magic was anyone’s guess, but their predecessors had caused all kinds of trouble, including creating sentient tornados that took out their enemies, sinking ships to secure trade routes and using magic to alter gambling results. None of which the Shamanic Council looked fondly upon. Over the last couple of centuries the Brightwaters had been responsible for more deaths than the average vampire. This time the Council had finally grown a set and decided to act—without getting their hands dirty, of course.
His movements slowed as he made every step with caution, half expecting a magical trap to close around him. Shamans drew their power from Nature, but they could also use the earth and plants to their benefit. Yet the ground he was treading on felt like it had been sucked dry of everything.
It was weird and unnatural.
He tasted the magic, again. Stronger this time. Acrid and dark and ancient. This place was creeping him out, and he didn’t get creeped out. He usually creeped other people out, as if humans knew he wasn’t quite the same as them. He gave himself a shake that rippled from ears to tail, but it didn’t dislodge the prickly tension in his skin. If he saw no one in the next few minutes, he was going to make a strategic withdrawal and report the place for further investigation, regardless of the possible consequences.
His eyes narrowed as he lifted his head above the long grass and scanned the expanse of neat, brown lawn that surrounded the house and the bush that stretched out to the next fence line. Having a property this size would be nice. He could shift and his neighbors would never know. His mouth opened in a lionish grin. Privacy—it was probably the same reason the Brightwaters had bought the place. The grin vanished. Despite the long grass hiding him, he felt very conspicuous. He couldn’t pass himself off as part of the local wildlife.
To one side, where the lawn met the bush, there were two old gum trees and a dark patch on the ground. Something white lay in the center of the black. Lachlan moved quickly through the tall grass. He wasn’t game enough to sprint over the lawn even though the long grass didn’t give him much cover. If someone was watching from the house, they’d see a ripple caused by an unfelt breeze as he moved through the grass. Even the air was too still. As he neared the trees, the ground grew warmer, the heat soaking through his paws.
He paused when he reached the trees. The dark patch was a sooty circle, and the white shape, a woman. Her long, dark hair was spread over the ground where she’d fallen. Brightwater, or victim?
He broke cover and paced the edge of the perfect, burned circle. Shamans loved a magic circle, especially one between two trees. Not that these were really trees anymore. They were more like skeletons, their leaves curled and brown on the ground. He flicked the edge of the circle with his tail, expecting to get a shock.
He didn’t get one. The circle was down.
A car swung up the driveway, crunching on gravel and breaking the total silence that had been coating the area. He glanced over to the house as a sharp stab of panic slipped between his ribs and lodged in his heart. He ignored it as best he could along with common sense and caution as he crossed the circle’s threshold. The circle was down, but the tingling sensation of magic still lingered within, ruffling his fur and making his skin itch. His breath huffed over the woman’s skin as he nudged her. He needed to see her face and ID her as one of the Brightwaters, or if she wasn’t, help her. The woman’s arm flopped to the side and he saw her face.
She was one of the twins. Clarissa or Dayna?
He leaned over her face, waiting to feel her breath against his nose. It never came. She was dead.
His shoulders hunched in a shrug he couldn’t quite pull off in this body. One less Brightwater to worry about. All he had to do was get the word back to Fendrake that he’d located the shaman and had found evidence of powerful magic.
The back door slammed open. Lachlan’s head snapped up. The other twin was on the porch, rifle in hand.
“Get away from my sister.” Metal clicked as she took off the safety.
But he was already moving…towards the woman.
Most people would run if they saw a lion charging towards them, even a slightly smaller and darker European lion. Lachlan was confident the shaman would dart inside and he’d sprint off into the bush and get back to his car and call Fendrake.
She didn’t run. She raised the rifle. And fired. Dust puffed at his feet as she missed.
Shit. Lachlan darted to his right, hoping to make it around the corner to the relative safety of the side of the house.
The rifle barked again and pain burst in his thigh. His leg went out from under him. He had to get away or he’d be the next life this shaman took. He limped on, dragging his leg, but he wasn’t fast enough. The passion fruit vine on the side of the house whipped out and wrapped around his paws. It was the only plant that wasn’t dead, and it was attacking. Tendrils reached out and grabbed him. The more he struggled, the tighter the plant gripped.
Shifting might give him an advantage—for a second. But then he’d be a naked, unarmed man. At least this way he had claws and teeth. He roared in fury and snapped at the green vine, but it dodged his jaws and wrapped around him like a muzzle.
The woman walked up to him. Her face was scrunched, as if she were torn between anger and grief, then she lifted the rifle as if to shoot him at point-blank range.
Lachlan growled and bared his teeth. He wasn’t going to die like this, but he had no speech and no time to shift and beg for his life. The woman turned the rifle and slammed the stock of the gun into the side of his head. White-hot pain flared in his temple, then the light was swallowed by black.
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