Morgan's Fate (20 page)

The knowledge that he’d immediately chosen Magnus as his own? No one had ever
chosen
Magnus. He was the hot-headed twin, the one the others avoided. To know Sleipnir relied on Magnus to keep him safe made him feel ten feet tall.

But Magnus wasn’t stupid. Logan would tear him a new one if Sleipnir so much as stubbed his toe, so he’d immediately called Logan and Kir to walk with them. No way would Logan allow his injured child out alone. It had taken some fast talking, but they’d agreed to let him out.

It just figured that the first person they saw was a woman Magnus would have once given his left nut for.

He glared at Sif, but it was half-hearted at best. Why did she always look so lost? It tore at him almost as much as Sleipnir’s injuries did. One wore his pain on the outside, while the other bore hers on the inside. “What are you doing here?”

Sif bit her lip, looking so uncertain, so fragile. He’d never understood why his father had chosen to turn away from her. He adored Jeanne, but Sif?

Sif was everything Magnus had dreamed a woman should be. Too bad she’d once been his stepmother.

Sleipnir whimpered, hiding his face against Magnus’s chest. To Magnus’s surprise, Sif blushed beet red at the sight. “I…”

“You?” Kir and Logan stepped in front of Magnus, more than likely preparing to protect Sleipnir. What they thought Sif would do to him, Magnus didn’t know. She’d been fierce and brave when she’d been with his father, but even she wouldn’t dream of challenging Baldur.

She straightened her shoulders as if facing a firing squad. She took one long, odd look at Magnus before turning her attention to Kir. “I want to join with you.”

Logan edged a little in front of Kir. “How do we know you’re not a spy? Frigg could have sent you here to sabotage us.”

Sif shook her head, her expression sad. “I wanted to join you that day at Fred’s house, but I wasn’t certain I would be welcome.” She glanced at Logan, pushing her golden hair behind her ear. “Sigyn wants to come too.”

He could only imagine Logan’s expression. His ex-wife would be an uncomfortable addition to their little family, especially since she still yearned for Logan with all her immortal heart. Where Sif had accepted Thor’s desire to be with the woman he loved, Sigyn had never once given up hope that eventually Loki would return to her.

Logan shook his head. “Jordan won’t—”

Sif held up her hands in a pleading gesture that nearly broke Magnus’s heart. “Please? She’s promised not to try and separate you. She…
we
just want to be free of Frigg.”

“But you can’t, not without someone strong to protect you.” Magnus stared down at the top of Sleipnir’s head, startled that the small man had caught on so quickly. His raspy voice held a note of compassion.

“You think we should allow it.” Magnus was stunned. She could be a spy for Frederica, or working for Grimm. No way would he allow her near Sleipnir.

Sleipnir looked up at him, his golden-brown eyes brimming with something Magnus couldn’t quite name. When the shifter went on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, Magnus bent so he could hear him better. What he said startled the hell out of Magnus, and gave him hope for the first time in centuries.

Odin carried his lover to the boat, placing her inside with all the gentleness she deserved. Grief, an almost foreign emotion, tightened his chest as he stared down at her pale, beautiful features. He placed her weapons at her sides, then covered her in her favorite white fur coat.

“It’s time.” Adam Grey, aka Frey, clapped Grimm on the shoulder, his gaze hard as it rested on Rina. Adam had sought him out; why, Grimm had no idea. He doubted it was in order to help Frigg, the frigid bitch. For now, Grimm would allow him in Valhalla, but he planned on keeping a close eye on the Vanir who’d fathered Jordan Tate-Saeter.

Odin nodded. Nothing could bring his beloved Rina back. Hel would ensure that. The bitch would see to it that Rina never again saw the light of day.

Ah, Rina. Foolish, beautiful Rina, who’d died for prophecy and would now spend eternity in Helheim, paying for imagined sins. His throat constricted, the pain almost too much to bear.

How had he allowed this to happen? How could he have allowed an emotion so deep to enter his heart? When Heimdall had brought her body he’d roared his rage, knowing she’d died by the Guardian’s hand. Not only had the Guardian killed his beautiful lover, he’d allowed the others to enter Asgard.

For that alone, Grimm would make him pay. And he knew just how to do it. But it would take time to plan properly, to make sure none of the others interfered.

The Guardian would regret taking his love away.

Grimm shoved the boat off the shore, keeping a stoic expression on his face as it set out to sea. Rina would have her lover see her off, would know even in the beyond that he’d remained strong for her.

He pulled an arrow out of his quiver, wrapping the end in a gasoline-soaked rag. He lit it on fire before sending it on its way. He watched the fiery light arc until it alighted on Rina’s pyre, the flames leaping high almost immediately.

When the boat was nothing more than a bright spot at the edge of night, he turned to Adam. “Now. About that alliance…”

About the Author

Dana Marie Bell wrote her first short story when she was thirteen years old. She attended the High School for Creative and Performing Arts for creative writing. When her parents moved out of the city and placed her in a Catholic high school for her senior year she tried desperately to escape, but the nuns held fast. She’s now a
USA Today
best-selling author.

Dana lives with her soul mate and husband Dusty, their two maniacal children, an evil ice-cream-stealing cat and a bull terrier that thinks it’s a Pekinese. She also suffers from a rare inflammatory arthritis and can be seen walking with a cane or tooling around in her mobility scooter. Her condition was the inspiration for Belle’s hip injury in
Steel Beauty
.

You can learn more about Dana at:
www.danamariebell.com
and
danamariebell.blogspot.com

Look for these titles by Dana Marie Bell
Now Available:
Halle Pumas
The Wallflower Sweet Dreams Cat of a Different Color Steel Beauty Only In My Dreams
Halle Shifters
Bear Necessities Cynful
The Gray Court
Dare to Believe Noble Blood Artistic Vision The Hob
Heart’s Desire
Shadow of the Wolf Hecate’s Own
Poconos Pack

Finding Forgiveness

True Destiny

Very Much Alive Eye of the Beholder Howl for Me

Coming Soon:

Poconos Pack

Mr. Red Riding Hoode

Halle Shifters

Bear Naked

Heart’s Desire

The Wizard King

When a wolf is hot for a witch, the sparks can be downright dangerous.

Hecate’s Own

© 2013 Dana Marie Bell
Heart’s Desire, Book 2

Zachary Beckett has finally done something right. He saved his brother’s life, and his reward is a ticket to Cleveland to train as a witch. Except every spell he casts wreaks havoc—until he’s banished to the children’s classroom.

At least his teacher is easy on the eyes. It isn’t long before the heat is rising, and it has nothing to do with a bubbling cauldron.

Jo has never met a walking Karma bomb like Zachary. His blue eyes haunt her, his body is made for sin, and his magic? The less said about that the better. But Jo is determined to help him, even if she has to fight their mutual attraction, tooth and nail.

When Zach discovers he’s been operating under a hex, he and Jo come together in a blazing-hot ritual to break its hold and reveal Zach’s destiny to fight evil. But the old enemy who cast the spell won’t give up until every Beckett male is stripped of his mate. Which could leave Zach to howl in agony forever—and doom Jo to a fate worse than death.

Warning: This novel contains explicit sex, graphic language, a sexy, awkward, blue-eyed wolf-witch and a woman who can make his dreams come true.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Hecate’s Own: “Good evening, class.”

Zachary Beckett winced and turned to face the woman entering the room behind him.

Holy crap.
Not her. Not Johra Yashodhar. Please, Lady?

Apparently the Lady was not in the mood to hear one screwed-up witch’s prayer, because Johra walked into the room in tight jeans and a sweater that hugged her every abundant curve.

He envied that sweater something fierce.

“Good evening, Miss Yashodhar,” the children echoed around him. Zach didn’t repeat it. He was too busy trying to roll his tongue back into his mouth. His wolf stirred under his skin, peeking curiously at the woman in front of them.

Those dark brown eyes zeroed in on him, the lone adult in a group of children. Nothing showed in them. If she knew who he was she was doing a great job of hiding it. She smoothed a lock of nearly black hair behind her ear, revealing delicate, dangling gold earrings. “I understand we have an addition to our class.”

Zach did his best to ignore the giggles of the ten-year-olds surrounding him. He kept his eyes on the vision of loveliness standing near the chalkboard.

If he had to be humiliated this way at least the view was nice.

Her lips twitched. “Why don’t you stand up and tell the class something about yourself.”

Zach gulped and stood. He’d hated school to begin with, and now he was being forced to relive it after work three nights a week. It was the YMCA craft club from hell.
What did I do to deserve this?
“My name is Zachary Beckett. I’m from Pennsylvania, and I’m the son of wizards.” That did it. Emotion shone in those incredible eyes of hers for all of two seconds.

He was pretty sure it was contempt.

He’d gotten that a lot from the witches here ever since they’d learned who he was. Apparently Lana was right. Witches did
not
hold wizards in high esteem. He just hadn’t expected to have it thrown in his face so blatantly. The witches here ran the gamut from cold to downright hostile. They would close ranks against him, leaving him left out of just about everything. Hell, the Prince had found him a rental for the duration. He’d been grateful when Roland first told him about it.

Then he’d learned exactly how far away it was from the rest of the magical community.

Zach cleared his throat. “I’ve been at the court now for—” he did a quick mental check, “—a month. I’ve learned a lot.”
Not.
Nothing he’d tried so far had worked, and he was rapidly developing a reputation as a screw-up here too. Johra
had
to have heard of him, being one of the witches willing to teach pupils, but she gave no sign that she had. Damn it.

A small girl with bright gold pigtails snickered behind her hand.

Apparently she’s heard of me.
He sighed. “I’m the first Beckett witch ever.” And according to his soon-to-be sister-in-law, Lana, one of the strongest witches she’d ever met. Now if only he could get that to translate into real, working spells rather than spectacular explosions of the graphite kind. The Lodge’s cleaning crew was
still
complaining about that. “I work for a graphic arts design firm as an artist.” He shrugged, giving the teacher his best “aw shucks” smile. “That’s pretty much it.”
Other than I’m single, disease free, and I think I want to you to have my babies.

Miss Yashodhar waved her hand. “Thank you, Zachary. Please take your seat.”

“Zach.” He sat, squeezing behind the small desk. He felt like a complete and utter dork.
Talk about a nightmare.

She nodded, but didn’t otherwise respond. She crossed her hands in front of her, every inch the stern teacher. “My name is Johra Yashodhar, and I’ll be teaching this class for the next few months. Welcome to the novice class.”

Zach blinked. The
novice
class? He’d been told he’d be getting a new trainer, but no one mentioned it was the
novice
trainer! He could feel the heat crawling up his cheeks at the subtle insult he’d been dealt. True, he’d screwed up under the few teachers willing to take him on, but he hadn’t screwed up
that
badly.

Had he?

The little blonde girl leaned closer. “My mom says you’re the worst witch she’s ever seen.”

Zach blinked. “Really? Who’s your mom?”

“Sharon Quinn.”

Zach buried his head in his hands. He’d accidentally turned Sharon’s hair green two days ago. She’d sworn she could teach him how to cast a
proper
illusion spell.

“They said they couldn’t even bleach it out. It’ll have to grow on its own.”

Zach peeked out from behind his hands. “Sorry.”

“Anything you’d like to share with the class, Zachary?”

Me?
He sat up straight. “No, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrowed. They darted between him and the little girl. “Good. Then let’s get to work.” She reached down and picked up a book. “Please open your books to page twenty-three of
Incense, Herbs and Potions
, please.”

Zach scooted back as far as he could and looked under his desk. It was empty. “Ms. Yashodhar?”

“Yes, Zachary?”

“I don’t have a book.”

She rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you given the syllabus?”

“No, ma’am.” He was lucky he hadn’t been given the boot, the way people around here treated him. They all acted like he had leprosy.

“Sarah. Share with Zachary.”

The little girl glared at him and turned the book toward him. Cover side out.

“Let’s begin.”

Zach sat back and prepared for what he was sure would be the most miserable night of his existence.

Jo waved her hand in front of her face and dove frantically for the windows. “Everyone stay calm!” She struggled with opening the old windows. Something was jamming them closed. She coughed, desperate to get the stench and smoke out of her classroom.