Dangerously Charming (27 page)

Larissa threw her arms around Jenna's neck and kissed her soundly on both cheeks. “Thank you! Thank you! You are welcome anytime, I assure you.” Kelvin was more restrained, but Day could see the relief draining the strength from his limbs as he put arms that trembled around his wife and child.

“We look forward to becoming better acquainted with our new family,” he said with hard-won dignity.

The boy beamed from ear to ear. “I get to stay
and
I get a new sister? This is the best day ever!”

“It is a good day, isn't it?” Jenna said, smiling at Day. He was so proud of her strength and her wisdom, but most of all of the huge heart that had attracted him to her in the first place.

“A very good day indeed,” the Queen said, her voice ringing like a bell through the clearing. “Well chosen, young Jenna. We are quite pleased with how all has unfolded.”

Jenna curtsied, unobtrusively brushing away a few stray tears. “Thank you, Your Majesty. So I have your permission to come from time to time to visit my brother and his parents?”

The Queen gestured to one of her ladies in waiting, who
came forward bearing an indigo velvet cushion with a silver bracelet sitting atop it. The bracelet was wide and gleaming, carved with mysterious runes.

“More than Our permission,” the Queen said. “Our blessing. We have had this token created especially for you, so that you may come and go to Our lands at will. We consider you one of Our subjects now, with all the rights and obligations that come with such an honor.”

“Oh boy,” Barbara muttered from her spot not far from where they stood. “That could get interesting.”

Day thought things were quite interesting enough, thank you. “You are most gracious as always, Your Majesty,” he said, as the lady-in-waiting presented the bracelet to Jenna. “But we have imposed upon your hospitality long enough. It is time to return to our lives on the other side of the doorway.” He glanced down at the droopy-lidded baby in his arms. “I believe your namesake is ready for her nap.”

The Queen gave him a slight smile, amethyst eyes glittering. “Ah, but you cannot leave yet, White Rider. We still have another request to grant, do you not recall?”

Jenna and Day exchanged bemused glances. “I don't believe we made a second request, Your Majesty,” Jenna said. “Begging Your Majesty's pardon.”

“I'm afraid this one is down to me,” Barbara said, stepping forward.

Day was completely confused. “What?”

The King smiled at Day. “We have long searched for a gift that would be adequate to thank you for your long service to this kingdom and to the Baba Yagas. It was Barbara who gave Us a suggestion for something you might wish to have. Or should I say, some
one
.”

He gestured for Day to turn around.

Behind him there stood a figure he had not seen for more years than he could count—a tall woman of upright posture, with pale green hair in many tiny braids that reached below her waist, wearing a loose tunic and trousers of supple leather
dyed in multiple shades of greens and browns so that their wearer would vanish into the forest like a ghost. On her face was a smile so bright, it almost outshone the light of the moons and artificial sun overhead.

“Mother!” he said, so stunned he couldn't move. Jenna plucked the baby out of his arms before he could drop her and gave him a little nudge.

He had sent out inquiries, but had been unable to go out and look for her himself, unwilling to venture into the depths of the Siberian forests until Flora was a little older. Of course, even with her limited access to the other side of the doorway, the Queen had resources well beyond any he could ever have hoped to muster. No doubt she had simply sent out a royal request to all the nymphs and tree sprites who had remained behind, until one of them had been able to search out his mother's hidden retreat.

“My darling Mikhail,” the woman said, reaching out both hands and clasping his, before pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace. “It has been too long. I am glad to see you looking so well. When the Queen told me of your ordeal, I was beside myself that I had not been here for you during your long recovery.”

“It wasn't your fault, Mother,” he said, embracing her in return. He was rocked by the depth of his emotions at this unexpected reunion. “I haven't been very good at keeping in touch.”

Barbara gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like “
Understatement
,” and he raised his head to glare at her over his mother's shoulder. As one might expect, the Baba Yaga was completely unimpressed.

“Family is important,” she said to Day, giving him the full force of her basilisk stare. She gestured at Liam and little Babs, standing next to her, and then at Jenna and the baby, and beyond that to the elf couple and their son. “It can come in all different shapes and sizes, and often isn't at all what we expected, but it is one of the most important things in the
world.” She smiled up at Liam. “A Human sheriff taught me that, among other things.”

Day nodded. “I have been learning that particular lesson myself,” he said. “And I hope that you will still allow me to consider you family, for all that I am no longer your White Rider.”

Barbara flushed and punched him on the upper arm, her version of a full-body hug. “I would be most unhappy if you did not view yourself as part of my own extended family,” she said in a suspiciously gruff voice. “And you will
always
be my White Rider, no matter what.”

Jenna interrupted what was threatening to become an embarrassingly emotional moment between two people who hated overt displays of sentiment by taking a step forward to stand next to Day and his mother.

“I'm Jenna,” she said. “Your son's fiancée. And this is Flora, your granddaughter.” She held the baby up and offered her to Day's mother, who took Flora into her arms with exaggerated care.

“I have a grandchild?” she breathed, joy suffusing her plain features and transmuting them into beauty. “How is that possible?” Her naturally stern expression dissolved into a broad smile as the baby discovered the tiny beads hidden within her many braids and chortled in delight.

Day opened his mouth to explain, but Jenna just shook her head. “It was a miracle, really. A fairy tale with a happy ending for everyone. Now we have you, and our family is complete.”

“Not quite,” Day said sadly. For him, two people were still missing.

No one had heard from Gregori since he had come to visit Jenna and the new baby in the hospital and then disappeared again.

When Day had returned to the cabin by the lake, it had been deserted. No sign of Gregori, not even his unusually tame salamander. The stove had been as cold as a stone and the blankets were neatly folded at the end of the bed.

Day had left a note for his brother, asking for him to get in touch when he could, and wrapped it around the brightly hued phoenix feather that was all he had to leave as a thank-you for Gregori's help. Alexei was still absent as well, although there had been rumors of a huge man seen brawling in taverns and bars from Alaska to Southern California.

“Ah, We knew there was yet something else,” the Queen said, her interest already half returned to the competing fish and frogs below. She was not known for her long attention span, and emotional moments gave her indigestion. “We were given this note to pass on to you on this day.” Her regal face looked momentarily bemused. “Although We are still not certain how he would be sure that all would unfold as it has. One suspects there is another interesting story to come.”

She handed a scroll to a small page in a silken tunic and trousers, who ran to give it over to Day. It bore flowing black lettering on red paper, written in Gregori's distinctive hand.

My Dear Brother Mikhail,

Congratulations on your new family and on finding your mother. I have no doubt it was a fascinating experience for everyone involved. In fact, you have inspired me; perhaps I will go looking for my own. I have heard it said that she was such a powerful shamaness that she found a way to transcend death and still lives somewhere with her disciples. It is hard to believe such a thing would be possible, after all these years, but stranger things have happened. We are both living proof of that.

Whether or not I attempt such a search, I have decided it is time for me to stop hiding in the Otherworld. I am not finding that which I am seeking here anyway. I, too, need to find some means to make peace with my new life and try to discover a path back to my lost inner balance.

If such a thing can even be achieved, which I am no longer convinced is true. My faith has deserted me, and
I do not know quite how to make my way through the world without it.

I wish you all good fortune in your new life. Oh, and you asked me once if I had seen any signs that I might be developing any sort of strange new abilities, such as your shape-changing gift. I am beginning to suspect that the answer to that question is yes.

Yours affectionately,

Your eldest brother,

Gregori
Sun

TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF THE NEXT BROKEN RIDER NOVEL

DANGEROUSLY DIVINE

FROM BERKLEY
SENSATION!

GREGORI
Sun stared at his reflection in the spotty bathroom mirror of a cheap motel: waist-length straight dark hair pulled back in a tail, black eyes set at a slight slant over the flat cheekbones of his Mongolian ancestors, and the Fu Manchu mustache he'd worn since he'd become a man, longer ago than anyone who met him might imagine. The harsh glare of the light fixture glinted off the straight razor in his right hand. It trembled almost imperceptibly, a leftover echo of the debilitating damage he'd taken a year ago at the hands of the deranged and powerful witch who had once been his ally and a trusted friend.

A deep breath and a moment's focused attention banished the tremor and steadied his hand for the task ahead. Sun entertained the wistful thought that it would be nice if all his other remaining issues could be dealt with as easily. But he was not a man who had ever taken the easy way, even if there had been one available, which there was not. Hence this next step.

Before he could change his mind, the razor flashed—once,
twice, three times. Black hair fell into the sink, its darkness a stark contrast against the pitted white porcelain, just as his former life was a stark contrast to his present existence and his future path. The acrid smell of the motel's antiseptic cleaner echoed his mood.

Now the face staring back at him seemed to belong to a stranger. Clean-shaven, with hair barely long enough to be held back by the leather thong he wore, the man in the mirror seemed somehow younger and more vulnerable, although he still wore Sun's habitual aura of impenetrable calm. As with much else in Sun's life these days, it was more semblance than reality.

The Buddhist monastery he was entering didn't require first-year novices to shave their heads, any more than it mandated any formal clothing. Students were only expected to obey the basic rules and follow the regimen of study, practice, and service. Sun had laid aside his traditional red leathers and silks anyway, as another way of putting aside the past, and now wore loose black wool pants and a black cotton turtleneck more suited to the frigid Minnesota winters.

The commitment he was making felt worthy of a symbolic sacrifice, even if no one was aware of it but him.

This was a new beginning in search of a new man; he couldn't go into it looking the same as he had for more than a thousand years. Sun was so changed on the inside, he barely knew who he was anymore. His outside might as well reflect that.

*   *   *

THE
alley reeked of rancid garbage, burning grease from the Chinese restaurant at the far end, and other pungent odors best not examined too closely, the smell so strong it almost seemed like a solid presence. An abandoned collection of ramshackle cardboard, once the temporary shelter for a homeless person, continued its slow decaying crumble down the brick side of the building to her left, and rats scrabbled over some half-frozen garage in an overturned can to her right.

Ciera Evans ignored them all as she concentrated on her silent pursuit of the man she'd followed for the last six nights. He vanished into the back of a dimly lit building, the door gaping open long enough to reveal a smoky interior and a circle of men sitting around a faded green table playing poker. Drunken laughter spilled out into the night and then cut off with a slam that even the rats ignored. It was that kind of neighborhood.

Not what she was looking for, she thought. Not tonight. But soon.

She backed away, careful not to trip over anything in the alley as she tucked a stray lock of dark curly hair under the hoodie that kept her reasonably warm on this cold Minneapolis night while also masking her distinctive features. The worn brown leather jacket she wore on top of the hoodie fit right into the usual local attire, so she wasn't too worried about being noticed on her way back to the car.

A couple of blocks away, though, Ciera realized she was being stalked in turn. Ironic, really. And a little inconvenient, but she could feel the pulse speed up in her throat and admitted, to herself at least, that she was almost eager to be forced into action after long nights of watching and waiting and doing nothing.

The two men who followed her no doubt thought she was easy prey. They were about to find out just how wrong they were.

“Hand over your money and your phone and nobody needs to get hurt,” said the bigger of the two toughs as they closed in on her. His heavy boots clattered on the icy sidewalk, the same sound that had alerted Ciera to her unwanted escort.

“That's what you think,” Ciera said, using a low raspy voice to disguise her sex. A twist of her wrists sent her fighting sticks sliding out of her sleeves and into her hands, and she set her feet in a stance that was both rooted and flexible. “Last chance to walk away, boys.”

The shorter man, underdressed for the weather in ripped pants and holey sneakers, shook his shaved head. “Not a chance, dude. In case you haven't noticed, there are two of us
and only one of you, and you're kind of scrawny. A couple of pieces of wood aren't going to save you.” He nodded to his friend and they both moved in closer, scruffy faces wearing matching expressions of stubble-adorned menace.

“Too true,” Ciera whispered, lower than they were likely to hear. “But a couple of pieces of wood and years of self-defense classes will go a long way.”

She didn't bother to show off—a rookie mistake—attacking instead in a flurry of kicks and hits aimed at vulnerable knees, elbows, and collarbones that left the men lying groaning on the ground behind her. She shoved the fighting sticks back up her sleeves and kept on walking without a backward glance.

A few twists and turns later and she was back at the car she always used for her evening forays. It couldn't be traced to her since it was registered in the name of a woman long dead. A practical vehicle, it also served to remind her of why she did what she did. The dead woman had been her friend. More than her friend—her savior. Now Ciera carried on her mission, because it was the only way she could repay the debt she owed. And because she'd made a promise to the only person in her life who had ever kept their word to her.

Back in her apartment, she stripped off the anonymous hoodie and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She wasn't sure she recognized the woman staring back at her. It was hard to say which one was real—the face she showed the world during the day or the one she hid at night. Maybe neither. But if there was another Ciera beyond those two, she wasn't sure
what
that woman would look like. Or if she'd even like her if she ever had a chance to find out.