Chapter One
MINA
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Morning sun streamed through the trees, breaking into dozens of separate beams. Mist drifted under the lowest boughs, and pine needles crunched beneath my running shoes. A bird called from overhead, but otherwise, the only sounds were my short, steady breaths as I jogged along.
It was a beautiful, if overcast, morning. So beautiful, I could almost convince myself I’d done the right thing by moving to France. Inheriting and refurbishing a chateau in Burgundy — the chance of a lifetime, right?
I glanced back over my shoulder, and there it was, Chateau Nocturne, all the way at the end of a tunnel of trees. From a distance, the manor house was gorgeous, even postcard-worthy. But up close…
I turned away, doing my best to outrun the doubts, debts, and cobwebs.
The previous day had brought a deluge of autumn rain, so I slalomed around puddles for most of the way.
The first mile took me through the deep, dark forest, and the second, along rolling, open fields.
By the third mile, I was jogging through the little village of Auberre, with its town hall, church, and boulangerie.
I stopped and stretched before the scent of freshly baked bread and croissants lured me inside. The bell over the door chimed, and three people turned to greet me.
“Wilhelmina!” Madame Martin, the baker, called cheerily.
I preferred Mina, but my grandmother had always used my full name, and most older folks in town — and hence, most folks in town, period — stuck to that.
Madame Fontaine, the former schoolteacher, echoed her, then tut-tutted good-naturedly. “Running again? You’re always in such a rush.”
Jogging was more like it, and the only me time I could fit in to my schedule these days, but I didn’t try to explain.
“And so thin,” Madame Martin agreed. “No wonder she still hasn’t found a man.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Back in Maine, I was the outspoken one who didn’t shy away from gently calling out comments of that nature. In rural France… Well, I’d learned to cut the locals some slack, as they did for me.
“The usual for you?” Monsieur Martin asked.
I nodded. “A baguette and pain au chocolate, please.”
“What about that big order you placed yesterday? Are your sister and cousin finally joining you?”
I forced a smile. We three had jointly inherited the chateau, though the other two were still untangling themselves from commitments at home.
“Unfortunately, not yet. But soon, I hope.”
Mesdames Martin and Fontaine glanced at each other, and I steeled myself for rumors to fly.
Something along the lines of us arguing over a huge inheritance, no doubt.
Too bad that huge inheritance didn’t exist. We were the stressed — er, proud — new owners of a chateau, but the estate hadn’t come with enough cash to pay for basic upkeep, let alone the long list of urgent repairs.
I waved at my tiny backpack. “I’ll leave the rest for Madame Picard to pick up later today.”
Madame Picard was my grandmother’s housekeeper — my housekeeper, technically — and as much of a fixture as the fireplaces, paintings, and furniture.
My childhood memories of summers with my mother’s family in France all featured a middle-aged version of Madame Picard.
Now she had to be positively ancient, though she moved with the energy of someone half her age.
It’s the eagle shifter in her, my grandmother used to say.
Yes, shifter, as in capable of changing into animal form and running — or, in her case, flying — away.
A shifter, like we used to be, something inside me mourned.
Our family had lost its fortune almost a century ago, and the ability to change forms had petered out at about the same time.
I’m all for a healthy mix of new blood, but somewhere along the line, the different species canceled out each other’s powers, my grandmother used to lament. According to her, our family line held a blend of dragon, wolf, and eagle shifters, along with a number of magic-wielders.
But the only supernatural traits we had these days were, well…not much. We healed quickly, possessed incredibly acute senses, and could mind-speak to each other. But that was about it.
Madame Picard, on the other hand, came from much purer blood.
Maintaining two staff — Madame Picard and Monsieur Girard, the winzer/groundskeeper — might seem a little extravagant, but with forty-plus rooms and 120 acres to manage, they were more like a must. But even with their best efforts — and mine — the once-grand chateau was fading fast. The roof leaked in nineteen of the twenty bedrooms, and the place counted more rodents than human residents.
Shutters hung askew, and the plumbing hadn’t been updated since the early twenties — the nineteen-twenties, that is.
“I suppose you’re expecting company, then?” Madame Fontaine asked.
Madame Martin leaned in. In small towns, everyone knew everyone’s business, and the baker was always the first to find out.
“Not company,” I said. “Clients.”
“Oh! Did you finally find some tourists or a wedding party to rent rooms to?” Madame Martin asked.
That was the long-range plan — to make the huge property pay for itself, because I sure couldn’t.
Not on a teacher’s salary, and especially not now that I’d taken time off to try to save the place.
Chateau Nocturne had been in my family for eleven generations, and I refused to be the one who gave it all up.
“Not exactly. Just a small retreat group. But it’s a start,” I said, going for an upbeat note.
“It will take more than a start to save that money pit,” Madame Fontaine muttered, using the French term, gouffre financier. A sinkhole, in other words.
I slipped my backpack from my shoulders, paid, and packed the baguette and bun away. I loved these straight-talking townsfolk, but this was the one hour of the day I declared free from constant fretting.
“Well, thanks. I’m off.” I whirled for the door.
The bell jingled — too late for me to avoid bumping into the next customer.
I had a fair bit of momentum, so the bump wasn’t just a bump.
It was a full-on, chest-to-chest crash. Which would have been mortifying if that had been Jacques, the portly, fifty-plus farmer who hit on me every chance he could.
But it wasn’t Jacques, and it wasn’t mortifying. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Oh, sorry,” the man said, grabbing my arms to keep me from wobbling back.
“My fault,” I started, then stared into his warm brown eyes. “Clement?”
He broke into a huge smile. “Mina?”
My cheeks heated. My girls parts too.
“Wow. Good to see you,” was all I managed to sputter.
And, double wow. The boy I’d played with as a kid was now filling in a police uniform very nicely, indeed.
His eyes shone in an unmistakable way, and I felt a little giddy too.
He whipped off his hat. “Good to see you.”
“Finally, a young man who shows some manners,” Madame Fontaine murmured.
“Finally, a young man, period,” Madame Martin chuckled.
Like many rural towns in France, Auberre had an age demographic that leaned heavily to the senior side, so young blood was always cause for celebration.
But ooh la la. Clement wasn’t just young blood, but stunningly handsome young blood.
His neatly trimmed, blondish-brown hair had a slight, natural wave.
Caramel-colored eyes were set off by slightly darker brows and absolutely, totally focused on me.
The faint brackets around his mouth could lift into a heart-melting smile, as they did now — or fall into a grim, law-and-order line, I supposed.
Like Jacques, he was a local farmer’s kid — but unlike Jacques, Clement kept his body sculpted like a god’s.
The French custom of trading three kisses in greeting often felt like a chore. Not this time, though. I used the cheap excuse to grasp his shoulders — nicely muscled shoulders — while his lips gently brushed my cheeks each time.
I inhaled his scent — sage and lavender, like he’d been running through the surrounding fields. All kinds of warm feels went through me, and I barely remembered to step back.
“I didn’t know you were back in town,” I finally managed.
“I just transferred from Marseille.”
“Trading big-city crime for the boredom of a small town?” Monsieur Martin joked.
“Trading crowded streets for space to roam,” he murmured, keeping his eyes locked on mine.
My lips parted in realization, and I sniffed again. This time, I caught another, underlying scent. The scent of something wild, loyal, and fiercely protective.
Wolf, the back of my mind said.
Clement’s eyes glowed with pride, and he puffed out his chest a little.
See? the little boy in him announced. All grown up. I can shift and everything.
There weren’t many supernaturals around these parts, so we tended to congregate — or avoid each other at all costs.
Clement’s great-aunt had been friends with my grandmother, so I’d been privy to his family secret for a long time.
As kids, we’d played together in the woods, and while I always wanted to be a knight, he’d eagerly looked forward to shifting someday.
And now, he could.
I flashed a warm smile to say, Go, you.
His grin widened, revealing a row of perfect teeth.
“I haven’t seen Clement’s mother this happy in years,” Madame Martin said. “Her little boy, back in his childhood home again…”
I nearly burst out laughing. Did he fit in his old bed, or did his legs hang over the end?
“Just until I find my own place,” he rushed to say.
I grinned at that glimpse of the bashful little boy he’d once been.
“Wilhelmina is back in town too.” Madame Fontaine waggled her eyebrows. “Really back, for good.”
“Really?”
His eyes sparkled, and a flurry of hopes — and misgivings — raced through my mind. I had my hands full with the chateau, and the last thing I wanted was a town gossiping about my love life. But, hell. They would gossip, regardless. I might as well have a love life, right?
On the other hand, I’d never seen Clement as anything more than a friend.
As sweet — and hot — as he was, he had a hugely possessive, protective streak.
Even as a kid, I’d had to fight for a little breathing space.
A guy like him was fine as a friend and perfect law-enforcement material. But as a partner for life…
I’d toyed with that fantasy often and discarded it every time.
On the other other hand, I was thirty-five, and no man was perfect. And wasn’t he great in every other way?
Including in bed, a naughty corner of my mind speculated.
The clock on the town hall struck, and I checked my watch. Yikes. Where had the time gone? My new clients were on their way, and I had to get moving.
“Oh! I have to go.” I reached for the door. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
The three older folks traded sly winks as Clement nodded eagerly. “I guess you will.”
My heart raced — and that was before I set off at a run. Was destiny offering me an unmissable opportunity or a complication I couldn’t afford?