Chapter 3
3
A manda heaved in a breath, only to have it cut short and burn her throat. Ever since the royal fairies had been unlocked and the wolfairies had been conceived and born, more and more humans and other creatures had learned they carried the fairy bloodline.
Some royals.
Some not.
Her mother had been one of the non-royal fairies, one with absolutely no magical powers except to form a little fairy dust that made people feel good. When the few tiny specks her mother generated landed on anyone, it felt like a tiny lightning bolt and wormed its way into your system like warm butter. It put a smile on your face, but that was about it.
However, neither she nor her sisters had ever spewed the dust from their bodies. While being a fairy would have been interesting, it also would have been controversial. And something they didn’t need. They possessed powerful magic as royals. They’d gone to the best schools and studied their craft. Amanda was not overly disappointed that she hadn’t been blessed with her mother’s fairy bloodline. Besides, many witch covens didn’t appreciate the blending of the two.
And her aunt would have seen it as an abomination, which is why they hadn’t told Aunt Alley about her mother.
So when she blinked fairy dust, it set her heart racing. The fact her father had either ignored it or not seen it terrified her. She’d kept those emotions close to her chest during the meeting as she did her best to control something she had no idea she possessed. Thankfully, the damn stuff hadn’t exploded from her body during the press conference. That wouldn’t have been good.
Panic was nothing she’d ever experienced before, not even when she performed live. Acting, whether on the stage, in front of a live audience, or on a set, she’d never felt a pang of fear. She’d given speeches as a member of the Royal Coven to tens of thousands of people and on live television to millions and not once did she feel anxious to the point she felt ill.
Nerves? Yes. But those weren’t anything like not being able to breathe.
She sat on the bench with her head between her legs in the hallway of Media-Max’s lobby where the press couldn’t see her.
Hopefully.
Two strong hands massaged her back and shoulders. She kept trying to shrug them off, but their owner wouldn’t go away.
“Relax,” Jackson said in a low, deep voice. His lips were so close to her ear she could have sworn he had kissed her. Only she knew better. No way would he press his mouth to her cheek. He could barely stand to look at her. During their meeting, he kept darting his gaze away and shifting as if sitting near her made him crawl right out of his human skin. Not to mention that damn dust kept dancing on his leg like it had found some magical playground.
She bet if he could have, he would have shifted into a wolf and sat in front of her, baring his long, sharp teeth in a bone-chilling growl.
“Where’s my father?” she managed.
“Do you want me to get him?”
“God, no.” She blinked. Dust bounced off her lashes and flowed like a river from her face to his fingertips.
The air she sucked in scorched her lungs, and she couldn’t get enough oxygen to stop her heart from racing wildly out of control. She remembered the lead actress in her senior year of high school having a panic attack ten minutes before curtain call. Oh, how she had wanted to cast a spell to make sure that poor girl couldn’t go onstage so she could take over as understudy. But she chose not to, and Amanda ended up watching from backstage.
“All right. But I believe he’s still in the lobby if you change your mind.” Jackson’s voice rumbled inside her, sending warm pulses through her body. The second she’d laid eyes on him in Paul Ricter’s office, her palms grew tacky with perspiration, and every erogenous zone she had went into overdrive. She’d found him attractive in pictures, but damn, in person, those bright-teal eyes would knock any woman out.
His wavy dark hair flowed to his shoulders. His scent, a mixture of orange with a splash of mint, filled her nostrils, making her even more dizzy when she stood in front of a dozen reporters, all of which she’d met before, while Paul and the top executives gave a statement about the film and the co-stars. She’d fielded a couple of questions, as did Jackson, but as soon as they ended the session, she made a beeline for a private corner to fall apart.
“This isn’t like me,” she muttered, not knowing why she needed to quantify her behavior. Or the damn dust. Once one journalist brought up the murder, the room had grown silent except for the rhythmic beating of two hearts.
Hers pounded wildly in her chest. But the second one that pulsed in unison with hers sent a shock wave through her bloodstream.
She knew she had to be the one to assure the press that the royals held no ill will toward Jackson and asked that everyone leave the past where it belonged.
That had been the moment terror gripped her skin like a million tiny needles penetrating her flesh.
She clutched her chest. Maybe she was having a heart attack at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.
“Look at me,” Jackson said softly. His touch was tender. Caring. Her pounding heart eased from her throat to the center of her chest.
Where it belonged.
The last thing she wanted to do was stare into his eyes, much less look at any inch of his taut frame. Having his hands on her was too much to bear. It was like being on the most exhilarating roller-coaster ride. Terrifying at first, but you knew once you got going, it would be the thrill of a lifetime.
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
“You’ve had one of these before?”
She sucked in a breath, only to cough and gag on it. Shaking her head, she tried to fill her lungs, this time slowly.
“Trust me when I say it will pass. You just have to ride it out and be as calm as possible.”
“Because the great Jackson Ledger panics all the time.” Sarcasm had always been her go-to in private situations with family and close friends.
Jackson was neither.
He laughed. “I’m not great, and I used to have panic attacks all the time when I was younger and first starting out in this business.”
“Well, I’m not starting out, and I’ve…” She coughed as her lungs once again deflated, and a little fairy dust slipped out between her lips. She covered her mouth and stared at him with wide eyes.
“Now’s probably not a good time to ask about this stuff, is it?” He waved his hand through the dust, collecting it between his fingers. It soaked right into his skin.
“You can’t tell anyone about it,” she whispered. “Promise me.” Her chest tightened. Her pulse raged like a wild river.
“Don’t talk, just breathe.” He rested his index finger under her chin, tilting her head. “Like this.” He took in a slow, controlled breath, his warm exhale easing the tension in her face.
She gasped, catching his gaze, but soon relaxed as she mimicked his movements. Before she knew it, her breathing had returned to normal and the dust disappeared.
But not her pulse.
Nor her raging desire to shove her tongue between his luscious lips.
Now that wouldn’t be ladylike at all.
Fucking werewolves.
“Come on.” He stood, tugging at her hand. “Let’s get out of here.” He curled his fingers around her bicep.
“No one is telling me what to do or where to go.”
He glared at her for a long moment, the sun hitting his eyes, making a kaleidoscope of colors glimmer. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had only a few hours to process us being in a movie together. We start rehearsals next week, and the only thing I really know about you is what I’ve seen in the newspapers, and that is very little since I’ve tried like hell not to know anything about your family.” He arched a brow. “And we should probably chat a little about this fairy dust.”
“That’s none of your business, and seriously, no one can know.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, following him to the rear parking lot, which was totally empty other than one black soft-top Jeep. The warm sun beat down on her already-flushed face. She’d been in over a dozen films and on numerous television shows. Not once had she ever lost it.
“I won’t say anything, but I’m guessing it’s never happened before.” He glanced over his shoulder.
“Again, it has nothing to do with you.”
“Maybe not. But me wanting to spend a little time alone with you isn’t about you either. It’s about me.” He opened the passenger door. “Please text or call your father so he doesn’t do something crazy like call the police.”
She shoved his hand off the door, climbed in, and slammed it shut. “I’m not going to respond to that.” She pulled out her cell and tapped on her dad’s name. Her father had never been the overprotective, overbearing father he could have been, especially since he’d had four sassy girls, each having a mind all their own, and none of them had been afraid to express themselves. He wouldn’t be upset about her ducking out the back door with Jackson.
But the fairy dust? He would want to know about that, and eventually, she would have to tell him what happened and that Jackson seemed to be the trigger.
If he didn’t already know.
“Hey, sweetheart. Where are you?” her father asked.
“Jackson and I snuck out,” she said. “Don’t get mad, Daddy. But we wanted to spend a little time alone together to get to know one another, and the opportunity presented itself for us to leave. But I didn’t want to you to worry.”
“Well, thank you for that, because I was starting to wonder what happened to the two of you,” her dad said. “And there’s something we need to talk about. It’s important.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow morning?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Why don’t you come over for breakfast.”
“All right, Dad. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She dropped her phone in her purse, leaned back, and tried to tell herself that this was simply her advancing her career. Jackson Ledger, regardless of what his father had done, had once been considered one of Hollywood’s golden boys. While the bottom-feeders of the media world focused on the past, the real entertainment critics reported on his talent.
And he had that in spades. He brought depth to any character he portrayed. Jackson had the ability to transform himself into his roles and make the audience believe and root for him, no matter how broken or flawed the person he pretended to be was. He was a master of his craft and humble about it to boot.
The Jeep roared to life, jerking her thoughts back to the present. Jackson shoved the gear stick into first.
“Wow. A manual transmission. Don’t see that too much these days.” She tucked a few stray strands of her hair behind her ears and studied Jackson’s profile. Ever since learning he’d moved back to the area, she’d purposely avoided any and all events Jackson had either been invited to or could possibly attend. It wasn’t out of fear for the man, but she would admit to being frightened of the pull he had on her, both physically and emotionally.
And that sensation of being drawn to him hadn’t started the moment she stepped into Paul’s office. No. It began when she watched his first film, though she’d never admit to it nor would she ever tell anyone. That would be crazy.
“You know how to drive one?” he asked with a wicked smile. He could be so playful.
She laughed. “Learned when I was ten. My father secretly wanted boys, so he took all his girls hunting and other stuff normally reserved for father-son bonding in the royal family. Drove my Aunt Alley nuts. She thought it would ruin us all. She’d tell my mother she needed to put a stop to it.”
“And what did your mom say about that?”
Amanda smiled at the memory. Not many people stood up to Aunt Alley. While she loved her aunt with all her heart, she could be a tough one to get along with. Alley was stuck in the dark ages at times. She thrived on tradition. Demanded it. Believed that without it, the royals would be run off. And maybe she was right. The royal family held no power. But they did get special treatment wherever they went. The Twilight Crossing Council respected their role and honored their titles.
However, Alley often wanted more. She wanted a seat at the table.
But that role was reserved for the leader of witch covens, and that honor went to Honduras, the High Priest of the Coven of the Raindrops. Honduras often sought her father’s counsel. They had many meetings. Discussed all witch business and Honduras always included her father in any major decision, as well as Trask, which royally pissed off her aunt.
Alley thought Trask was pure evil and would ruin them all.
“My mother, bless her human soul, planted her hands on her hips, glared at my aunt, and told her to put a frog in her throat and to try not to choke on it.” Amanda burst out laughing.
“Is that some big witch insult?”
“Sort of, but I’m not done yet.” Amanda cleared her throat. “Aunt Alley got all indignant and reminded my mother she was a mere human. But that her daughters were royals and should behave a certain way. That her husband should know better, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d be stripped of his role as head of our coven because of his inability to raise young ladies.” She shook her head. “My mother got in my aunt’s face and told her it wasn’t very ladylike to threaten someone, especially with something that the elders would consider treason. My mother then asked Aunt Alley if she planned on staying for dinner because she’d heard us girls had shot a deer and that we were gutting it as they spoke. I think my Aunt Alley nearly choked on a frog, figuratively speaking, of course.”
“Which one of you pulled the trigger?”
“My baby sister.” Amanda shivered. “While we enjoyed spending time with our dad, the hunting wasn’t for us. I can’t say any of us enjoyed killing animals, much less watching my father rip the meat off their bones, but it’s an experience I wouldn’t change, because spending time with Dad was always the best.”
“What else did you do with your dad?”
“He took us fishing. Taught us how to drive a car, change a tire, even how to change the oil. We would play baseball and basketball,” she said as she stared out the window. “But I think camping was my favorite thing to do with my dad. We’d do it every year and it was always just so peaceful.”
“You’re lucky you had a father to teach you those things.” He glanced at her as he pulled onto the Thruway. “And spend time with you.”
“What about your mother?” She expected to see sadness or, at the very least, an emptiness in his shadowy eyes from a childhood without a father, but instead, a sense of pride simmered behind the intense teal green.
“She worked two jobs to keep a roof over our heads until I made enough money to support the family. She didn’t have a lot of free time, but family time was always important, and my siblings and I are all very close.”
All the reports she’d read about Jackson over the years painted him—and his family—as lone wolves. The tabloids always presented Jackson as a recluse, which was almost unheard of when it came to werewolves with their strong bonds to their pack. But the only ones to ever describe him as angry or difficult to work with had been his ex-girlfriends. Even through his public breakups, he’d remained quiet while the women went after him with all they had, making them look like vindictive bitches. Heidi had said she left Jackson because he had a mean streak and cheated, but everyone had seen her nasty side when she tossed a drink in his face at a party after a major award show.
Her reasoning for the outburst was that Jackson had been cruel. Only the entire encounter had been filmed, so no one believed her side of the story.
But Jackson never made a statement, which actually made him look as though he could have done or said something deserving of a cosmo being tossed on his nice white shirt.
“I’m sorry your childhood was so rough,” she managed to croak out.
He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not your fault my father’s a big prick.”
“My father is a good, loving man,” she whispered, wishing she could have taken the words back.
“I can tell that he is and he’s shown my family great kindness. So many others aren’t as blessed as you have been.”
She let his words hang in the breeze as he exited the Thruway and merged onto the Northway. Her father’s protection spell blanketed her body like a warm, fuzzy throw as they drove farther away from the city. The spell would warn her of anyone wishing to cause her harm of any kind.
But that wouldn’t protect Jackson.
Not that she expected anything bad to happen, but it was nice to feel the comfort of her father’s arms.
The royal family of the Coven of the Silver Flock would never use witchcraft to harm anyone or to better themselves over someone else. People often wondered why they called themselves witches if they didn’t use it, which made her laugh because they practiced witchcraft every day. Being a witch was a way of life, and they used their craft to help ease the pain of the sick and seek guidance in their future. They used it to help the less fortunate. To create safe havens for those who had nothing.
Spells and potions were a combination of medicine, spiritual healing, cosmic energy, and a portal into the mind. When a witch chose not to practice, their magic suffered. Amanda had even heard of witches losing all their power and essentially transforming into a mere human. Not that there was anything wrong with humans. They had their own purpose on the planet and in this realm. But she couldn’t imagine a life without magic.
“Where are we going?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. They had traveled for nearly two hours. She could understand getting out of the city. Away from where reporters were lurking on every street corner. She thought maybe he might be taking her closer to her family home, an hour outside the city. Or his, which she’d learned was only forty minutes away from where she lived.
But this seemed a little over the top.
“My cabin.” He glanced in her direction. “It’s peaceful, quiet, and no one will bother us there.”
She checked the rearview mirror. She supposed the paparazzi could have followed them, but she would have sensed that with the protection spell since they only wanted a picture and a byline so they’d snag a nice hefty paycheck.
Or maybe not, since Jackson wouldn’t let her father cast the same spell on him.
Her father was more than a high priest. He was a wizard and a master of his craft.
The wildest thing she’d ever seen her father do was make a Thanksgiving feast appear in a homeless shelter when a blizzard had prevented the food trucks from getting through. Over the years, as she read her father’s Book of Spells, his goodwill and constant modesty humbled her.
She stared out the window, arms folded over her chest, legs crossed at the ankles as he continued up the Northway. The city buildings had long been replaced with lush greenery. Tall trees lined the curvy road. Colorful bushes speckled the hilltops. As a kid, during the full moon, her father would take her and her sisters to Lake George. It was their favorite place to go camping.
Deep down, she was no city girl, and they always lived on the fringes of the Big Apple. She enjoyed all the comforts of home as much as a good campfire. While she much preferred a nice plush king-size bed, she never minded an air mattress while staring at the stars on a crisp, cool summer’s night.
“And where is that?”
“Lake George,” he said.
“We could just stop at a diner somewhere. No need to go all the way out there just for you to have to drive me home in a few hours, which will be in the middle of the night, and I don’t feel like breaking out the concept of the flying witch to get back.” She turned and glared. “Which is impossible. You know that, right? We can’t fly more than maybe a hundred feet. We don’t break out broomsticks and fly across the night sky. Our only ability is to hover above the ground and that’s only during rituals and spells.”
“That was a little more information than I needed.” He glanced in her direction. “I’m not driving you home.”
“Excuse me?” She glared at him with narrowed eyes, making sure she didn’t accidentally stab him with her mind. “You expect me to call a car service?”
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
“Then what? Because if you think I’m spending the night, you better protect your crown jewels. I won’t hesitate to kick you.”
That got his attention as he squirmed in his seat. “Look. This movie is make-or-break for both of us. We’ve never worked together, much less had a conversation with each other. Spending time alone will only give us a better shot at proving to the world I’m still on top and you’ve got what it takes to be a leading lady.”
Sitting up taller, she smoothed down the front of her slacks. “Having lunch together is one thing, but I’m not spending the night at your cabin. Is this how you treat all your co-stars?”
He turned his head and dared to wink. “I’m not planning on hitting on you. I no longer sleep with actresses or anyone I work with. This gives us time to figure each other out so we can jump into our roles?—”
“Do you feel that?” A sudden chill floated across her skin just as the steering wheel jerked to the left, into the other lane, into the path of an eighteen-wheeler.
She screamed in unison with the loud, long horn from the truck barreling down the road.
Jackson growled as his muscles flexed, but the steering wheel didn’t budge. “Hold on,” he yelled, trying to shimmy the wheel right and left, but nothing.
“Out of the cauldron, into the light, send this vehicle to the right.” She waved her hands, and the fairy dust flowing from her fingers curled around the wheel. Just before the truck whizzed by, the Jeep jerked back into the proper lane.
“What the fuck was that?” Jackson slammed on the brakes, pulling off to the side, glaring at her with a snarl. “I hate magic. Don’t ever use it again.”
“If I hadn’t, we would have hit that truck head-on.” Her voice trembled, weakened from the quick spell that almost hadn’t worked. “We’re lucky I even had a spell that would deal with something like that.” She also wondered how much of the vehicle jerking back to the proper lane had been her magic or the dust clinging to the steering wheel.
“I had it handled.”
“Right, because your brawn is stronger than black magic.” She could still feel the darkness of the black magic circling above their heads like a vulture waiting for its prey to die.
He lowered his chin, raising his eyelids. “Excuse me?”
“I felt it just as your car veered to the left. It was cold. Clammy.” She hugged her middle. “I’ve never felt anything like that before, but I know that’s what it was. The protection spell my father put on me weakened the magic, but whoever used the black magic meant to hurt one or both of us.”
He ran a hand down his face, letting his index finger and thumb come together at the base of his chin. “You think some witch tried to kill us with black magic?”
“I don’t know who it was meant for because I didn’t feel it until it was almost too late. This is why you should let my father or me cast a protection spell, though his would be stronger.”
“And what about that fairy dust? I saw it and felt it. That’s some pretty powerful stuff. It took hold of my muscles and pushed the steering wheel and the vehicle back to the other lane. Did you conjure that up too?” He arched a brow.
“No. That happened without me doing anything and I’m not sure what to do about that.”
“Maybe I should just pack it in and forget about this film altogether,” he muttered, dropping his head back. “I wasn’t even given the chance to sleep on the idea of working with you, and regardless of your father’s kind spirit, your family and their witch supporters have had it in for me from the day my father pulled the trigger. I wouldn’t put it past any of them to have a voodoo doll, and right now, they are getting ready to carve out my kidneys for fun.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous. And for the record, we don’t use voodoo dolls.”
He let out a long breath. “Really? Then why do I need a protection spell?”