Magic’s Song

Sela Carsen

A Nocturne Falls Universe Story

Copyright © 2016 by Sela Carsen

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction and was made possible by a special agreement with Sugar Skull Books, but hasn’t been reviewed or edited by Kristen Painter. All characters, events, scenes, plots and associated elements appearing in the original Nocturne Falls series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kristen Painter, Sugar Skull Books and their affiliates or licensors.

Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or Sugar Skull Books.

Published in the United States of America.

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NEWSLETTER

Dear Reader

Dear Reader,

Nocturne Falls has become a magical place for so many people, myself included. Over and over I’ve heard from you that it’s a town you’d love to visit and even live in! I can tell you that writing the books is just as much fun for me.

With your enthusiasm for the series in mind – and your many requests for more books – the Nocturne Falls Universe was born. It’s a project near and dear to my heart, and one I am very excited about.

I hope these new, guest-authored books will entertain and delight you. And best of all, I hope they allow you to discover some great new authors! (And if you like this book, be sure to check out the rest of the Nocturne Falls Universe offerings.)

For more information about the Nocturne Falls Universe, visit http://kristenpainter.com/sugar-skull-books/

In the meantime, happy reading!

Kristen Painter

The Kelpie

The kelpie raised his head and sent out a mournful whinny.

These weren't his native shores and he was lonely. No nixies, no selkies, not a bean nighe in sight. No blue men from the Minch, or boobries from the lochs of Argyllshire, not even one of his Shetland cousins, a Tangie. He scraped his hooves against the frost-killed grass and nibbled at it forlornly.

Looking for something more than drowning unsuspecting travelers, he'd fled the Unseelie Court of Scotland and ended up in this land far across the seas. But he was alone here.

Until he found a herd of his own, whether it was fae, animal, or even human, he roamed this creek filled with magic, and waited for a friend.

Chapter One

Trick Scanlon parked his motorcycle at the edge of the wide creek after passing a sign that read "Welcome to Nocturne Falls – Where Every Day is Halloween!" He looked around to see if anyone else was there. No one. Blessed peace, and plenty of quiet now that he'd killed the heavy bike's engine. He pulled off his helmet and walked over to the water's edge, then closed his eyes.

In the dimming winter afternoon, he breathed in the clean, fresh flowing stream, the crisp scent of the cold in the air, the damp earth giving beneath his boots. A far cry from the long roads and endless touring he did now. Singing to sold out crowds of country music fans, grateful as he was, hadn't left him space to just be and breathe in far too long.

He stood for a few minutes, letting the winter breeze blow away a little more of the pressure that rode him like he rode his old Triumph.

In the stillness, a lonesome whinny drew him further into the thicket surrounding the creek until he spotted the horse. Black as sin, its coat glistened and shone, even on such a cloudy day. It nickered again, shaking its head at him, and Trick moved closer.

He wasn't really familiar with horses unless they were in a motor, but if the animal was lost or hurt, then he'd try to help.

He crept closer until he was near enough to touch. Heat billowed off the animal and its coat was wet, as if it had been in the water. It didn't have any kind of bridle or halter, so he had no idea how to lead it.

"I'm sorry I don't have an apple or anything for you."

The horse rubbed its face along his shoulder, knocking him back a half step.

"All right, all right. Let's see if we can't get you back to the road and into town. Maybe I can find out who you belong to." He didn't recall seeing any ranches or horse farms along the way, but surely someone would know where this magnificent animal came from.

Trick traced a hand down its warm, damp neck for a quick pat, then tried to turn to find the best path leading back to the road. Tried to, because his hand was stuck.

"What the...?" He pulled harder, and though his hand slid across the horse's neck, his fingers refused to rise from its coat.

Trick stared, startled, into the horse's dark eye and he swore the thing winked. Like it was going to have a really good time dragging him to hell.

The large animal bumped into his side, knocking him off balance again, so he was forced to put his other hand higher on its back. He was completely screwed now. Both hands were stuck to the horse, and there was no way to keep up as it began to dance, high stepping back and forth like it was in some kind of show event.

With no real choice left, Trick hauled himself up on the horse's back and tucked his knees up to keep his tender parts from hammering against its spine. He'd seen plenty of trouble in his life, but this was a whole new level of messed up.

"You want to tell me where we're going?" he yelled.

The horse reared up, neighing wildly, but Trick wasn't going anywhere. He was somehow glued to the horse's back as it galloped, not up to the road, but toward the water where it splashed and raced down the shallow creek bed.

The moon rose, bright and clear, showing Trick where they were headed. The creek widened into the large, dark circle of a pond a hundred yards across, but there was no telling how deep it ran. A litany of every foul word he'd ever learned in his time as an Army Ranger ran through his mind as he sucked in his breath.

"No! Nononono!" The horse jumped, and Trick wished he'd had better final words as the water closed over his head. Of course, of all the ways he'd ever thought he'd die, magically glued to the back of a swimming devil horse was not on the list.

Under the surface, he struggled to break free. The horse touched bottom – deeper than he'd imagined a pond in a little creek could be – and pushed back up to the air. Trick gasped in a precious breath before they went down again.

It wasn't enough. His lungs were burning, and he realized he wasn't going to make it to his next concert in Atlanta. This was it. His muscles went slack, and he opened his eyes to take his last look around. As calm descended, he heard music, as if from heaven. In the dark water, he saw the figure of a woman swimming toward him.

Her mouth was open, and her clear, pure song enveloped him.

It was a gift, this song, and one he shared. It was a song he gave to others when he knew they needed it, something to cling to as they breathed their last. He'd sung this to his brothers in the desert so far from home. He'd given them this song as he held them while they died, and he'd given it to the ones who lived, too, to help them remember the ones they'd left behind who still loved them.

It was a song he'd heard his whole life. He'd learned it in his mother's womb, it had comforted him when he was sad, given him courage in the face of fear, and now it welcomed him as death stretched out its embrace.

Except he didn't die.

The horse surfaced, and Trick sucked air for dear life. As the animal made for shore at an unnatural speed, Trick coughed. Water burned like acid as it came flooding out of his mouth and nose.

The moment the horse leapt up onto the rocky bank, Trick came unstuck.

The horse stopped.

Trick didn't.

Slick, wet mane slid through his fingers and he had a brief, upside-down view of the horse's long, snickering face as he went flying over it.

He landed with a thud, and a thousand tiny, sharp rocks dug into his back. But he was pretty sure nothing was broken, and bruises were better than drowning.

He lay there, trying to remember how his lungs worked, and the horse leaned down to nose him, dripping cold water and blowing slime all over him.

He wiped a hand down his face, too shocked and out of breath to move away. "Demon pony. I hate you."

The horse lipped his collar.

"I don't care. I still don't like you."

"Oh, don't be that way. He was only playing with you."

Trick rolled to his side with painful effort, and blinked, hearing his angel's voice. She was in the water, hanging onto the rock overhang on the edge of the pond, her head resting on her crossed arms as she scolded the horse. "But you should know better. You can't play with people like that. You'll break one of them one of these days."

The horse whickered at her and shook his head.

"Less playing," Trick croaked, coughing up more creek. "More breathing." He pulled his exhausted, battered body closer to her.

In the gray light, her hair was a dark red cloud in the water, pouring over her shoulders and floating on tiny waves. Large, dark green eyes dominated her delicately sculpted face, and she hovered in the freezing water wearing a pretty bikini top without a care or even a shiver.

"Come out. You must be freezing." He opened his arms, but she shook her head.

"No, thank you." His angel was extremely polite, even as she retreated slightly. "I'm never cold in the water. Why were you playing with the kelpie?"

"The what?"

"The water horse. They're dangerous, you know."

"I do now. Was that you singing? I thought it was my 'have a good afterlife' music." Trick sat up fully, expecting to ache all over, but feeling better.

Miraculously better, in fact. He hurt a little, but nothing like what he should have after the ride from hell. In fact, little fizzes of something like music were only now fading in his body. Something very like what he sometimes felt when he sang. It popped and bubbled, taking away all his aches and pains, and he wanted to ask her to sing for him again.

She was smiling at him, sort of treading water in the middle of the pond, swimming back and forth a little. But when she leaned back and did a full roll, he saw it.

A mermaid's tail, glistening as she twisted it in the water. Her slender body subtly shifted to smooth wet scales, bright red with glimmers of gold. And at the end of her tail, a delicate, translucent fan of fins trailed in the water.

"Is that a costume? That looks so real. It's amazing."

That made her frown. She looked down at herself and her beautiful mermaid's tail. "Did you drink any of the water?"

"Lady, I drank half the pond. Why?" The horse stamped and snuffled behind him, and Trick glanced back. "Do you see this?" He must have hit his head. He was talking to a horse. Maybe hypothermia was setting in. Now that the shock had worn off, he was starting to shake. He wrapped his arms around his body and tried to contain the shudders.

A horse had tried to drown him. The woman in the pond was a mermaid.

If he hadn't already been sitting down, he'd have said he needed to sit down.

"You're human, aren't you?" she asked. "A tourist? Just passing through?"

He nodded, dumbly. How was he supposed to answer that? Of course he was human.

Suddenly, she covered herself, sinking down into the water until it came up to her chin. Too late. He'd already seen her.

"You need to leave," she said, a complete turnaround from her earlier, welcoming banter. "Don't come down to the water again. Not everything here is friendly."

"You can't be real."

Her shoulders slumped and he didn't think a mermaid should look so sad. "I'm glad you're alive. Go get dry and warm. And stay out of the water."

With a final wave, she turned away and dove deep, flipping her tail at him as she swam away.

* * *

Daria felt bad, leaving that poor man all wet beside Nix's Pond, but what else could she do? She'd never met a human who didn't respond to the bespelled waters of Nocturne Falls before.

She was a rusalka, a Russian water fae, and her tail had never once been seen by a human. She nearly groaned.

This meant a meeting with Alice Bishop, the very powerful witch who'd laid the spell on Nocturne Falls, to tell her that she'd encountered someone who didn't respond to the enchantment. The water that ran from Wolf Creek, through Nix's Pond and down through the woods to the small, rocky falls was supposed to blur the edges of reality for human tourists who came to the town to enjoy its year-round kooky Halloween ambiance. Bottles of the bespelled water were sold in every shop to make sure strangers didn't accidentally see something they shouldn't – a fairy's wings, a werewolf's shift, or a gargoyle coming to life in the town square. Anything they happened to witness would either not register, or, given the kitschy tourist draw of the town, was explained away as a costume or a trick.

But he had ridden a kelpie and survived. And he definitely knew what she was. She'd seen the moment he realized her tail was not part of an elaborate costume.

She only knew that he was compelling in a way she hadn't encountered in far too long. He'd been long and lanky, but his wet T-shirt had displayed a nicely muscled chest and shoulders. His short dark hair was just long enough to have a little curl on the end where the water had dripped off. And the way those brown eyes had looked back at her made her crave dark chocolate. It didn't hurt that the man had cheekbones like a British movie star. She sighed a little. Yeah, he'd hit her happy buttons.

But reality intruded. The kelpie could be good news or bad. She hadn't seen him in her waters before, so she didn't know if he was traveling with the human, or if it had just been the man's bad luck to encounter the Unseelie beast.

Daria had learned about other worlds at her mother's knee. Other fae wouldn't care if she was ignorant of their ways, and even she knew the last thing anyone wanted to do was cross a member of the Scottish dark fae court. Caution would be her watchword around the kelpie, which brought to mind her other problem.

She was not looking forward to telling Alice her magic was wonky. The stern witch wasn't exactly the most welcoming person in town, probably a result of having nearly been burned at the stake during the Salem witch trials. Daria assumed that would sour anyone.

A familiar pull shot through the delicate veins of her tail. Another bolt of magic ran through the water, stronger this time. Her mother was calling her.

Daria made her way downstream to a bend in the creek. She pulled herself out of the water, onto dry land, and let the magic change her. Her tail separated and slimmed until two long legs appeared. Everything about her looked perfectly human, although her toes, like her fingers, were slightly webbed. No gills, no fins, no scales, except for a small patch of glittering red at the bottom of her spine.

Pulling on jeans, holey Chucks, and an old T-shirt that read "Thanks for all the fish" from the cache by the willow, she called her mom as soon as she got back to the house.

"Hey mama."

"He's free." Pelya Czernovitch minced no words, but there was a discernible tremble in her voice.

Daria froze. An icy cold that had nothing to do with swimming in January seeped through her, freezing her blood and bones. Peter Rollins, the man who had attacked her and changed the course of her life, must have been granted an early release.

When most of her peers were in high school, Daria and her sisters, all rusalkas with gifted voices, had been on stages across the world. Their group, Sirenas, sang a blend of appealingly eerie Russian folk music and pop that captured an audience at exactly the right time. During one of their breaks back home in the small town of Volshev, Texas, Daria had been walking home from a friend's house when Rollins, a super-fan who attended all their concerts and even moved to their hometown, pulled up beside her.

Sometimes, she could still feel his cruel fingers digging into her arms as he dragged her toward his van, whispering in her ear about how he'd take such good care of her. All she had to do was sing for him. Just for him.

So she had. A wave of rage and hatred that she'd never felt in all of her seventeen years came over her, and she opened her mouth and sang, right there on the dim, little side street where he'd stopped her.

She sang a song of death, of cold so deep it froze the soul. She sang of icy rage and vengeance and bitter retribution.

Her voice finally broke, and she was coughing up blood from her torn throat when the police arrived. Rollins writhed at her feet, bleeding from his ears and nose, eyes rolled up in his head as he seized and spasmed. As the EMTs worked on him, he woke long enough to scream like demons were tearing the flesh from his body. He fell into a coma on the way to the hospital.

When he awoke three months later, the state placed him in a mental institution, trying to get him sane enough to stand trial. He'd been there for ten years.

Daria left Sirenas. It took weeks for her voice to recover, and when it did, she'd refused to sing. When school started the next fall, she left Texas far behind, changed her last name to Black, and earned degrees in Environmental Science and Biochemistry to work on keeping waterways safe and protected. She was a water fae. Clean water was kind of a thing for her.

After all these years, and a good bit of therapy, she thought she'd left Rollins in her past.

"Has he hurt anyone?" she finally asked.

"No. There's a court order forbidding him from coming near us, or attending any concerts. But I'm worried, ptitchka."

"He can't find me, mama. How could he? I have a new name, I don't sing anymore, and I live in Georgia. I don't even have social media accounts he could track." Reciting the things that made her feel safe calmed her a little. She'd be fine.

"I don't know, little bird. I have a bad feeling."

Daria forced herself to sound positive. "Don't worry. I promise you, he can't get to me."

After doing the obligatory, affectionate check-in on the rest of the family, and listening to her mother complain about Rodion, Daria's only brother, she hung up and let the smile drop from her face. Her cheeks ached.

Dread swamped her, but she fought it back, using the calming techniques she'd learned in therapy.

She was safe. He couldn't get to her. Everything would be fine.

A text appeared on her phone. Carina Valdis, a friend of hers, was proposing a girl's night out at Howler's, a comfortable local bar run by a werewolf who also happened to be the sheriff's sister.

Less than an hour later, she slid into a small booth across from Carina and next to Katya Dostoyevna, another Russian with ties to Volshev, and the other member of their trio.

"So," she asked Carina once they were all settled in with their drinks. "What brought this on?"

"Men are stupid," Carina said.

Daria and Katya looked at each other. "Boyfriend troubles?" asked Katya, who was shy to the point of speechlessness around most people but had a secretly raunchy sense of humor with her friends.

"Not anymore. Turns out, the smell of paint gives him hives."

"Wow. Talk about a deal breaker." Daria commiserated. Carina was an artist, so that relationship would never have worked out. Sadly, none of her boyfriends seemed to last very long, no matter what. Allergies were a new one, though. This deserved a toast.

"Here's to better luck next time. Za zdrovye!" Daria and Katya had taught Carina the words. They clinked then drank. After a moment, Katya spoke up.

"I got another letter from him." The girl was too sweet for her own good, Daria knew, except when it came to her animals. Katya had been sent here by her family the day after she graduated from high school to care for an elderly aunt. Somewhere along the way, she had begun collecting supernatural strays, nursing them back to health, and getting them adopted by families in town. Eventually, she had established an official animal sanctuary, backed by the Elllinghams.

Now Katya was being called back home to fulfill an antiquated promise to marry one of Volshev's golden boys. The two had maintained a stiff and formal correspondence since she left Texas – a letter on their birthdays, one at Easter, and one at Christmas. But over the last year, he had written more frequently, and Katya told her friends she was afraid he was finally ready to fulfill his end of the promise, whether she liked it or not.

Between them, the girls decided that in her next letter, Katya needed to ask him straight-out what the deal was. At least then she'd know what she had to face. Problem temporarily solved, they toasted again.

"Vashe zdrovye!"

Finally, it was Daria's turn. "I don't know if men are so much stupid as they are weird. And frustrating."

"Here, here," said the other two as they clinked their wine glasses again.

She gave them an abbreviated version of the man she'd seen at the creek, and how he'd seen her, even after drinking the enchanted water.

Katya stopped her. "That's weird, but how is he frustrating?"

Daria felt her cheeks heat. It had been a while since anyone had sparked her interest, and she recalled the way her body had responded to him.

"Ooooh," said Katya with a grin, waggling her eyebrows at Carina. "That kind of frustrating."

The girls giggled and Daria couldn't help but join in. At least she'd finally had something to contribute to their nights out that wasn't about work.

When they calmed down, Carina asked, "So is he supernatural, or isn't he?"

"He was so surprised and shocked, he couldn't possibly be like us. He has to be human, which means the water isn't working." She sighed. "I really am going to have to call Alice. I'm just putting it off because she's not..."

"Pleasant? Easy?" supplied Carina.

"In possession of a shred of sympathy or humanity?" finished Katya.

"I'll take all of the above for six hundred. But that's not all." She took a deep breath, then filled them in on her mother's phone call. And everything that had gone before.

"We had no idea you'd gone through all this." Carina's eyes filled with tears while Katya's filled with fire.

"I would just like to see him try something here. I'll cook him alive!"

"Nobody's cooking anybody," Daria said, but she was glad she'd finally told her friends. Their support made her feel so much better after the beating her heart had taken today.

"But I wouldn't mind eating him up with a spoon." Katya, the one who stammered if a man so much as glanced her way, was looking carefully over Daria's shoulder. "Shh! Don't turn around!"

Daria had started to twist in her seat, then laughed at her friend. "Then how am I supposed to see him? Anyway, I thought we were off men."

"Only the ones giving us fits. Everyone else is fair game. And I saw him first."

Daria and Carina smiled, knowing their friend would sooner cut off her extraordinarily long hair than talk to a stranger.

Katya's eyes grew round. "He's coming over here. Gah!" She buried her face in her wine glass to hide.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but..."

Daria whirled to face the familiar voice. It was the man from the pond. He looked better now, warm and dry. His hair curled over his high brow, and there was a fire in those brown eyes she'd never imagined would be aimed at her.

"It really is you." He had a dimple. Just one, deep in his right cheek. It took a lot of willpower not to sigh a little. "I told Nick I must have imagined you."

Another man stepped up next to the table. Nick Hardwin was a fixture in town, almost literally. A deputy sheriff by day, he appeared as his gargoyle self in the evenings, keeping watch over the town center. The humans thought he was nothing more than a statue, but he stood guard over them all.

"Ladies." He greeted them politely, then introduced his friend. "This is Trick Scanlon, an old Army buddy of mine."

Her eyes were fixed on him, and she held out her hand automatically. "Daria Czer–" She stopped herself, shocked at her misstep. She hadn't introduced herself with her real name in almost ten years. She backpedaled. "Black. I'm Daria Black."

"And you're not a, y'know..."

"Definitely not a mermaid." Because she wasn't a mermaid, she was a rusalka. Hans Christian Anderson could kiss her flippers.

Chapter Two

Trick was now convinced that he'd been seeing things earlier because there she was, his mermaid, with two long, slim legs encased in tight, dark jeans.

After arriving at the B&B where he was staying and showering some warmth back into his body, he'd met up with Nick for a beer at Howler's. Nick's fiancée, Willa Iscove, would meet them there after she closed the jewelry shop she owned. Over a strong, dark stout – one of the local brews – Trick told his buddy about his ride in, on the bike and on the horse.

"I swear, I thought she was a mermaid. But then I started thinking. There's that place in Florida with the girls in mermaid costumes swimming around. Weeki Wachee something. And you told me Nocturne Falls was heavy on the tourist stuff. So that's what I saw, right? A girl in a costume for a tourist attraction."

Nick smiled weakly. "Yeah. That's right. Tourist attraction."

"She looked so real." He took another swallow of his beer and stared into the mirror above the bar. In the reflection, a woman turned just far enough he could see her profile. "She looks... right there."

He wasn't sure what propelled him off his bar stool and over to the booth where she sat with her friends, but he couldn't stop himself once he started walking.

Her hair was the color of the wine she was drinking, a dark, rich red, and the sound of her laughter as she toasted made him feel drunk.

"Daria Black. Definitely not a mermaid," she said, and her voice when she spoke to him started the same fizz in his blood. He took her hand in his when she offered it, and didn't want to let go.

"Pleased to meet y'all." He nodded to the other two women.

The blonde one spoke up. "Trick Scanlon? I know who you are. I've listened to your music."

Trick still got a little thrill when people said that to him. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"What do you sing?" asked Daria.

The blonde goggled at her. "Have you been living under a rock, girl? He's a country star. Remember I made you listen to that song, Halfway to Home with You?"

That had been his first hit, written while he was active duty and missing home. It was still one of his personal favorites, though he'd never found that fictional woman he'd sung about, waiting for him to come home.

Daria's eyes widened. "I love that song! You have a wonderful voice. It's–" she cut herself off and looked at Nick. "It's almost magical."

The way she said it sounded significant. His buddy caught her inflection and his eyebrows went up. "That's not... I'm going to text Willa." Nick walked away from them as he pulled his phone out and started tapping at it.

Trick watched his friend leave, then turned to the woman at his side. "What are y'all talking about?"

One of her friends interrupted, the one who hadn't said anything yet. "Do you think he's...?"

"Have you heard his music? He's got a gift. Whether it's mundane or not, I don't know."

"Hello, ladies. Standing right here." He waved a hand at them, and Daria caught it in hers. Her unexpected touch felt comfortable somehow. As if they weren't strangers at all. She looked into his eyes and smiled.

"You must be so confused right now. Everything's fine. I didn't realize it until just now, but it's possible you might be a little more than you think you are."

"I don't even begin to know what that means." He took her other hand and raised it to his lips. "I'm not sure I care."

She watched him with wide eyes, then blushed furiously. He opened his mouth to tell her how much he wanted to hear her sing again, but someone tapped him hard on the shoulder.

"Trick Scanlon? Is that you? Hey, you guys! It's Trick Scanlon."

The rude word he thought didn't pass his lips. Instead, he shifted to put Daria slightly behind him as he turned to meet his fan.

He felt her slip away from him, and, not for the first time recently, he regretted his fame – the other side of the gratitude he also felt. But he was hip deep in it now, so he put on a smile and dropped into character. The famous Trick Scanlon, Country Music Star.

He tried to keep an eye out for her as he shook hands, took selfies, and signed autographs. She and her girlfriends had retreated to a dim corner, away from the crowd gathering around him. It wasn't long before the fans started asking him to sing, turning it into a chant.

Music began its familiar hum in his veins like it always did before a concert. He might be tired, but singing for a crowd, no matter how big or small, was as much a part of him as his own skin and bones.

Nick was carrying his guitar when he came back in with his arm around a woman, slim and blonde with huge eyes. Trick could have sworn her ears were slightly pointed, but it had to be something about her haircut. She waved at him, and he waved back. That must be Willa, Nick's fiancée.

Once Trick had the guitar in his hands, it seemed like only moments before a space was cleared on the dais on the hardwood dance floor, near the dark, corner booth where Daria and her friends sat. The tall, wild-haired woman who owned the bar set him up with a bar stool, a microphone and an amp. He was ready. Across the small space, his eyes connected with Daria's.

He started off with his own song, and it was all too easy to picture pretty, red-haired Daria as the woman standing on the front porch, waiting for her soldier's return.

A few more songs followed. Some were from his albums, some were old and new classics, a little Johnny Cash, a little Garth Brooks, and the audience got a kick out of him yodeling on Eddie Arnold's "Cattle Call." But the more he sang, the easier it was to hear Daria humming and singing along.

Each note was like an angel's song falling on his ear, and he wanted to stop and listen to her forever. There was a little difference this time, no extra added fizz, although her sweet singing was still better than anything he'd heard in his life.

"All right folks, one more song. But I'll only do it on one condition. If that pretty lady over there comes to sing with me." He held out a hand to Daria. He didn't want to embarrass her, but he needed to feel her voice blending with his.

Slowly, with the urging of her friends and the audience, she slid out of the booth. When he reached out to her, the feel of her slender fingers in his made his heart skip a beat.

"I don't mean to embarrass you," he whispered, away from the microphone.

"I hope I don't embarrass you," she answered. "It's been years since I was on stage."

He knew it. She'd done this before, and he couldn't imagine why she wasn't singing to sold-out houses all the time. Then he caught himself. He was here, singing in a bar in a tiny town, hiding from his manager and his band because that life was tougher than he'd ever imagined it could be.

"You're going to be great. What would you like to sing?"

"I haven't listened to a lot of country music, but I think I remember one from not too long ago."

They settled on a hauntingly lovely duet, a little sad but deeply romantic. As he picked out the first notes on his guitar, his heart swelled. For the first time in a long time, he felt the magic rise with the music. This was what he'd been missing. Singing had become a job instead of a joy, but when Daria began to harmonize with him on the chorus of "Whiskey Lullaby" chills broke over his skin.

The world shrank to just the two of them as they sang the story of two ill-fated lovers. When the final notes of the lullaby ended, silence blanketed the room.

A tear glistened on Daria's cheek, and Trick reached out to wipe it away with his thumb. Her skin was soft, warm silk under his hand, and he stayed, cupping her chin as he lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss held as much magic as the song, and even when the audience finally began to clap, he barely heard them.

They drew away from each other slowly and the bubble around them burst. Daria turned and waved shyly to the audience. Then she gave him one last, long look before making her way back to her booth with her friends.

The impromptu concert broke up and Trick packed away his guitar with care.

"That was something else." Willa approached him with an arm around Nick's waist. "You have a wonderful gift, but that last song was..."

Trick nodded. "Yeah. She's amazing."

"Daria is terrific, and it's in her blood to sing like that. You, on the other hand. May I?" She reached out for his hand, and he let her take it, a little uncomfortably. He wasn't in the habit of holding hands with another man's girlfriend. Nick shifted a bit to block them from view.

Trick watched Willa as she closed her eyes. She squeezed his fingers as her other hand traveled to the pretty purple stone on a pendant around her neck.

Her eyes finally opened, and he was stunned to see that they glowed with an otherworldly light.

"Oh, you are a rare one." She smiled widely at him.

"Thank you? Nick?" He looked for reassurance from his friend. Also, did he know his girlfriend glowed?

"It's all good, Trick."

Trick closed his eyes and tried to breathe, to calm himself. This was one of those moments that changed things, he could feel it. His heart began to pound, and he grasped for the calming strategies one of the VA therapists had taught him a few years ago, but they weren't working this time.

The space he was in started to feel small. He blinked and the bar started to blur around the edges, changing to a small hut in Afghanistan. More of a lean-to propped up against a mountain. It hadn't looked like much until he walked in, shadows moving everywhere from the bitter wind that blew through open windows. It wasn't enough to clear away the heavy smell that assaulted his senses. Trick squeezed his eyes closed to shut out the memories of what...who...he'd seen lying on the floor of that lean-to. She was so small. She'd been so tiny.

He had to get out.

Small fingers slipped into his free hand. "Is everything all right?"

* * *

The man who had kissed her as though they were alone on a desert island looked like he needed a friend.

Actually, he was sweating and pale and looked more like he needed an intervention, so that's what she did.

She said good-bye to her friends, then stepped past the gargoyle to get to Trick. The moment she wove her fingers through his, he opened his eyes. He caught her gaze as if that desert island they were on was covered in quicksand and she was the one with the rope.

Never breaking eye contact, she spoke to the side. "Nick, you need to step back. Both of you, move."

She heard Nick murmur something to Willa, and they both shifted away, widening the space around Trick.

"Let's get you out of here," she whispered to him, keeping her eyes on his, leading him to the rear exit.

"Hey Trick! You gonna sing for us anymore?" yelled out one of his fans.

He was still white-faced, and she whispered, "Just wave, Trick. That's all you have to do." He nodded and lifted an arm.

"He's done for the night, but thanks!" Daria called out to the fan cheerfully. Then she wrapped her hand around his waist and pulled his arm over her shoulder, knowing the strangers behind her would jump to the wrong conclusions – that they were heading out back to make out, or more. She didn't care what the tourists thought of her. There were more important things going on.

Trick was getting heavier and heavier, and she hoped they could make it outside before he became too much for her to hold.

From behind her, Nick's long arm stretched forward and opened the back door for them.

"Thanks," she gasped, then stumbled down the steps into the cold night, illuminated by nothing more than a single lamp.

Wrapped up in each other's arms, they sank down to the ground. Wordlessly, they held onto each other while he shivered as if he'd taken another ride through freezing waters.

Long minutes passed until his grip on her softened.

"You keep saving me." His voice, deep and a little rough, reached inside her and smoothed over the places that had been battered by life.

"I'm happy to help."

He rearranged his arm around her and pulled her close, warming her. Daria enjoyed the closeness, the heat of his body, the rhythm of his heart as its frantic thump evened out. She started to hum, a soothing lullaby her mother had sung to her when she was small and afraid. And, she remembered, her mother had sung the same tune after Rollins had attacked her. For months, out of nowhere, she would freeze and start to shake, the memory of his attack so clear in her mind it was as if he was standing in front of her again. But then her mother's song would come to her, and she'd be able to breathe again.

She didn't know what Trick had seen, and she wouldn't pry. If he wanted to tell her, he would. For now, all that mattered was getting him back to an even keel.

The words tumbled, indistinct, from her lips as she pulled the siren's magic from within herself. The song became more than just music, it became a healing. The same way she'd used it earlier to calm the kelpie and help Trick recover from his impromptu swim, this magic reached inside him to soothe the harsh, painful memories.

As she sang, she became aware of another power rising up to meet hers. Another song, sung in counterpoint. It didn't interfere, but instead brought deeper notes to her simple melody. She'd never heard the music in anyone but her family, but she realized it came from Trick.

She should have recognized it when they sang together earlier, but she'd told herself it was just the chemistry between them.

This was more.

This was magic.

They sat and they sang to each other, the notes twining together to make something entirely new, sweet and strong.

Finally, the song faded away, but the weight holding both of them down had lightened.

A sniffle sounded in the darkness, and they scrambled to their feet. Trick stepped forward, one strong arm in front of her.

"I'm sorry," said Willa, stepping into the dim lamplight with Nick behind her. "We didn't mean to eavesdrop. We were coming to see if we could help, and bring you your things, but then..." She sniffed again, tears silver on her cheeks. "That was beautiful, Trick. Rydych chi'n mab o Taliesin."

"Beg pardon?" He looked back at Daria, but she shrugged as she stepped up next to him. She'd never heard those words before.

"You are a Son of Taliesin."

He shook his head. "And that means..."

"You're a bard, Trick. Way back in the family tree, one of your forefathers was Taliesin, the Welsh bard who chronicled King Arthur. He was given the gift of his voice and his song by the gods, and it passed down through his line. Bards were revered, and Druids thought that the gift of song was the highest magic one could be born with."

He raised his eyebrows. "Still not sure what that means."

Daria understood, though. "That's why he could see me. There's nothing wrong with the water."

"Looks like it." Nick nodded thoughtfully. "Explains how our unit has had a lot fewer problems transitioning to civilian life than so many others. Trick sang us through it."

Trick waved his hand. "Y'all suck at explaining things. Daria, do you know what they're talking about?"

"I do. I can explain it for you." She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. "Would you like to come over for a cup of coffee while we talk?"

There hadn't been a man in her house since she moved to Nocturne Falls, but this felt... important.

He smiled. "I'd love to."

They took their leave from Nick and Willa and she drove back to her house as Trick followed on his bike.

"Welcome," she said, opening the door and turning on the lights. She loved the little home she'd made after so many years in school, never settling down, trying to outrun her past. The walls were a cool, soothing blue that blended with the greens and grays she favored.

Water was everywhere. Paintings of oceans and rivers, bowls of multihued sea glass, small fountains and running water features in all corners of the room. Best of all, the long wall of the living area was taken up entirely with a massive fish tank.

"This is a really nice place," said Trick. He ran his hand through one of the bowls of sea glass in the entryway. "What are these?"

Daria smiled. "They're called mermaid's tears."

"I thought you said you weren't a mermaid."

"I'm not. I'm a rusalka. A Russian water fae, not some sad bit of sea foam from a fairy tale." He didn't respond, she so continued. "Come on," she said, taking his hand. "I'll get coffee going and see if I can explain it."

Chapter Three

Trick didn't drink, but he let the cup warm his fingers, and tried to understand what Daria was saying.

He was magic. Or something.

Some old dude in Wales had been King Arthur's court storyteller or official biographer or whatever, but he'd been given a magical gift of song and storytelling by the gods, and he passed that magic on to his offspring.

And that's why Trick literally had a magical voice. Just a trickle. Just enough to see magic in others and just enough that he cold make people feel the songs he sang in a way that most other singers couldn't. His music touched people's hearts.

"That sounds really... useless."

Daria had settled next to him on the couch, close enough that their knees and elbows brushed occasionally. She'd been so patient with him, answering all his questions and listening to him ramble.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, unless you're a professional musician, what good is a pretty voice? There are singers who are better than I am. Have nicer, clearer, more perfect voices."

"That's not all there is to this magic. You can change the way people feel with your songs. There's power in your voice. And that means, well, you know how it goes."

"With great power comes great responsibility?"

"Exactly." They grinned at each other, happy to share a nerd moment.

"Still not sure I quite get it."

Daria leaned over and put her cup on a coaster on the coffee table. "You don't know what a rusalka is, do you?"

"You said you were a Russian water fae. I saw a mermaid. Also, I've heard you sing."

"Well, we're not quite mermaids. We don't sing pretty songs while we comb our hair on a rock for fun. The fae world isn't like this one. It's dangerous, and we're one of the dangerous things in it." She moved away from him a little and looked over at the fish tank. "Our song is meant to lure the unwary. Just like that kelpie could have dragged you under the water until you drowned, I could have sung to you until all you wanted to do was walk into the water. You never would have thought about swimming away."

Trick considered his next move. The shame in her voice didn't sit right with him, but the image of her pulling him down into the water gave him the chills. He had a decision to make.

"Have you ever drowned anyone?"

She gasped. "I would never –"

"Then I'm not worried. Or scared of you, or disgusted, or whatever you think I'm supposed to be right now. Sugar, I was an Army Ranger. I've done a lot worse than you. If it comes down to it, there aren't many people in the world, magical or not, who are more dangerous than I am."

The sobbing laugh that burst out of her made him frown. "Oh, Trick. If only you knew what I've done."

He grasped her shoulders and turned her until he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. He pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried. It was the least and the best he could do after she'd held him at the bar like she'd known how to handle his flashback. He didn't have them often, but he'd been glad to be among friends this time.

Finally, she wound down into little snuffles against his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry. We barely know each other and I'm blubbering all over you."

"I think we're more than even, sweetheart." He wasn't given to calling every woman he met sugar or sweetheart, but the words felt right in his mouth. "You want to tell me what happened? How you knew what to do back at Howler's? Because I've got a feeling those two stories go together."

She nodded, and he held her closer as the words tumbled out.

As she described her fear when Rollins had grabbed her, Trick felt his skin go hot. He wanted to crush that man under his boots. But Daria wasn't finished.

"Trick, the worst part was the song. It..."

"What, honey? What happened?"

"It felt good. As if there was something empty inside me and all that anger... I was so hungry."

All the heat of Trick's rage iced over. "Yeah. I know that feeling."

"I broke him. He was in a coma for three months. They had to send him to a mental institution. He's out now."

"He's what?" He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back enough to look into her face. At the very real fear that pulled at her mouth and set little lines of tension around her eyes.

"I left you at the pond because my mother was calling me. There's a pull in the water, hard to explain..."

"Then I'll take it on faith. Daria, I believe you. I don't understand it all yet, but I believe you. Now, you were saying your mama called."

"That's what she needed to tell me. He's out. He's not allowed to approach anyone in my family, and so far, he hasn't. But I'm so worried about them."

"What about you? Aren't you worried about yourself?"

"I left town, changed my name, and went to school for something totally unrelated to music. I don't use any social media. He can't find me."

He dragged Daria onto his lap and squeezed her. "You gave up your whole life for that..." He said a lot of words that made her blush, but he was unrepentant. Rollins was every single one of those descriptors and then some.

By the time he wound down, she was giggling. "I'm pretty sure some of those terms don't go together."

"If they make you smile, then they go together just fine."

He settled back against the soft couch, comfortable with her in his arms.

"So that's why you knew what to do when I had a flashback. You get them, too."

She nodded, her fingers trailing aimlessly over his shirt. "They're not as bad as they were, but today was tough."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

They sat in silence for a while, and he enjoyed the quiet more than he'd ever thought he could. It was what he'd been craving. So much noise inside his head while he was running the hamster wheel of his career. Who'd have ever thought a side trip to a little town would make such a difference?

Soon, she was asleep.

A mermaid – no, a rusalka – was asleep on his lap. He was a magic man with magic in his arms.

Partway through the night, he half-opened his eyes and readjusted them so they were both lying down. With her back pulled tightly into his chest, his knees tucked under her bent ones, and his arm secure around her waist, it was the best night's sleep he'd had in months.

His phone woke him, weak winter sun filtering through the windows. He was alone, a fluffy ocean blue blanket draped over him. And was that fresh coffee he smelled?

He stared blearily at the little screen in his hand. A text from his manager, George Williams. Trick looked at the little flashing notification light, and it beeped again. Another text. Then another.

Can't buy this kind of publicity!

Where is this town?

People are loving it! It's trending on YouTube!

Trick went into the kitchen, poured two cups of coffee, and took a big swallow of his. He burned his tongue, but he needed the shot. He shook his head. That was some strong java.

What are you talking about? he texted back.

Haven't you seen this? Who is she?

George attached a video, a little bouncy and a bit blurred in places, and Trick watched it all. His heart stopped, then rushed to catch up. It was him and Daria, singing together.

They sounded amazing. The song was haunting and beautiful, and her pure voice lent it a sadness that twisted around inside his chest. Pure chart-hitting gold. Then he read down.

Daria wasn't tagged by name, but his gut rolled when one of the sharp-eyed commenters asked if she was that girl who used to sing with Sirenas. Crap. She was out there now where Rollins could find her.

This was his fault.

The object of his thoughts came strolling out of her bedroom, smelling sweet and fresh, looking put together and business-like in a silky blouse and sharp black trousers, pearls in her ears, and her hair pulled up neatly in a clip. She couldn't have looked more human.

Just like that, he believed in magic and mermaids and true love. Nothing else was important.

For a split second, he thought about proposing, but two things stopped him. First, he didn't have a ring. Second, he was pretty sure she'd scream and run away. But maybe not too loud or too far.

Because as she walked toward him, her gait shifted from upright professional to loose-hipped and sexy.

* * *

Daria could definitely wake up happy in Trick's arms for the rest of her mornings. An hour ago, it had been a battle to convince herself she needed to slide slowly out of his sleeping embrace and get ready for work. Now, here he was, standing in her kitchen, rumpled and warm in his big socks and jeans that hung just right on his hipbones.

Best of all, he was holding out a cup of coffee.

She'd found the perfect man.

"Good morning, beautiful." His voice was a sexy, sleepy growl that sent all sorts of nerve endings tingling. If he proposed to her right that second, she'd have been tempted to say yes.

Instead, she murmured, "Mmmm, spasibo."

She reached for the coffee, but he pulled it away. She watched in dismay as the cup traveled out of her reach, but all of her thoughts were derailed when he took her into his arms instead.

"Does that mean thank you?" That rumbling voice did even more intimate damage up close, his breath on the sensitive spot under her ear.

"Mmmhmm," she said, winding her arms around his neck. "And so does this."

It was the sort of kiss that could have led to all sorts of interesting things if she hadn't had to go to work.

His phone beeped at him and he flinched, then reluctantly pulled back, letting his forehead rest against hers.

She sighed. If she wasn't going to get anymore kisses, she was really going to need that coffee.

With a final press of his lips against her hair, he let her go around the counter to pour sugar and a little cream into her cup.

"Would you like a little coffee to go with your sugar?"

"Oooh, original. I've never heard that one before." She grinned unrepentantly. So she liked her coffee light and sweet. Okay, really sweet.

But her smile faded when Trick's did. He stretched one arm over his chest to grab his opposite shoulder, and his fingers clenched over and over in an unconscious gesture, like a nervous tic.

"What's wrong?"

"I have some news, and I'm not sure how you're going to take it."

Daria put down the cup she'd just brought to her lips. Her fingers trembled as her mind ran wild.

He pulled his arm back to his side, took a deep breath, and blurted out, "There's video."

"Of what?" His words conjured up images that made her blush, even though they hadn't done anything.

"Us, singing last night."

She was still trying to catch up with what he was saying, because a rush of unwarranted relief went through her. "Oh, is that all? That's..."

Oh.

Oh no.

"You weren't tagged, but someone in the comments recognized you." Her face must have shown her dismay because he walked over to her, and wrapped her in his arms. "I promise Rollins can't get to you."

She nodded into his shoulder. "Maybe he's not interested anymore. Maybe he doesn't care."

They stood for a minute, holding on to each other as tightly as they could. With a deep breath, they finally parted. Daria was proud that her hands didn't shake at all when she picked up her cooling cup of coffee.

"Everything will be fine," he said, and she agreed.

They lied to each other.

Daria couldn't concentrate on anything at work. Water quality was not holding her attention today. She was supposed to be doing drone work, inputting data she'd collected, but after the mistake that meant she had to start over for the fourth time, she stuck her head into her boss's office.

"Elizabeth, I'm not doing too well today. Mind if I head out?"

Her supervisor was a sweet older woman, entirely human, who didn't have a clue about the fact that half of her workforce were creatures from dreams and nightmares.

"Are you okay?"

She dredged up a fake smile. "Just... not feeling great. I've been trying to input that set of suspended sediment data and I keep screwing it up."

Elizabeth nodded. "Some days are like that. I don't think you've ever asked for time off like this, so it's fine. Go get some rest. Hope you feel better."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." Daria was out of the office minutes later.

She and Trick had parted ways when she left her house that morning. He'd said he was going back to the B&B to clean up, then meeting Nick for lunch at Mummy's Diner.

"I'll call you when you get off work. Let me buy you dinner," he'd said, rubbing his hands over her shoulders for comfort. His or hers, she didn't know.

She'd agreed gladly. It would be like a real date. Not that she was good date material right now.

Only one thing could make her feel better.

She changed out of her work outfit and into a swimsuit. Then she slipped into a robe and carried a change of clothes down to the willow. Dropping the robe and the bikini bottoms, she put her feet in the water and let the magic transform and carry her into the creek. She startled a sleepy trout, and the fish's panicky leap made her smile as it swam away.

Daria went upstream, letting the water wash over her and take her fear and anger with it. The further she swam, the better she felt. When she got to Nix's Pond, she heard a familiar voice.

Trick sat on the bank with his guitar, bundled up against the chill. A pad of music paper and a pencil lay on one side of him, a bag of apples on the other, and a black horse drooled chunks of apple onto the grass behind him.

He was singing a lullaby to the kelpie.

Something soft and sweet and familiar, though she didn't know the words. The black horse's ears were pointed forward, all its attention on Trick.

She must have made some sound, because he turned his attention to her, and she was trapped by the look in his eyes. One of tenderness, welcome, and an open heart.

Her fear and anxiety swept away by the slow, steady current, she swam to him and leaned on a rock. He never stopped playing, but pushed the sheet music toward her with the toe of his boot, the lyrics printed in English and some other language.

Sleep, my baby on mama's shoulder

Nothing will ever do you harm

Sleep, my baby, sweetly dreaming

As you rest in mama's arms.

Together, they sang, lifting each other through the highs, harmonizing where they caught the right notes until finally, the song came to an end.

"Trick, that's beautiful. Did you write those lyrics?"

"I'm working on them. The original is in Welsh. I'm playing around with some of the translations." He put aside his guitar and crawled over to her, then leaned down until their faces were level. "I thought you'd still be at work. So tell me, sugar. How was your day?"

"Kapriznyi." She shrugged, trying to find the right word in English. "Sort of restless and jittery, so I left a little early. Being in the water helps." She pushed herself up on her arms to bring them close enough to kiss, a leisurely exploration of lips that left them both smiling and breathless.

"That helps, too. How about your day?" she asked. "What did you do aside from learn songs in Welsh?"

"Had lunch with Nick and Willa. Learned a little more about this mab o Taliesin thing." He reached down for her hands, and she let him pull her out of the water until she was seated on the overhanging rock with only the tip of her tail floating in the current.

"You are so pretty like that. The color matches your hair and you look like a fairy tale." He relaxed next to her, and the horse whickered at them.

"That's right. I don't know if y'all have met. This here is Bubba." His accent broadened to a comical country twang.

Daria burst out laughing. "Bubba? Bubba the Scottish Kelpie?"

The water horse nodded its head up and down and pawed at the dry grass. "That's right, Bubba. Bubba here likes apples, don't you, boy?" Trick tossed a fruit at the kelpie, who caught it in his strong teeth, then chomped down with relish.

"I could have sworn that when I first met you, it was right after Bubba here tried to drown you."

"We had a discussion about that, Bubba and I." Trick's eyes were alight with fun, and Daria couldn't help but join in. "I am now convinced that Bubba was simply delivering me to you. Making sure we got together. He doesn't want us to be lonely."

"Well, Bubba, that was very sweet and thoughtful of you. I'm sure I owe you sugar cubes for that."

The horse whickered at them, then decided he was needed elsewhere as he ambled back into the brush surrounding the creek.

"Maybe someone's calling him for dinner. And I believe I promised you dinner tonight, too."

"So you did. I'll head back to the house and meet you at the B&B."

He shook his head. "Nope. I may have gathered a lot of bad habits along the way, but my mama would pinch my head off for treating you poorly. I'm borrowing Nick's car, then coming to pick you up."

"That would be wonderful." Daria knew she was blushing, but his manners were so sweet and nice. "I'll see you in an hour, then."

With a final, lingering kiss, she slipped back into the water, her worries and troubles forgotten.

Chapter Four

Trick banged his hand against the wheel of his borrowed car.

That video – and his stupid idea of getting Daria to come on stage to begin with – was bringing nothing but grief. The comments had exploded. The moment someone mentioned Sirenas, the internet detectives had come out in force, so now everyone knew that it was Daria Czernovitch, "the sister who left the group," and, thanks to a mapping app, that the video was taken in Nocturne Falls, Georgia.

Even though she went by Daria Black now, it wouldn't be long before someone made that leap. She was hard to miss with that mass of wine-dark hair, and she was impossible to forget.

At least, she was to him.

He'd done this to her. Made her afraid. She'd tried to hide it when he saw her at the pond, but there was no missing the tension in her shoulders or the slight narrowing of her eyes. He'd known her for not quite a full day, and he could already see the change.

He'd told Nick about it, and Nick took him over to the police station after lunch to talk to his boss, Hank Merrow, the sheriff of Nocturne Falls and their former commander in their Ranger unit. Unfortunately, until Rollins made a move, there wasn't much the police could do.

After getting the official word, they'd had an interesting, if brief and slightly stilted, conversation.

"So Nick tells me you're some kind of magic singer."

"Looks like it." Trick nodded.

"Very interesting. I'm a werewolf. So is my wife. And that nosy old lady who brought you back here, who is also my aunt."

"I can hear you," called the spry older lady who had bustled him and Nick into Hank's office.

Hank poked his temple like he was pushing back a headache.

Trick raised a brow. "She's a werewolf."

"Yep."

"Well...okay then."

Hank's phone rang, and he went back to being all business. "You have a good day now, Trick. Don't be a stranger."

He'd walked out of the station feeling like he'd been hit over the head with a brick.

Speaking of bricks, it turned out that Nick was a gargoyle. A stone gargoyle. Which sounded a little ridiculous because of course a gargoyle is stone, but... It had been a blow to discover that not only was there a vast world of people who weren't regular old humans, but they'd been standing right beside him for years.

At first, he'd been hurt. Why hadn't they told him? Didn't they think they could trust him? Then he realized that there were some things you could only share with people who were like you. Mentally, he took a deep breath and let go of any resentment toward his friends.

But if he ever got his hands – or his supposedly magic voice – on Rollins, he wasn't going to let go of anything.

Distracted, he pulled into Daria's driveway and got out of the car. He rang the doorbell and wiped his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans as he waited for her to answer.

She opened the door and he had to stop and stare.

A dark green dress wrapped around her, playing up her slender curves and making her green eyes sparkle. Her hair was half piled up on her head in complicated curls, but the rest trailed long down her back.

"Honey, if you sat on a rock and never sang a note, I'd still dive into deep water to get to you."

Daria laughed, a rippling scale of beautiful notes. "I'm sure there's a very sweet compliment in there. Thank you. Come on in."

She finished fastening the ankle strap on a pretty pair of green high heels, grabbed her purse, and was ready to go. Suddenly, he was rethinking.

"I have to say, I'd just as soon stay in tonight."

"If I had anything in the house that was ready to eat, I'd agree with you. But you promised me dinner out." She smiled widely.

"I'm beginning to regret saying that." He nibbled on her neck, and she tilted her head back to let him for a moment before she put her hands on his chest.

A movement outside the window, a car driving down the street, snagged his attention for no reason he could think of. With a quick frown, he planted a kiss on her soft, silky cheek.

"Is something wrong?"

"Not a thing." He pulled her fingers up and kissed their tips. "You ready?"

Trick hadn't been sure what to expect from a pleasantly dark pub called the Poisoned Apple, but the food, the ambiance, and especially the company, were all excellent.

He put his knife and fork on his plate after finishing a steak cooked perfectly medium-rare.

Daria said her pan-seared trout on a bed of wild rice was delicious, as well. "I spend half my life in the water. What did you expect me to eat?" she said, smiling when he raised his eyebrows at her choice.

He'd been eating so much junk food on the road, this was a welcome change. Although nothing beat watching her as they talked a little bit about everything.

She had an agile, fascinating mind. He admitted she was smarter than he was. The woman had her master's degree in environmental science with some kind of water resource management specialty. Trick had squeaked past high school chemistry with a C. But she didn't come across as superior about her education, instead asking him about his experiences as a Ranger and a singer.

His description of playing the Grand Ole Opry made her lean forward, and he was man enough to feel flattered by her interest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young couple hanging back and whispering. He sighed.

"Do you mind?" He flicked his eyes over.

"Not at all. They love you, and no wonder. You're wonderfully talented, and your songs mean something to them." She leaned in and covered his hand with hers. "Honestly, Trick, it's fine."

He usually didn't mind signing autographs and talking to fans, but sometimes – okay, right this minute with this beautiful woman across from him – he just wanted to keep a moment, a memory, for himself.

Trick blew out a short breath, then made eye contact with the couple and gave them a small smile. The woman made a quiet, squeaking sound as she approached... Daria.

"You're Daria Czernovitch," she gasped breathlessly.

Daria's eyes were as wide as the fan's, and she nodded. "Yes, but..."

"I've been a huge fan of Sirenas for a long time. Would you mind signing an autograph for me?"

Trick was nearly as stunned as Daria until the humor of it caught up with him. He grinned as Daria chatted with her briefly and signed a napkin with a slightly shaky hand after asking how to spell her name and making introductions.

"This is Trick Scanlon."

The woman looked a little puzzled, but asked him politely, "Do you sing?"

He wanted so badly to laugh, but he smiled and said, "A little. Sometimes. Nice to meet y'all."

After a few final words, lavish compliments about Daria's singing, and a hopeful question about whether Daria was returning to the music world, they left.

The silence in their wake was thoughtful as he looked at the woman across the table from him, absently running her fingers over the tines of her dessert fork. "First autograph in a while?"

She nodded, her eyes a little troubled.

"Worried about Rollins?"

Daria's front teeth worried at her lip. "I am. I worked hard at staying under the radar. I haven't sung in public in years, and since I changed my name, no one here connected me with Sirenas."

Guilt punched him again, but he wouldn't bring that feeling to the table tonight. Instead, he changed the subject.

"Have you ever considered going back? Recording? Touring?"

"Not really. I was so busy at school, working and trying to forget, that the music sort of... got lost along the way."

"Maybe you've found it again?" He laced his fingers through hers.

"Maybe. I'm not sure. I love to sing, but I love what I do now, too."

"I don't think you have to decide right now. It's nice that people remember you. Like you said, your songs mean something to them."

That brought the smile back to her face, and he had to stop himself from leaning over the table and kissing her. Instead, he squeezed her hand in his, just enough to feel her squeeze back.

They got their dessert to go, and he enjoyed the way her dress slid over her hips as he followed her to the door.

She caught him watching when she turned to ask him a question, and he winked, unrepentant.

He opened the car door to put the paper bag holding their tiramisu on the seat while they went for a little walk around town. But the sense of being watched raised the hair on the back of his neck. When he was active duty, they called it "situational awareness." Now that he was a civilian, though, he sometimes found himself almost paranoid about watching his surroundings, a sort of hypervigilance. The counselor he'd seen for a while called it a symptom of his PTSD.

This was different. While the chaos of finding out that he had magic in his voice should have upset him, he found that settling into that new knowledge was easier than he'd anticipated. It felt right. Plus, dinner and Daria had helped him relax more than he'd been able to in a long time.

No, this was an echo of that same creeping feeling he'd caught while he was at her house.

"Trick, is everything okay?"

He dredged up a smile. "Yeah, I'm good." But he tracked the make and model of the cars in the parking lot as he walked back to her on the sidewalk, then took her hand in his.

There was something out there, waiting. And he'd be damned if it was going to get to her.

* * *

Daria watched Trick as he watched everything else. Between the restaurant and the car, he had changed. His eyes were bright and hard, his mouth taut and grim. This was not the man who had kissed her wildly in her foyer, not the man who had charmed her at dinner. This was the soldier, tense and guarded.

Finally, she stopped. Immediately, he covered her, stepping close to her body until she moved with him into the space of a shop's darkened door.

"Trick, you need to tell me what's going on. This is not okay."

He dropped his forehead to hers, and she read the torment in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Daria, but I have this feeling crawling up my spine. Someone's watching."

She wanted to protest, to tell him that he was scaring her a little, but she knew how much he cared, so she didn't object.

"Do you have a picture of him?"

She dug through her purse and pulled out her phone. "I do. I keep it to show police just in case." She hated that she always kept a constant reminder of the reason her life changed. Daria held up the image and let Trick study it. She didn't look at it. She didn't need to.

There was nothing remarkable about Peter Rollins' face. He was an average looking man, a little on the tall side, thin, a bit stooped, brown hair, brown eyes. Nothing about him drew the eye.

Her hand shook, remembering the grip of his strong fingers on her arm.

Trick took her phone and dropped it into her open purse before he pulled her in for a hug.

"Come on, let's make a quick stop, then we'll go home."

She nodded, and a little thrill went through her when he said "home" like it was something they shared.

He was still vigilant when they stepped out of the nook, but the haunted look had left his eyes. They walked across the street to the town square where a statue stood on a pedestal in the middle of a fountain.

He stopped in front of the statue, which sat in the pose of The Thinker, but with gargoyle wings sprouting from his back. Trick took both her hands in his and, though he flicked his eyes to the statue, he spoke directly to her.

"Hey Nick. I know you probably can't talk, but I know you're listening. Look, we're fairly sure Rollins is here. We haven't seen him, but you know the feeling. He must have driven like a bat out of hell to get here so quickly. Anyway, I'm taking Daria home, but I wanted to let you know he's around."

Daria was caught by the oddness of the subterfuge. Yes, it would have looked weird for both of them to stand and talk to a hunk of rock, but it felt much stranger to look at a man as he talked to someone else.

When she glanced up at Nick, he winked at her. A small and subtle move that made her smile.

"Hey, that tiramisu is calling my name," she said. "Let's go."

They breathed easier on the short ride home, as if they'd come full circle to the teasing and laughing they'd started with that evening. The feeling lasted through dessert and coffee.

"I'll be right back," said Trick as they moved to the couch.

Daria put the dishes in the dishwasher and was kicking off her shoes when he came back in carrying a small duffel.

"What's that?"

"My gear. I'm staying here tonight."

Both her eyebrows went up. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really. On the couch." He dropped the bag and wrapped his big, warm hands around her shoulders. "Daria, I swear I'm not presuming anything, but I don't feel comfortable leaving you here alone."

Alone. Daria had been alone for years. Ever since she left Volshev, even with rare visits home, she'd been on her own. Pride had made her carry on without anyone to lean on, to help her through times when she was so scared and lonely she wanted to cry. But she was tired of her cold pride.

She dropped her head to his chest and struggled to keep her tears to herself. Trick pulled her close and held her while she brought herself under control. She'd cried on him last night and didn't intend to abuse the privilege. She might be a water fae, but that didn't mean she was a watering pot.

Finally, she pulled back and wiped away any tears that had escaped. "Thank you. That's very thoughtful."

"It's not thoughtful. I just can't deal with the idea of you in danger."

"You're a protector, Trick. A soldier. I don't expect that's gone away simply because you're not in the service anymore."

His voice dropped to a sexy growl as he backed her up to the couch. "Honey, trust me. I may protect those in need, but what I'm feeling for you isn't duty or instinct. I know we've only known each other a couple of days, but I guarantee that this is something real. Something I want to hang onto. Forever, if you'll let me."

Daria felt like she had dived into deep waters and the pressure was going to burst her lungs.

So much overwhelming emotion, so soon, for someone she'd just met. It wasn't that she didn't feel the same way, but that she did. It couldn't possibly be real. Not this quickly.

She pulled away. "I need...I need to think. To breathe. I need some space, Trick."

The look in his eyes nearly killed her. It took everything she had not to give in and go along only because it felt like he'd spilled his heartblood all over her hands.

"I need some time," she blurted.

Her soldier straightened, and though she knew he was hurting, he gave her the warmest smile he could. "I understand. I do. It's okay, Daria. You take whatever time you need, and if you don't feel the same way, it's all right. I'd rather you think about it and get to the right answer, even if it means it's not me, than you jump in and find out later it was a mistake."

If she didn't know it would cause more heartache, she'd have hugged him for those words.

She did reach up and kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you. Let me get some sheets and blankets, and I'll make up the couch."

"You don't have to do that. I've slept a lot rougher than your nice couch."

"Trick Scanlon, are you under the impression that I wasn't raised right? That I don't know how to be a good hostess?"

He grinned. "No, ma'am."

"Then you step back and let me do my job."

Between them, they made the couch into a comfortable bed. When it was done, she stood awkwardly holding a pillow until he took it out of her hands. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, just like she'd done to him, and said, "Scoot. Go to bed. Rest, think, whatever you need to do. I'll see you in the morning. Don't be concerned if you hear me walking around. I don't always sleep well."

She nodded and headed to her room. In her camisole and sleep shorts, she stared out the wide French doors that looked out onto her back yard. The property went down to a bend in Wolf Creek, and she stood and contemplated its occasional glimmer for a long time.

Was it love or only infatuation? Maybe it was too soon for love. Although, did these things really operate on a timeline? Relationships changed things. Was she ready for change? Being with a man like Trick, who spent half his year traveling the country doing concerts, would she be all right with that? If she went with him, her career would languish. If she stayed home and worked, how could their relationship flourish?

Her thoughts were a knot of eels she couldn't untangle. The only thing that could help her get her thinking straight was time in the water.

A few clouds skittered over the dim face of the moon as she quietly crept out the door and down to the creek.

She was only a few steps from the water when she felt those fingers on her arm.

Chapter Five

Trick must have been more exhausted than he thought because the thing that woke him up was the sound of neighing.

"Bubba? What the..." He fought his way out of the nightmare he'd been having and landed on the floor. "Daria!"

No answer. He ran to her room and burst through the door, not caring if he woke her up or she yelled at him. But she wasn't there to yell. Swear words poured out of him in ways they were never meant to be used as he charged out her back door. The black magic horse waited for him in the yard, shaking his head and prancing.

"Where'd she go, Bubba?"

Trick knew the risk and counted it worth the cost as he pulled himself up onto the kelpie's back. Sure enough, the beast's magic worked and he stuck on like a burr.

He wasn't armed. Since he got out, he'd left his service weapon locked in a gun safe, where he took it out once a year to clean it. He told himself that one day he'd take up target shooting or something, but that day hadn't come yet. He hoped he wouldn't need a firearm to deal with this. On the other hand, he hadn't spent all those years as a Ranger for nothing. He could do a lot more than pull a trigger.

Also, he was riding a devil horse, he had a magic voice, and he was on his way to rescue a merm– rusalka. Daria hated when people got those two things mixed up. She had abilities of her own. And if they were down by the water, she stood a better-than-even chance of coming away unharmed.

If... He didn't like qualifiers.

Bubba had been galloping along the side of the creek, and Trick's heart sank as he realized how far they'd come. How long had he been out?

Finally, the kelpie slowed and stopped, his flanks heaving, ears pointing forward.

"All right, boy. You gonna let me off?" he whispered, and one ear flicked back at him.

A shudder ran over the animal, and Trick, suddenly released from his imprisonment, barely caught himself before he slid to the ground. "Good boy, Bubba. You're gonna be up to your scary teeth in apples for life, I promise."

A man's voice filtered through the brush.

"I told you. I told you and told you and told you, my sweet Daria. You're only supposed to sing for me. And now I see that you're singing for all these other people? That you're singing with that man?"

He heard a rattle and a feminine gasp, a small sound of pain, and Trick was glad he didn't have a gun. He wanted to beat this guy to a pulp with his fists.

"Peter, you shouldn't be here." Her voice was rough and hoarse – there was no way she could sing with her throat so raw – but she tried to reason with the man. "You shouldn't have come here and taken me."

"If I hadn't, what would happen to you? You'd go on singing, flaunting yourself on stage like some prostitute." He spat the word at her, and Trick decided to punch him one extra time just for that. Daria Black – or Czernovitch, or whatever she wanted to call herself – was the kindest, smartest woman he'd ever met. And if this nutbar called his woman a prostitute one more time, he was gonna lose teeth over it.

"I came to protect you," said Rollins.

"This isn't protecting me, Peter. You're hurting me." She coughed harshly.

"Only because you're being stubborn. If you'd stop fighting, I wouldn't have to do this. I wouldn't have to tie you up and hurt you."

Trick examined the terrain. His options sucked. Dry leaves all through the brush made it an impossible path for stealth. Going around it would take him too far out of the way before he could circle back, and then he wouldn't have enough cover to approach unseen.

The creek offered the only other option.

It would be colder than a well-digger's butt in Alaska, and if he stayed in it too long, he risked hypothermia. After his recent dunking, he wasn't eager to revisit that. But it was the only way to get to Daria quietly, without being seen.

He crawled into the creek, and it took all his willpower not to yell at the shock and pain of the icy water running over his skin. Behind him, Bubba stepped into the stream, as well, and whatever magic the horse had made him as silent as a ghost.

They only had to travel a few yards before they passed the brushline.

Daria was tied hand and foot, and propped up against a tree. She wasn't far from the creek, and Trick wondered why she hadn't just rolled down to the water. Then she twisted a little and the weak lantern that Rollins had set out illuminated a glimmer of metal around her throat.

She was wearing a collar. And not a strip of leather. She was wearing a pinch collar meant for a dog – metal prongs lined her neck – and Rollins was yanking the leash like he had a seizure disorder.

Tiny lines of blood dripped down her throat, and with her hands tied behind her back, she couldn't protect herself from his pulls.

This guy was going back to the hospital. In pieces.

He crawled through the shadows cast on the water until he was past her. His dark hair helped camouflage him as he moved. The cold, however, was an enemy as dangerous as Peter Rollins. He was beginning to shiver in deep, wracking shudders.

Trick climbed stealthily up onto the rocks that lined the edge of the creek but were below Rollins' line of sight from the bank.

"Why don't you sing for me now, Daria?"

She coughed in response, and it hurt Trick to listen to the harsh, painful sound.

Rollins paced around the lantern, muttering to himself and occasionally yanking the leash, so Trick took a chance. While Rollins was off on a delusional rant, Trick flicked water at Daria to catch her attention. She started and tried to turn her head to see him, but the movement brought Rollins' attention back to her.

"What? What's out there? Do you see him?" He looked around wildly.

Daria's head was bent and her shoulders shook with silent tears. Trick's heart ached as she drew Rollins closer.

"I told you he wouldn't come. He was using you. I'm the only one who can keep you safe, sweet Daria," he crooned to her.

She didn't answer, and Rollins gave the leash a vicious tug. Daria choked and coughed, deep, hacking sounds. One more yank like that and Rollins would crush her throat. Trick had to act now.

He was bigger and stronger than Rollins, but he didn't know if he was faster. It didn't matter, though, because all he had to do was get him to let go of that leash, and he'd take care of the rest from there.

Trick tensed his muscles to jump, but before he could move, a massive black shadow leapt over him.

Bubba, who had been silently watching from the watery shadows, sailed over the bank to land securely in front of Rollins. The man jumped back with a screech. The leash had been looped over his wrist, but he let it slide off in his haste to get away from the black demon beast.

Trick ran to Daria and gently pried the metal teeth of the collar from her neck where a couple of them had embedded themselves in her skin. The wickedly sharp pocket-knife he carried sliced away the zip ties around her wrists and ankles.

The moment her hands were free, she reached for her throat, still coughing. He tried to take her in his arms, but she pushed away, leaning toward the creek, crawling for it.

"The water? You need to be in the water?"

She nodded weakly, her eyelids fluttering. Rollins had hurt her badly, maybe crushed her throat with his last ferocious yank. She was a rusalka. Maybe the water could heal her. Trick grabbed her up and took a running leap toward the water, both of them landing in it together.

Trick thought he knew what magic felt like. He felt it when he rode the black kelpie and when he sang with Daria. He felt it when they kissed. But holding her in his arms as she shifted from human woman to beautiful, haunting fae creature was beyond anything else he knew he'd ever experience. The water sparkled around them in a whirlpool of effervescent bubbles that popped and fizzed against his skin.

The robe she'd been wearing dissolved and gorgeous red and white scales flowed down from her waist, covering her long legs down to her toes, which disappeared to become translucent, delicate fins.

She thrashed, her wine red hair floating around her, winding around his body, tying them together. He was in over his head, unable to breathe, but he didn't care. He held magic in his arms and he wasn't letting go.

Daria's eyes shot open and she smiled. If that was his last sight on earth, Trick was dying a happy man.

Then things changed. He wasn't holding her anymore, she was holding him. Stronger than he'd thought possible, she looped her arms around his chest and pushed upward, to the night sky, to the free air.

* * *

He'd come for her.

Trick had come for her when she was in her most desperate hour of need. She'd been on her way down to the water to think about him, about their relationship, about what she'd done with her life and where she was going.

Daria wondered if she wasn't still making Rollins more powerful than he was. Fear of him had dictated her life for so long that it was a curious shift to begin thinking of him as nothing more than the monster in her childhood closet.

Except, of course, there really had been a monster in her closet back then. Daria smiled at the memory. Her family's domovoi seemed to prefer her orderly closet and kept his bed there when he'd finished his household chores.

She'd been ready to dive into the water when Rollins captured her.

A blow to the head had disoriented her, giving the evil man time to slip that cursed collar around her throat. When she'd finally recovered enough to try to scream, the pain when he yanked on it took away her breath.

He'd dragged her through the brush, far down the creek. Every time she fell, barbed prickles had worked their way into the bare skin of her legs. He said he was taking her to his van, then they were going to drive away to their new home where no one would ever find them. Fear had flooded Daria in swamping waves.

When they'd reached this clearing, she stumbled and fell, choking against the constant, vicious tug of that hateful leash. He'd tried to soothe her.

"There, there now, my sweet. I know I'm being a little hard on you, but you... you made me so mad." He'd tried to explain himself to her, to rationalize his actions, but there was no excusing him. By putting her in the collar, he'd taken away her best weapon. "We'll rest a minute here before we keep going. I had to park quite a way off so that man wouldn't see me. He's already spotted me a couple of times today."

So Trick hadn't been paranoid and hypervigilant. She regretted ever doubting him. She regretted a lot of things. She regretted not answering when he'd said he wanted to hold onto her forever. His love was nothing like this agonizing, terrorizing obsession. And right now, she really regretted making up that bed for him on the couch. If they'd stayed together, she wouldn't have burrs embedded in her knees or a metal collar around her neck.

Then, like a miracle, he'd risen from her waters and rescued her. While Bubba charged Rollins, Trick had leapt into the water with her and saved her life. The shift from human to rusalka repaired her damaged throat and revived her. But Trick, for all that he could sing the birds down from the trees, was now in as much danger of dying from asphyxia as she had been a few moments earlier.

She dragged him up from the depths of the pond and pulled him over to the rocks, helping him crawl up onto dry land.

In the clearing, Bubba had continued to challenge Rollins, stamping his feet, charging, and snapping at him. The kelpie's eyes glowed red from within. The man kept trying to get away, but the horse was backing him into thick brush.

Daria huddled with Trick, trying to keep him warm as they watched the vicious dance. Finally, the Unseelie water horse got Rollins where he wanted him. Rollins put his hands out to keep his balance and touched Bubba.

The kelpie neighed in triumph as he dragged the man around the clearing, making sure he was never able to get his feet under him as he was pulled by one arm down the creek.

"Daria! Daria, help me!"

She searched her heart for kindness but found none. She was rusalka, not some sweet little water nymph, and not some weak fairy tale. Justice was her right and vengeance her heritage.

She spoke to the kelpie. "You know Sheriff Merrow's house? It backs to the water."

Bubba nodded his head, snapping at Rollins as he tried to get his feet under him.

"Try to make sure he's still alive when you get him there."

The magic stallion reared, a king of his kind, the embodiment of death and terror. Rollins screamed as the kelpie leapt for the water and dove under.

When the echo of his fear faded, Daria looked at Trick.

"Do you think I did the right thing? Should I have helped him?"

"Man put you in a dog collar and called you a prostitute. He's safer with Bubba than he would have been with me." Trick's cold voice comforted her.

She nodded. Rollins would wait until tomorrow – much later tomorrow. Right now, she wanted to go home.

Trick had warmed enough that only occasional shudders shook him, but his fingers were still icy when he put them on her chin. She let him move her as he examined her neck. "You all right, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine. Honestly, Trick. I'm okay. No lasting damage done." The water had healed her, as it always did. A little ache lingered, though. She'd been badly injured, but telling Trick now would only upset him.

"He still hurt you. And I still want to hurt him." His fists clenched, but he relaxed them to stroke her cheek.

"Well, I'm not wishing him peace and joy, but I don't want you to do anything you'd regret."

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't regret beating him to a pulp."

She chuckled. "Maybe not, but I'd regret it when they arrested you for assault. Even if everyone agreed with you."

"Fine," he grumbled. "It's freezing out here. I thought Georgia was supposed to be warm."

"Georgia in January is cold. Come into the water. I'll keep you warm while I swim you home."

"You can do that?"

"I'm a rusalka. I can do anything I want in the water."

Trick grabbed her waist and pulled her close until she was sitting on his lap, her tail laying over his legs. "That's right. I've caught myself a beautiful Russian merm–"

"Rusalka."

"Right. A beautiful Russian rusalka. And I do believe I'm in love."

"Will you write a song about this love?" She could tease now. She was able to sit in his lap, with her tail out for him to see, and laugh because he was so right for her.

"Absolutely. And it'll hit all the charts because everyone will feel the same way when they hear it."

And they lived...

Five months later

"A Fish Woman Fell in Love with Me." Trick pulled Daria's hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it.

"Nope," she said, smiling at him.

"My Gal's Just a Sad Bit of Sea Foam."

"Oh wow, that's almost good, yet somehow totally not." She actually snorted when she laughed at that one, so he knew she thought it was funny.

"How That Fairy Tale Guy Got Absolutely Everything Wrong."

"Yeah... no. Seriously, Trick, when are you going to tell me the title of the album?"

They were walking along the banks of Wolf Creek, enjoying the warmth of a sunny Georgia spring day. Trick's concert tour was over, and he didn't have another long stretch of travel scheduled until the next year. In the meantime, he'd told his manager that he'd be staying home, writing new songs, spending time in the studio, and reconnecting with the people he loved.

Technology was great. He'd set himself up with a small recording studio, and he could do nearly everything he needed to do with only monthly trips to meet with his Nashville producer. That meant he could spend most of his time with Daria.

He was living the dream.

Rollins was back in prison for life, or as good as. He'd been deemed mentally incompetent to stand trial until he was cured of his psychosis. At that point, he'd be tried and sentenced to a good, long stretch in the Georgia State Penitentiary. In the meantime, he was locked up in a mental institution because he kept babbling about a hell-horse that tried to drown him before werewolves had tried to eat him.

Somehow, the man had dislocated nearly every bone in his hand trying to get off Bubba before the kelpie shook him off at the sheriff's house. The off-duty sheriff and Alpha of his pack had been getting in some play-time with his mate and cubs au naturel, as it were, when Bubba and Rollins arrived. Hank had told the story in his quiet, solemn way, but the amused twinkle in his eye let everyone know he'd enjoyed that particular arrest quite a bit.

True to his promise, Trick never went down to the creek without an apple in his pocket. So far, the horse had a decided preference for big, sweet Honeycrisps, but turned up his nose at Red Delicious. As a joke, Trick had also brought sheets of dried nori once – Japanese seaweed used for making sushi – and Bubba crunched those up like they were candy. He'd had to make a line item in his budget for "horse treats."

Today, the kelpie meandered around them, occasionally tearing up a mouthful of sweet new grass.

"I'll tell you what, sugar. I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

They had reached Nix's Pond, where they'd first met that bitter winter eve. After such a tumultuous beginning, they'd agreed to take their time getting to know each other. Now Trick was done waiting.

After five months of being together as often as they could possibly manage it, he figured that they knew everything important about each other. She stole the covers and used his calves as foot warmers for her icy toes. She made coffee that should be considered a biological weapon. She spoke to her fish, and they answered back. She invested carefully and spent cautiously. She went out a couple of nights a month out with her friends, and if she'd had more than a single glass of wine, she was exuberantly affectionate when he picked her up.

Daria knew that he still had nightmares, and she was great about helping him out of tense situations without calling attention to it or showing him even a hint of pity. Her own nightmares were getting less and less frequent. She'd helped him design his new, little studio out behind her garage, and made it pretty and comfortable when he would have been satisfied with a chair and a bare light bulb. She missed him while he was gone, and when his tour was over, she'd welcomed him home with a small party of their friends. Then she'd sent everyone home and given him the welcome he really wanted.

Trick had met her family. A bunch of terrifyingly beautiful women, and when her mother greeted him, he'd never believed so hard that a rusalka could lure a man to his death just by singing at him.

Daria's father and brother were there, too. Her dad was almost normal. A quiet man who liked to do crosswords, he seemed to be the only one who could settle family squabbles. With only a few words, whoever was involved would murmur, "Yes, Papa," and that would be it. Magic.

Her brother, on the other hand, was a brooder. Rodion Czernovitch was the only son, and all the women doted on him, which seemed to make him impatient. By the second day of the visit, he'd come downstairs with his duffel still packed and claimed a "work emergency." After he kissed Daria, he'd pulled Trick in for a stiff bro-hug and whispered threats of bodily harm if his sister ever got so much as a paper cut on his watch, then took off like his heels were on fire.

Smart man. Trick liked him.

He and Daria walked this trail enough that they'd learned to stash a sturdy blanket in a chest hidden beneath one of the trees. He laid it out, but before she could sit down, he stopped her.

Trick took one of her hands in his and went down on one knee. His fingers were shaking so badly he could barely pull the little box out of his pocket.

He had given Willa his dog tags when he asked her to make the ring for him. She'd told him he needed to bring something of himself so she could weave the love and devotion into the jewelry. When he'd picked it up, even he had been able to feel the little thrill of magic in the Art Deco inspired, platinum filigree band with the square-cut sapphire. Not that he knew what most of those words meant, but Willa had seemed happy about it, so he learned them.

The look of shock on Daria's face made everything worthwhile. She made everything worthwhile. All the pain and hard work of getting to this point, where he'd try to be worthy of her, was the best part of his life.

"Daria Czernovitch, I know we said we'd spend time getting to know each other, but my heart knows everything it needs to know. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. Will you be my wife?"

Her joyful acceptance ended up with them skinny dipping in the pond an hour or so later to cool off. She was doing lazy laps around him, her tail flicking droplets of water that glimmered like diamonds as he floated on his back, when suddenly she stopped.

"I answered your question. Now answer mine – what's the title of the new album?"

He grinned.

"Happy Ever After, sweetheart. I'm calling it...

Author Bio

Sela Carsen was born into a traveling family, then married a military man to continue her gypsy lifestyle. With her husband of 20 years, their two teens, her mother, the dog, and the cat, she’s finally (temporarily) settled in the Midwest. Between bouts of packing and unpacking, she writes paranormal romances, with or without dead bodies. Your pick.

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Other books available:

Wolves of Fenrir series: Sci-Fi Shifter Romance with a healthy dose of Vikings

A Wolf to Watch Over Me

A Most Wanted Wolf

Silver Wolf Rising

The Wolf Who Came In From the Cold (in the Vikings Wild anthology)

Legends and Lore series: Stand alone Fantasy Romance with mythology and folklore.

The Sleeper Dreamed: A Short Story

Runespell

Not Quite Dead

Heart of the Sea

Carolina Wolf

Carolina Pearl

Follow Sela Carsen online at:

Website ~ Facebook ~ Twitter

Acknowledgements and Dedications

Writing may be a solitary endeavor, but producing a book for people to read can't be done alone.

Editing: Theresa Cole

Beta Reader: Donna Simmonds

Cover Design: Keri Knutson

Thanks especially go to Kristen Painter for inviting me to play in her world, as well as over all awesomeness.

Any factual mistakes made are my fault alone, despite the excellent advice of everyone (thank you, LimeCello!) who helped me along the way.

The Chatzy team kept me focused during the craziness of writing and blurb-crafting, and too many others to mention were invaluable along the way.

And last, but not least, thank you to my family, who have rallied behind me at every turn. They're amazing and I love them.

One final note:

This is the book that brought me back to country music. I grew up with it - my dad was a big Hank Williams and Patsy Cline fan - but once I hit high school, it was all Wham! and Madonna and INXS. Shut up. It was the 80s.

I started listening again when country went more mainstream in the 90s, and found that I really enjoyed Garth Brooks, Randy Travis, and Alan Jackson, but I listened to everything back then.

Cue marriage to a man who owns every Pink Floyd album. All of them.

Now imagine me singing "Stand By Your Man" in my head every time "The Wall" comes on.

I have Pandora stations of Latin pop, Celtic fusion, Disney tunes, and neo Punk (because some days you need a little My Chemical Romance). I feel like I have a pretty wide range of tastes in music, but I'm so glad I've added country back to the list.

I do mention a few specific songs in this book, made up at least one title - although if anyone writes "Halfway to Home with You," I'm going to be super impressed - and was also inspired by a Russian folk/pop singer named Pelegaya when the idea for Sirenas came into my head. I don't know if the group will appear in future books, but I loved the music I found. So here, for probably the first and last time in any of my books, is part of the playlist I listened to as I wrote.

Pelegaya: Пташечка (Little Bird)

Pelegaya: Ой, да не вечер (Oh, Not Evening)

James Rainbird and the Ambrosian Junior Choir: Suo Gan (Traditional Welsh lullaby)

Alison Krausse and Yo-Yo Ma: Simple Gifts

Brad Paisley and Alison Krausse: Whiskey Lullaby

Eddy Arnold and Leeann Rimes: Cattle Call

Garth Brooks: The River

Garth Brooks: If Tomorrow Never Comes

Johnny Cash: I Walk the Line

Johnny Cash: Ring of Fire

Randy Travis: Diggin' Up Bones

Alan Jackson: Neon Rainbow

Chris LeDoux: Western Skies

Dolly Parton: Jolene

George Strait: Amarillo by Morning

Tim McGraw: Humble and Kind