Contents

  Keep in touch with Debbie

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Other books by Debbie Cassidy

  About the Author

  Stay in touch with Debbie Cassidy

  Copyright © 2021, Debbie Cassidy

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  1

  I stared at the blue mark on my wrist.

  The mark. The one that picked out fae for this Calling thing. I had one, which meant…

  “Bea will take care of Mistress,” the brownie said sweetly.

  I couldn’t look at her. I didn’t want to see the matching mark on her wrist. In fact, why the fuck didn’t she just go away.

  “Mistress?”

  I opened my mouth to tell her to leave, but snapped it closed again. She was fae; she had the mark and wasn’t freaked out. Maybe she knew stuff about the Calling. Information that would help. Deep breath, Quinn. Information was key right now.

  I smiled tentatively at the brownie, not wanting to spook her now. “Bea, what is the Calling?”

  Her amber eyes widened. “The Calling is an honor bestowed on the lower fae. We are selected to accompany the chosen and assist them in their trials.”

  “Trials? What kind of trials?”

  Her thick, long lashes swept down in a sharp blink. “I don’t know. The lesser fae who return don’t speak of the nature of the trials. They’re forbidden to do so.” She nodded and smiled. “But it is certainly an honor to serve. Those who return are adamant on that fact.”

  “But not all lesser fae return?”

  She did the sharp blink again. “I suppose not.”

  “And doesn’t that bother you? I mean, what the heck happens to them?”

  Doubt flickered across her tiny face. “Mistress, I cannot say. But dwelling on it will do us no good. We are marked and therefore we are chosen, and we must do our best.”

  Frustration was a lit match in my chest. “Our best at what, though?”

  “Quinn?” Tate padded into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

  There was a soft pop and Bea vanished.

  “What was that?” Tate stared at the spot where Bea had been a moment ago.

  “Bea, our brownie.”

  I turned my hand palm down to hide my mark. I needed a moment.

  “You hungry?” Tate headed for the oven. “I can make a cheesy omelette.”

  My stomach grumbled in appreciation of that plan. How could I even think of food at a time like this?

  Tate started cracking eggs into a bowl, taking my silence and grumbling tummy as assent.

  Anxiety squirmed in my gut. Okay, moment over. “Tate, I’ve been marked.”

  He froze mid-whisk. “What?”

  “I have a mark, like the fae in town. The ones involved in this Calling thing.”

  He set down the fork he’d been beating the eggs with and joined me at the island, taking the seat beside me. His proximity brought a wave of reassurance along with the urge to lean into him, to have him envelop me in his arms and make it all go away. But this wasn’t something he could fix. This was something I needed to deal with.

  Where the fuck was my game face when I needed it?

  “Where is the mark?” Tate asked.

  “Left wrist.”

  He gently took my left hand and turned it over.

  My pulse sped up with hope. Maybe it was gone. Maybe this was all a dream, some kind of delusion brought on from almost being crushed to death by Bryce in his beast form.

  The blue symbol stared at me tauntingly.

  I pressed my lips together. “Tate, this is bad, right?”

  “It’s not good.” He stroked his thumb across the mark, sending a quiver through my blood. “Quinn, you know what this means.”

  Yeah, I’d been avoiding thinking about that. I squeezed my eyes shut. “It makes no sense.”

  I recalled the sweet scent that had bloomed around me just before I’d been certain Bryce was about to snap my neck. His teeth were digging into my skin, grasp steady, ready to break me, but then he’d stopped. He’d let me go.

  It was insane. This was impossible.

  “It explains a lot, though,” Tate said. “Hey, look at me.”

  I opened my eyes and locked gazes with his warm brown ones. “I can’t be fae.”

  “You obviously are.”

  “Okay. Fine. Say I’m fae, but this Calling shit is for purebloods. Even if I somehow do have fae genes, I’m definitely not pureblood. I’m part Lycan.”

  “Yes, and we always believed your mother was human and you being unable to shift made you an anomaly, but if your mother was actually fae…”

  “Then my not being able to shift might not be so strange after all.”

  “That crossbreed isn’t documented,” Tate said. “Heck, I’ve never heard of a fae and a Lycan being able to procreate.”

  “So I’m still a freak.” I gave him a thin smile.

  “No, Quinn, you’re unique, and we need to find out everything we can about the Calling and what kind of fae you are.”

  This I could deal with. Action points, stuff I could put on a mental to-do list and tick off.

  I prodded the mark. “Why now? I don’t get it. Why is my fae nature coming to the surface now?”

  Tate frowned slightly in thought. “Maybe it was the stress of the situation, or maybe it was just the right moment. I’m not sure what time you were born, but if Bryce attacked you after midnight…” His frown deepened. “I’ve read about mystical maturity in a few texts, how different supernatural breeds come into their powers at different ages. Usually around puberty, but for some it’s later, like a second puberty just for their abilities. Maybe yours is now.”

  “There are too many ifs and buts. Too many unknowns. I need answers.”

  “Then we’ll get them,” Tate said.

  I needed to know what this Calling was, but before that, I needed to know what and who I was. There was only one person who had the answers to that.

  I grabbed my phone off the island and dialed my father.

  “Quinn, do you have it?” my father asked.

  My heart sank. Those were his first words? Not how are you, are you safe, or have you been hurt? No, just do you have it. Why I expected anything more from him after years of him proving otherwise was a mystery to me. No, that was a lie. The fact was I suffered from a condition called eternal fucking optimism.

  I gripped the phone tighter. “No, I don’t have it.”

  His sigh was the familiar I’m-so-disappointed-in-you sigh that always made my stomach hurt. “Then why are you calling?” he asked brusquely.

  Was it wrong to want to stab your parent with a fork? “I want to know about my mother.”

  He made a sound of exasperation. “What do you want to know, Quinn? She had you, then she left us. There is no more to know.”

  Yeah, I’d heard this rendition several times over the years, but I wasn’t settling for it, not this time. “Did you know she was fae?” Silence, deep and unnerving, followed my statement. “Dad?”

  “What’s happened, Quinn? What’s happened to you?”

  “Answer my question, please.”

  “Quinn, you need to grab the relic and get out of there.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him that wasn’t going to happen but swallowed my words. Revealing I had no intention of stealing the relic might cause him to clam up. I needed to play this smart.

  “I’m having issues with that. It’s why I called, actually. Knowing about my mother might help me. I can’t explain much more than that, but if you want the relic, then I need this information.”

  Tate nodded encouragingly.

  Yep, keep it mysterious and keep him hooked. “Dad?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know if she was fae. When we met, I thought she was hum

an. But then little things happened. Things that led me to suspect she was supernatural, but when I asked, she denied it. She’d become agitated and upset, angry even. I loved her so much. I didn’t want to drive her away with my questions. I was happy just to be with her. Then she left, and I was forced to shut down my heart to raise you alone.”

  I didn’t doubt that my mother leaving had hurt him. Heck, that had never been in question. What I didn’t understand was why her leaving made him stop loving me.

  This call wasn’t about that, but I found the words spilling from my lips regardless. “I get why you needed to shut down your heart to her, but why to me?”

  He was silent for a long beat. “It wasn’t easy, Quinn. I didn’t know what you were, but I knew the pack would never accept you if they believed you were weak. I thought I was helping you be strong, and after your episode I knew I’d made the right call.”

  The hazy time that I didn’t quite remember. “What happened to me?”

  “Nightmares at first,” he said. “Then sleepwalking and violent outbursts. At first in the home, but then outside too. I knew this had to be something to do with whatever supernatural breed your mother was. Pack members were beginning to talk. Rumors of insanity began to circulate, and you know what they do to insane Lycans?”

  Ice filled my veins. “They put them down.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you took me away.” I couldn’t remember where, but the memory of a journey lingered in my mind. “Where did you take me?”

  “Luna put me in touch with a healer outside the city.”

  “The Rims?”

  “Yes. He was able to…fix you.”

  “My tattoo?”

  “Yes. It calmed the nightmares, the outbursts, and the violence.”

  Calmed it but didn’t get rid of it. “Are you saying that shit is still inside me?”

  “I don’t know, Quinn. All I ever wanted to do was protect you and help you to fit in. I’m sorry if I hurt you.” His tone softened. “That wasn’t my intention. Once I shut down, it became harder and harder to open up. I have so many regrets.”

  The steel in my heart toward him bent a little.

  “Once you bring back the relic, I can be the father you want me to be. The proud father of the Lycan who brought freedom and protection to our pack.”

  My stupid hungry heart leapt at the thought, but then the cynic sat up and made me ask, “And if I can’t? If I don’t?”

  The silence between us stretched until I thought he’d hung up. “Then don’t come back.”

  The hope unfurling inside me withered and died and a lump formed in my throat. I blinked back the stupid, worthless tears that wanted to fall because crying was pointless. It was time to accept that I was nothing more than a pawn to the pack. Nothing more than a burden to my father, one that he’d only shoulder if I delivered. There was no unconditional love for me in his heart. There never would be.

  “Did you hear me, Quinn?” There was a snap to his tone, the authoritarian edge that usually had me scrambling to please him. “If you can’t get the relic, then don’t come back.”

  I was done. “In that case, goodbye, Dad.”

  I hung up.

  “Quinn?” Tate studied me with warm concern.

  I lifted my chin, jaw tight. “Fuck him. Fuck the pack. Fuck them all.”

  “Finally.” Tate smiled.

  “I have more important shit to deal with. I can’t leave this town now that I’m marked. I’m going to have to take part in this Calling shit, so I need to find out what I’m in for.”

  Tate squeezed my hand. “That’s my girl.”

  I picked up my phone again. It was time to arrange a meeting with the beta of the Hawthorne Pack.

  2

  The call to Jax went straight to his voicemail. I left a message, frustration bubbling in my chest. I mean, who knew how long I had before this Calling event. Answers couldn’t wait. There was no doubt in my mind that the pack was involved in the Calling. If anyone could explain it to me, Jax could.

  At least Orina and Nyx were safely out of town, although I’d have loved to say goodbye to my friends. Why had Bryce forced them to leave? Thinking about the Hawthorne Pack alpha made my ribs ache.

  He’d broken them.

  Crushed me.

  Promised to kill me quickly and then left me shaking and bleeding on the ground.

  My bladder quivered at the memory of earth against my cheek, of claws digging into my back and agony ripping through my body. My breathing grew shallow, and I curled my hands into fists, pressing them to my thighs hard enough to bruise while I forced my body to chill. To calm the fuck down. I was safe. I was alive. I was fine.

  Tate placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of me. “Drink. I’ll make food.”

  The familiar aroma of freshly ground coffee beans soothed my nerves enough for me to relax my hands. I rubbed my palms on my jeans before picking up the mug and shooting Tate a grateful smile.

  I sipped, savoring the sweet and bitter flavors.

  “Do you want bacon in your omelette?” Tate asked.

  The thought of food made my stomach turn. “I’m good with just coffee. I’m not hungry.”

  The air beside me made a small pop and Bea materialized, a stern expression on her heart-shaped face. “Mistress must eat. Mistress must keep up her strength for the Calling.”

  “Shit…” Tate stared at the brownie.

  She stared right back, unblinking, almost challenging. I got the impression there was more to my brownie than an impulse to clean everything in sight.

  “Hello.” Tate gave a small wave.

  “You care about my mistress, so you may see me.” Bea sniffed and lifted her pointy chin. “But be warned”—she wagged a finger at him—“if you hurt her, I will poison you, maim you, or pluck out your eyes.” The words, uttered in her sweet, lilting voice, were more chilling than if they’d been spoken by a manic supervillain.

  I suppressed a shudder.

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Tate said, his expression serious. “Would you like some food?”

  Bea’s amber eyes grew as round as saucers. “You’re offering to feed me?”

  Tate looked suddenly wary. “Is that a bad thing?”

  Bea’s bottom lip trembled, her eyes brimmed with fat tears, and she threw herself across my lap, a blubbering mess.

  My hands flew up starfish-style, and I shot a panicked glance Tate’s way.

  He shrugged, looking just as lost as me.

  Shit, what should I do? Comfort the crying brownie. Yep, I could do that.

  I patted Bea’s back awkwardly. “Um…there, there. Don’t cry?”

  She let out a wail.

  Fuck. I think a different approach was in order. “Hey, Bea, snap out of it.”

  She shot up straight and stared at me with a horrified expression before wiping her snotty face on her sleeve.

  “Oh my, oh, what will Mistress think of me?” She glared at Tate. “This is your fault for offering to feed me.” She studied him warily for a moment and then frowned. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  Tate shook his head. “I was being polite.”

  “No one’s polite to a brownie,” Bea said, as if it were common knowledge. “We do not get thanks and we’re not cooked for. Our existence is to serve and never to be waited upon.” She sniffed again. “This is all very overwhelming. Very overwhelming indeed.”

  “You mean no one’s ever cooked for you or said thank you?” Tate looked horrified.

  She shook her head and her lip trembled again.

  Tate and I exchanged glances, then he smiled, one of his full-bodied, sunny smiles that made my heart ache.

  “Oh…” Bea sighed.

  I glanced at her to find her head tipped to one side, hand on chest, amber eyes fixed on Tate.

  Had Tate just enraptured my brownie?

 

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