When the Starrs Align (5 page)

“Candace Stafford seems like a frontrunner,” she said casually to gauge his reaction.

He groaned. “Don’t say that name.”

She grinned, relieved and not sure why. “Maggie Hilderbranch? Sue Weston? Caroline Ryan?”

“No, no, no. Stop. Please. It’s like you’re channelling my mother.”

“Oh shit.” What had she been thinking? Lisabeth was on the way. Regan needed to
go
.

“Just kidding. You’re nothing like her. That’s a compliment, by the way, that you’re different. I love my mother, but man, I know her.”

“Chance said that she’s coming in an hour.”

“Hell. He might have warned me. I could have stayed longer in the beyond.”

“Beyond?”

“We haven’t given it a name yet. But Chance and I think that’s where vamps originated. Maybe. A warlock’s life is never dull in the beyond.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not that dull here. I have to go.”

Warrick stopped her. “Stay. Please.”

“Please?” Weakness invaded her limbs, especially when his eyes went all gooey on her. So soft and pleading, when normally she saw a warlock with death on the brain.

“I need you.
We
need you.”

She wanted those words to mean something more. “To distract your mother?”

“What?”

“You need me to distract your mother? Can you heal before she sees the cuts? If she’s as protective as I’ve always assumed, your ass is grass if she spots those marks.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

She frowned at him, wondering at his confusion. But then Chance was calling out that they had a visitor, and she kicked it into high gear.

“Now pray that your mother doesn’t decide to make me into a toad because I defiled her precious sons.”

“Yeah, you did defile us. Pretty thoroughly.” He sounded way too cheerful about it.

“I thought you were the brother that never talked?”

“Must be you.” He grinned and hugged her, and she got a spray of water in the face.

“Now you two. Hurry the hell up,” Chance yelled.

“Time to beard the dragon…”

Chapter Four

Time had been more than kind to Lisabeth Starr. She had an ageless beauty. Power and class and the wherewithal to use both to her advantage. Chance had inherited her light-coloured hair. Lisabeth had captured her golden locks into a French twist to emphasise her graceful neck. She wore tailored slacks, a dark cashmere sweater and killer boots.

Standing next to her, Candace Stafford shone like a polished gem.
Like Lisabeth’s friggin’ mini-me.
Candace hadn’t stopped glaring at Regan since she’d spotted her standing in Warrick’s shadow.

“Mom, great to see you
so early
,” Chance said dryly. “I thought you were coming later in the day.”

His mother sniffed. “I’d thought I’d bring Candace by to wish you luck on your preparation. I can see I was mistaken to assume you’d be alone.”

“Mom, Candace.” Chance walked back to stand with her. “You know Regan Riley. She came back to wish us luck.” He winked at her.

“Regan.” Candace smiled politely. “So you came back with your aunt then? I saw Olivia but must have missed you.” In a town as small as Darkton, everyone typically knew everyone else’s business.

“Yep.” Just a big smile set the debutante off, and Regan grinned from ear to ear. She hated to admit it, but she enjoyed annoying Candace. Unlike Warrick and Chance, Candace hadn’t been cruel because of her hormones. She’d been born a bitch and would die a bitch. It wasn’t fair that the woman had looks and power. A lot like Lisabeth. It was no wonder their mother wanted Candace to bond with them.

Lisabeth watched the interaction with interest. “So tell me, Regan, are you going to serve as the boys’ familiar? The role will require you to go about as your…cat self…I supposed you’d call it. From what I’ve gathered, your animal form grounds magic much more powerfully than the human half of you.”

“Actually, I was surprised to find that the guys don’t yet have a familiar.” She’d been meaning to ask them about that. “You two do know you don’t need an actual shifter to help? Any animal with power will work.”

Animals possessed an earth magic much more powerful than most shapeshifters. But then again, Regan had witch blood as well as shifter blood in her. She would be able to handle the warlocks—if they’d actually asked her to serve, which they hadn’t.

“We don’t want her as our familiar,” Warrick stated plainly, and the rejection cut her to the quick. But before she could say anything, he reached for her hand and squeezed it once before letting go.

What does that mean?

His mother and Candace immediately relaxed. “Oh, well then.” Lisabeth gifted Regan with a smile. “Do tell your father I love his latest work at the gallery. And send your aunt for a visit when she gets a chance. It’s been too long since she and I have talked.”

Candace ignored her, apparently no longer considering her a threat. To Chance, she asked, “Then will you be taking a third in the ceremony? Because without a familiar, that leaves you with an empty bond.” Candace smiled and stepped closer. “I’m more than ready to help you and Warrick get to the next level.”

Regan knew better than to get involved in what didn’t concern her, but the thought of her new lovers tied to Candace Stafford
forever
made her stomach curdle. “But isn’t that dangerous, Candace? I was talking to my dad the other night, and he said that whichever partner Chance and Warrick take has to be strong enough to withstand the blood moon’s lure. I mean, they call it the blood moon for a reason.”

“Yes, thank you for the lesson, but we all know that.”

Regan was on a roll. “Think of all the vampires that are sure to be drawn to the ceremony. You never know where their portals will show up and they’ll come pouring out. I know the council will do its best to keep out the uninvited, but when Chance and Warrick spill blood, it’ll be up to their third to talk them off the ledge, you know?”

“It’s just a ceremonial sense of danger, Regan.”
You idiot,
went unspoken if not unsaid. “There won’t really be vampires or monsters to keep out of Darkton.”

Lisabeth turned to Candace and arched a blonde brow. “You can’t believe that?”

“Lisabeth, in all the years of Becoming rituals, we’ve never had a real incident with danger. Your sons simply need to find a wife or a familiar and make their power stick. Unfortunately, we all know there’s no animal we’ve yet found to complete them. I’ve done spells the same as you. And the ‘familiar’ route is dry.”

Lisabeth gave Regan an odd look. “Yes. Well, so we move to the reason I’m here, boys. I fear Candace is right on one account. It’s time you took a wife, and with just thirteen days left, you don’t have much time to cement a bond.” She turned to Candace. “However, my dear, we’ve never had a stronger warlock or witch than either of my sons. And they’re twins. Imagine how the blood moon will cry out for sacrifice when the cycle is at its strongest?” Her anxiety was clear when she turned back to her sons. “You’d best continue preparing. And do the spells like I taught you. Your father worries.”

Chance rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

Lisabeth blew them kisses. She nodded at Regan, her demeanour strangely…accepting? That didn’t seem right. But now that Lisabeth knew her sons didn’t lust after Regan or want her as a familiar, she didn’t have to fret that Regan might put her dirty paws on the Starr boys.

Their mother turned on her heel and departed, leaving Candace to follow.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, then gave Regan one final glare before hurrying after Lisabeth.

The moment the door shut behind them, Regan stalked back to the bedroom to gather her things.

Chance caught her. “Uh-uh. Let us explain.”

“We don’t want you in danger,” Warrick said.

She twirled to face them. “I get it. But that was kind of blunt the way you rejected me in front of your mom.”
And Candace
. They’d hurt her feelings.

Warrick’s stern countenance softened. “I didn’t want them to know.”

“Know?”

“That we
do
want and need you. We want you to help us train, Regan. You’re exceptionally strong, pure of spirit, and your witch magic connects with ours. Didn’t you feel it last night?”

“Oh. I thought that was just great sex.”

“It was.” Warrick grinned.

“Which in itself is a kind of magic,” Chance explained. “Warrick and I have thought of nothing but you for years. We knew only you could help us with this. But we refuse to put you in danger. So if you’d help us train, get us to where we need to be, then we’ll—”

“What? Look for a stray cat to bond to minutes before the blood moon? Or take on a few lovers to see who really makes the sky light up?”

“Regan. Don’t be mad.” Chance sighed and drew her into his arms. Warrick moved to her back, caging her there. “We care for you. After everything we put you through before, there’s no way in hell we’d even think of doing anything worse to you ever again. Death is much worse than weathering a few snakes.”

“And rats and roaches. Don’t forget those,” she griped.

Warrick nuzzled her neck from behind. “We need you safe, Regan. Spend the next two weeks with us. Help Chance and I bring our magic closer together. And when the ceremony comes, we’ll be strong enough to work through it ourselves.”

She paused. “But you could find a witch to help you—”

“No,” they said as one. “Whoever we’d choose would be bound to us forever through our magic. And there’s no one here we trust to be with us like that but you.”

She felt touched that they trusted her that much. She wanted to offer herself as their ‘forever’, but she didn’t care to be rejected again. She’d find a way to help them survive and flourish. And maybe, just maybe, she’d figure out how to see where their future might go…together.

* * * *

For the next week, she spent her days as a cat, twisting and moulding their magic, and her nights as a woman sandwiched between two lusty men who only got better with time.

On a break from feline duty, she walked into town dressed as herself. She passed several people with a smile and a wave, feeling better about herself than she had in ages.

She continued down the main street, past pumpkins and hay bales and harvest signs, and stared around her. A town of just three hundred and thirty-two people, Darkton had a quaint charm that came from authentic, old-fashioned craftsmanship. Everything in the town had been crafted by hand with painstaking detail. Located fifty miles west of Ashville, Darkton provided its residents enough tourist trade to keep them rolling in profit. And the wards cast by the council mages kept the locals safe from outsider interference. Only those born in Darkton and approved by the council could live in town.

To hear her father tell it, he still counted himself lucky to have been accepted when they’d initially moved in, right after her mother had passed. Regan had been a shy girl of nine, missing her mother and her friends from northern Pennsylvania. Then she’d spotted the Starr brothers and all had been right with her world. For a time.

Now understanding that the big lugs might look terrifying when wielding their magic but were actual softies at heart, she’d completely fallen hard for them both. She kept her presence in their lives private, staying with them in their home while they continued to craft spells and Warrick battled…things…in the beyond.

She wanted to think her familiar abilities had grown, because when she helped them channel their magic, she felt a connection not only to them and to the earth, but to the witch magic in herself as well.

Passing a few witches she recognised as head mages from the Seattle coven, she stopped into the coffee shop to chat.

“Megan, Teresa. What are you guys doing here?”

“Regan.” Megan stood up to give her a hug. “I could ask you the same thing. Last time I saw you, you were talking about moving to Seattle. Are you still in Spokane?”

“Visiting my dad here. But I’m thinking of moving back, permanently.” She hadn’t realised it until she’d said it aloud, but life in Darkton was much better than she remembered. Here her dreams of working as a full-time familiar made sense. And if she could get the idiot twins—who still refused to use her in their Becoming ceremony—to survive, she wanted to explore their relationship to the fullest.

“Yeah? That’s great,” Teresa said. “We’re here to see if we can snag the Starrs. Good God. Can you imagine having them both at once?” she asked in a lower voice. “I mean, Chance is so amazing. A white warlock with that charm and body. He must work out all the time. And Warrick”—she shivered—“he just has bad boy written all over him.”

Did she have it wrong. Warrick was the responsible one. The black warlock with the skills to cause harm and the patience not to. Chance took too many risks, constantly made a joke of everything and had had to be talked off the ledge more than once by her and Warrick. But Teresa had one thing right—they were hell on wheels in bed.

She chatted more with her friends, promising to meet for drinks later in the week. Like many of the visiting covens, they intended to stay for the ceremony. And they’d provide extra protection in case the blood moon really did get too big to handle.

Regan had her doubts. After saying goodbye, she walked down the street to her father’s gallery. She visited, convinced him
again
that she was doing fine and wasn’t mad that he’d thrown her into their arms—on purpose—then left with the intention to return to the guys.

Instead, she ran into Lisabeth. Oh joy.

“Just the person I wanted to talk to. Come with me.” The woman marched through town like she owned it.

Not sure what else to do but follow, Regan walked with her in silence until they reached her house. Mansion, more like. The plantation home sat smack in the middle of town, in the park, and looked more like a town hall than a private residence. With marble columns and a great front lawn, the house also boasted a lengthy wrap-around porch. The home’s majestic residents only added to the place’s prestige.

Lisabeth walked through the front door that opened with a wave when she neared. No one manned it. The wave was an off-the-cuff use of magic the woman thought nothing of.