Chapter One

In modern vernacular, or rather, the human vernacular, today fucking sucked.

Vero Phoenix sat behind an ancient iron-and-oak desk, his body screaming for action. For anything. He’d even climb an ice-covered tree if that meant moving his legs.

“Mr., ah, Phoenix?” A petite, dark-haired female, who looked around twenty but was actually only seventeen years old, hovered hesitantly in the doorway of his office.

He had a damn office—as well as a surname. He somewhat understood the reasoning of creating family units by employing surnames, but adjusting took time. Just a month before, he’d discovered he had a brother named Paxton Phoenix, so when Pax became the king, Vero had figured he should adopt the surname. If nothing else, it showed their enemies where his allegiance lay. “Yes?”

The female paled. “Sir, I mean, um, Mr. Phoenix?”

He bit back a snarl. Smiling was too much for him right now, so he tried to keep his brows from slashing down. Apparently that looked frightening—for some fucking reason. “Genevieve, you can call me Vero. Remember?” He couldn’t do anything about the hoarseness of his low voice, so he didn’t try.

She flushed from her chest to her hairline, her bluish-green gaze darting away. “Yes, sir. I mean, I’m sorry, sir.”

Jesus. “It’s okay.” He had to find somebody else to work as his secretary. Or administrative assistant. How in the hell did he have an administrative assistant? “What?” His voice sounded rusty because he rarely spoke.

She hovered, her shoulders down. “Um, Miss, I mean Ms., ah, Lyrica is here to see you.”

Well, double fuck. “Fine. Please send her in.” Now he sounded like some human stockbroker. Or worse, an attorney. If he had half a brain, he’d take off for the Himalayas and live by himself in a cabin blanketed with snow. Maybe he could make friends with a bear.

Screw that. He’d never had a real friend. Sure, he’d thought he had, but Hunter had ended up being a two-faced, lying, spying asshole. If Vero made friends with a bear, it would eat him.

That would be preferable to his current situation.

Fuck his life.

Lyrica Graves swept inside, somehow looking both regal and indignant while wearing jeans and a scarlet sweater that fit her curvy body perfectly, her cheeks red from the cold. She’d apparently ditched her coat in the outer office but still wore thick blue snow boots.

If he asked her to just shoot him, would she?

Her pretty eyes sparked. “You are totally screwing all this up.”

Yep. She’d definitely shoot him. He considered making the request for all of five seconds, then decided he didn’t want to give her that much satisfaction. In the saddle of life, she was a burr biting his skin, and she had been for the past three weeks as they’d tried to bring the Kurjan nation into modern times. “What do you want now?”

She drew to her full and unimpressive height of about five foot six inches and tossed her head in a way only angry females could achieve.

His body reacted instantly, going hard as a rock, head to toe—and worse yet, everywhere in between.

An unholy, feminine, and unreal peach bloomed beneath her smooth skin. “I heard you told Eudokia Guavras she could stay with her mate.”

If he had an emotion, he’d blink. Instead, he kept his voice level and forced himself to talk. “I spoke with her—alone—for more than an hour. She wants to remain with her mate. I thought that allowing females to do as they wish was your goal?”

She put both hands on her voluptuous hips, her eyes sparking like a dark disco ball. “Allow? Did you say allow?”

Damn it. That was one of the expressions he was supposed to banish. But the word fit the situation. He had allowed the female to stay with her mate of more than five hundred years. She’d begged and pleaded to do so. He shoved down irritation. “Yes. She loves her mate. They’ve been together since the Byzantine Empire, and she has borne him three sons. Good ones.” All three were, in fact, excellent soldiers.

Lyrica lifted her face to the ceiling as if he was just too stupid to deal with at the moment. “Eudokia doesn’t know what she wants. It has been centuries, man. She has no clue about the life that could be hers out in the world.”

Yet her mate and her sons would remain with the Kurjan nation. A headache loomed at the base of Vero’s skull, and he allowed his jaw to firm. Now wasn’t the time to once again correct her that he wasn’t a man. Not human. Not even close. “Perhaps Eudokia doesn’t care about the outside world.”

Lyrica’s chin lowered. With her dark hair curling over her shoulders and her smooth skin begging for a kiss, she looked far more appealing than dangerous. Like a kitten hissing at a cobra, clueless to the dangerous bite about to strike her. “That’s because she’s had no exposure to freedom.”

He stood, unable to sit any longer. “We are not having this argument again.”

She took a step toward him. Completely misunderstanding the moment, as usual. How did she not see the killer lurking beneath his black uniform? The animal, barely leashed, that heated his very soul?

“We are not arguing,” she said through gritted teeth. “We are discussing the situation.”

Discussing? The female had no right to smell like fresh juniper berries while challenging him with every movement. No right at all. “What do you want, Lyrica?” he asked, curling his fingers into fists and resting them on the innocuous desktop.

For the first time, she faltered. “I—I’m not sure. I guess I want to show her the world. The possibilities available to her.”

“Why?” He truly didn’t understand. Eudokia had mated a high-ranking Kurjan soldier, which gave her status. She’d given birth to three strong and able-bodied sons who adored her. She also routinely won the pie bake off every autumn during the fall season, when life calmed down. What more could a female want?

Lyrica rolled her eyes this time. “How do you know what you’re missing if you have no clue what’s out there? These females? They’re like three-dimensional beings who’ve been forced to live in a two-dimensional world for centuries. They can’t remotely comprehend that third dimension…until they actually look up.”

If he shot himself, he’d just take too long to heal. The only way to truly end his torment was to cut off his head today—and fuck him. He couldn’t do it. His loyalty to a nation that had wronged him—to a brother who didn’t understand him—to a friend who’d betrayed him…was absolute. He didn’t make a bit of sense, and yet, he wouldn’t abandon those who’d abandoned him. For now. Every cell in his immortal body knew with certainty that his end would come bloody, and it would no doubt come soon.

Even immortality had its limits—a good beheading from an enemy lay in his future.

It was a pity he truly didn’t care.

Worse yet, this stubborn female, who courted danger she couldn’t even see, called to him. Who would protect her if he left? He couldn’t worry about that, nor could he think about that wide, three-dimensional world that kept trying to tempt him. So much so that his dreams centered on blue oceans and worlds through portals that might finally be opening for him—if he’d been somebody else. Somebody destined to live after the current year. After Paxton consolidated power next week at the Convexus. If he didn’t get the powerful coalition of forty Cyst soldiers to join with them again during the night of the Kurjan Dark Solstice, they wouldn’t survive as a nation.

But this female. She tempted Vero—and failed to hear her own siren call. He cleared his throat but knew it wouldn’t make him sound any less Kurjan. While his vocal cords weren’t quite as mangled as a purebred demon’s, he was close. “You need to understand that some females want to stay here, with their mates.”

Her nostrils flared as she drew in air, obviously biting her tongue before speaking. “No female wants to live subjected to a male. Ever.”

His temper licked at the base of his neck. “Nobody is being subjected.” Not anymore, anyway. He crossed around the desk, allowing himself to enjoy the scent of berries—just for a moment. “Eudokia loves her mate, and if she feels submissive to him, it seems to work. They have a good union.” Her eyes widened, barely, as he approached her.

Her chin lowered. “He’s possessive.”

“Of course he’s possessive. She’s his mate.”

Lyrica instantly shoved him, both hands on his chest. He captured her wrists and pulled her in closer, his head lowering, his blood thundering through his veins.

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“She can’t be working here. No way.” Colton Freeze leaned forward in his chair and slid his nearly empty beer on the battered wooden table. A jukebox belted out Garth Brooks, peanut shells lined the floor, and longnecks took residence on almost every table in the bar. Unfortunately, the sense of home failed to relax him.
“I’m only telling you what Mrs. Nelson said at the bank.” His friend, Hawk, turned toward the long, oak bar. “If she is working here, I wish she’d show up so I can go home to bed.”
“Soon.” Colton shook his head. “There is no way Melanie works at the coffee place in the morning, her ranch all day, and Adam’s bar at night.” And she hadn’t bothered to tell him. He’d been out of town finishing his master’s degree and then securities degree, and nobody had thought to tell him his best friend was working herself to death? A fear he hadn’t experienced in over ten years slammed him between the eyes, nearly bringing on a migraine. He shoved the sensation away.
“I didn’t know, or I would’ve called.” Hawk gazed thoughtfully across the smoky room, his odd green eyes narrowed.
“You’ve only been home a day.” Colt frowned. He cocked his head as the bartender called out with a friendly, “Hi, Mel.”
Damn it. She was working in the bar. Colton steeled his shoulders and schooled his face into a pleasant expression. If he yelled at her right off the bat, she wouldn’t talk to him.
He needed to speak with her. While they’d grown a part a little bit during their teenage years, when they’d moved on into the world, they’d kept in touch as he attended school. After her grandfather had died two years ago, they’d reconnected, and Colton had made sure to call, text, and email while he studied.
After a short time, he couldn’t sleep without talking to her and sharing his day. Maybe he should’ve been home instead of pursuing knowledge.
As his best friend, she was needed. He’d almost lost her once, and he’d never allow himself to feel such fear again. Plus his gut churned that she hadn’t shared her problems with him. “Where in the world is she?” he muttered.
She stepped out from behind the bar, and he straightened in his chair. “What the hell?”
Hawk emitted a slow whistle. “Wow.”
Yeah, wow. Melanie’s customary outfit of faded jeans, scuffed boots, and a working T-shirt was absent for the night. “Adam must have made her wear the outfit.” Son of a bitch. He’d kill the bar owner.
Hawk leaned forward, elbows on the table. “She looks good.”
She looked better than good, and shock sprang Colt’s cock into action. A tight tank top showed off perfect breasts, while a skirt curved along her butt to stop a couple of inches away. Long, lean legs led down to high-heeled boots. She was a wet dream come true.
Melanie wobbled a full tray of drinks to deliver to a table of rowdy farmers.
“Maybe the medical bills from her grandpop’s fight with cancer added up, and she needed the extra money?” Hawk rolled his shoulder and finished his beer.
Colton exhaled but couldn’t look away from the sexy brunette. Sexy? Jesus. It was just the shock of the new look. She was still Mel, still his best friend. “So now I need to worry about both of you. What the hell?”
Hawk sighed. “Tell me you didn’t ask me out for a beer my first night home to lecture me.”
Colton turned toward his oldest friend. Lines of exhaustion fanned out from Hawk’s eyes, and a dark purple bruise mottled his left cheekbone. He was usually battered when he returned home from active duty, but this time a hardness had entered Hawk’s eyes. Now wasn’t the moment to bug him, however. Colton shrugged. “Nope. Just wanted to catch up. I’ll push you tomorrow on leaving the SEALs.”
“Fair enough.” Hawk took a deep swallow of his beer as his gaze remained on Melanie. “I’m glad you called. It appears as if things might get interesting tonight.”
Doubtful. Colton turned his attention back to the woman who hadn’t trusted him enough to let him know she was in trouble. Something in his chest ached, and he shoved the irritant aside with anger. While he was known for a slow-to-burn temper, especially in comparison with his two older brothers, when he exploded, it was legendary.
But there’d be no temper tonight. First, he had to figure out what the hell was going on, and then he had to solve the issue. Logically and with a good plan. So when Mel glanced his way, he lifted his empty glass.
She nodded and hitched around full tables to reach him. “Why did you cut your hair?” Her face was pale as she tried to tug her skirt down.
He knew she wouldn’t be comfortable half nude in public. “When the hell did you start waitressing in a fucking bar?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.
“Smooth,” Hawk muttered into his beer.
Melanie arched a delicate eyebrow and released the bottom of the skirt. “Last I checked, my grandfather was dead and you weren’t my keeper. Do you want another beer or not?” The tray hitched against her hip—a hip that wasn’t nearly as curvy as it had been the previous year. She’d lost weight.
Even so, he wanted to grab that hip and… “What time do you get off?” he asked.
A dimple twinkled in her cheek. “It depends who I take home with me.”
He couldn’t help but grin back. “You are such a big talker.”
“I know.” She shoved curly brown hair away from her face. Hair wild and free. “Why are you asking? Think you’ll need a ride home?”
“I’m taking you home, and we’re talking about your three jobs.” He tried to smooth his voice into charming mode, but the order emerged with bite.
“The last time you tried to boss me around, I hit you in the face and you cried for an hour.” She nodded at a guy waving for a drink from a table on the other side of the dance floor.
Colton threw the guy a glare. “I did not cry.”
“Did too,” Hawk whispered.
Colton shot a look at his buddy before focusing back on Mel. He’d been seven years old, and she’d almost broken his nose. “My eyes watered from the punch. That wasn’t crying.” They’d been having the argument for nearly two decades, and the woman never let up. “You’ve cried on my shoulder many a time.”
She reached for his glass. “That’s because men are assholes, and you have great shoulders.”
Every boy or man who’d ever hurt her had ended up bashed and bloody afterward because either he or Hawk had made sure of it. “You’re right on both counts. Which begs the question, if you’re in trouble, why aren’t you crying on my shoulder now?”
Sadness filtered through her deep eyes. “You’re my friend, not my knight. It’s time I stood on my own two feet.”

*   *   *

Colton forced his hands to unclench and his voice to remain calm. “Are you all right, Mel?”
She nodded, her eyes too wide in her too pale face. “Yes.”
Frustration swept through him, and he fought to keep calm. The sight of Mel’s frightened face would keep him up for nights. She shouldn’t be managing a ranch all by herself—accidents always happened.
He strode through the storm, grasped her arm, and began leading her back to the house. “Are you all right?” he asked, once he stepped onto the covered front porch.
“Me?” she laughed, the sound slightly off-kilter. “You’re bleeding.”
He wiped blood off his forehead. “Just a scratch.” Clearing his throat, he tried to stomp mud off his boots while tugging a clean bandana from his inside coat pocket to wipe his hands clean. “I, ah, need a shower.”
She stepped toward him, and he lifted an eyebrow. After what seemed like a small mental debate, she grabbed his destroyed shirt and tugged. Stretching up on her toes, her mouth slid against his.
Fire lashed through him so quickly he swayed. A million thoughts exploded at once, and he shut them down. Completely.
Groaning, he hauled her close and took over. The fear, the storm, the fury all comingled into raw need inside him. There were no more thoughts, no more uncertainties.
There was only this woman and this moment.
So he took both as deep as he could. He angled his mouth, and she drew a sharp breath, holding it.
Her lips softened beneath his as he explored her, learning her taste. Wild huckleberries and brandy? The most delicious combination in existence. She moaned deep in her throat, the sound sparking down his torso to his balls.
Her grip on him was strong and sure. He bent her, his hands full of woman. Brushing a hand across her firm ass, he shuddered. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” Punctuating his words, he cupped a handful. Firm and tight, her flesh was better than he’d dreamed.
He shouldn’t have said that. But the connection between his mouth and brain had disappeared.
She sighed against him, pressing closer. “Hurry.”
“Hell, no.” He reached behind them to shove open the door, backing her inside. Heat blasted them. His hold tightened, and he lifted her to sit on the rugged entryway table, legs spread, shirt now muddy and wet.
The storm raged outside, rain clashing down past the covered porch. He kicked shut the door. Even so, the wildness inside him overtook any sense of caution. Of reality.
Letting go of any doubts, he fisted her hair and twisted, putting her right where he wanted her. She returned his kiss, gyrating against him, the calm Melanie turning into a wildcat.
Her nails bit into his coat. She unclenched her hold and released him in a primitive display of trust.
He wouldn’t let her fall. God, this was Melanie. He gentled his touch, leaning back. Slowly, he ran his knuckles across her smooth cheekbone. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed. The woman mattered, and he’d take care of her..

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Hawk Rain sat back in the chair at the round table, his gaze on the frothy mug of Wallace Pale Ale in front of him. As usual for a Saturday night, Adam’s bar in downtown Mineral Lake was hopping with ranchers kicking back with microbrews, peanuts, and loud laughs. The place smelled like pine, beer, and home, but the cozy atmosphere failed to calm him. Apparently the bar had purchased new glasses. The thought irritated him, and he couldn’t figure out why.
“What are you moping about?” The question came from Colton Freeze, his best friend, and held no judgment. Just thoughtful contemplation.
“Nothin’.” Hawk took another drink, eyeing Colt, who sprawled in his chair after a long day of punching cows.
The guy’s hair almost reached his shoulders in a myriad of cool colors—black, reddish blond and brown—from his Native American and Irish ancestry that somehow blended together. His blue eyes were dark and serious, his jawline scruffed, and his shoulders stiff. “Huh. Nothin’. Are you all right?” Colt asked.
If one more damn person in town asked Hawk how he was doing or if he was okay, he was going to pummel them. “Adam bought new mugs.”
Colton shoved a cowboy hat back on his head. “So?”
So? Hawk had been gone too long, taking care of business, and things had changed. So had he, but nobody could see the damage that had been done. “I liked the old mugs.” He lifted his, which was heavier than the former ones, damn it.
Colton’s chair scraped on the scarred wooden floor as he pushed back from the table, his lip twisting. “We’re talking about mugs instead of anything serious now?”
“Yes.” If Hawk’s buddy wanted to get deep and talk about feelings, he could go chat with his very knocked-up wife.
“Fine. Are you home for good this time?”
Hawk sighed. “No.”
“Well, that displeases me, because I figured you were in Mineral Lake for good last time, then I got married, and then you disappeared,” Colt murmured.
“I had something to take care of—and I can’t talk about it.” Hawk had signed on for a civilian mission, and he didn’t regret one second. Especially since he’d actually lived through it and made it home. “The job isn’t finished, not really, and I’m just here to rest up.” The idea that he’d be able to finish the job, to completely destroy Meyer’s organization, was too much to hope for.
“I’m tired of the secrecy, and I’m ready to help.” Colton tapped his fingers on the table. “I know you’re still working for Reese.”
“Yep.” Hawk took another drink. Reese was a former DEA agent turned private security guru, who had hired Hawk right out of the military for one big job. One that wasn’t over yet. “Reese is a good guy.”
“I know.” Colton turned as a light swept across the stage at the far end of the room, and a cheer went through the boisterous crowd. His mouth tightened. “She is not wearing enough clothes.”
Hawk’s entire body went on full alert as he took in the lead singer—his friend’s little sister. Holy fucking shit. Dawn Freeze sidled up to the mic dressed in a tiny skirt that barely covered her ass and revealed long and lean legs encased in cowboy boots. Red and black cowboy boots.
His balls pulled tight and bellowed a hello.
The stunning minx wore one of those fancy bustiers that pushed up what had to be perfect breasts. A saucy black cowboy hat perched on her head, and even across the room, Hawk could see the amused sparkle in her dangerous eyes.
Blue didn’t come close to describing those eyes, and he’d go to the grave before admitting it, but they were the last image that had flashed through his brain before he’d nearly died the year before.
He may have even whispered her name before falling unconscious.

*   *   *

Dawn finished glazing the chicken breast in her cheery kitchen, muttering to herself the entire time. A fire crackled in the big stone fireplace, and snow piled against the windowsill. Hawk hadn’t called. After what had been the most amazing night of her life, the bastard hadn’t called in two days.
So he had meant it that they needed to keep their distance.
What an idiot.
She’d even had trouble sleeping without him.
An entire day at the office crunching numbers hadn’t helped any. Colton had been absent all day, so she’d spent some time talking to Anne and just working.
Now she ate alone. Again.
A rap on the door caught her up short. She wiped her hands on a towel and hurried to open it.
Hawk stood on the porch, a bottle of Shiraz in his hand. “Hi.”
She stepped back. Her hair was piled haphazardly on her head, she wore no makeup, and her yoga pants had a rip across one knee. Crap. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted a shoulder and stepped closer. “I thought we should talk.” A dark bruise marred the left side of his chiseled jaw.
“What happened to your face?” she asked, her heart sinking.
“Let me in,” he said.
She paused. In faded jeans and a black jacket, with his dark hair pulled back and his even darker green eyes glimmering with a light she couldn’t quite identify, Hawk was every possible definition of a smart girl’s oh hell no. She stood aside. “Come on in.”
He brushed by her, surrounding her with the scent of snow and male.
She closed the door. “I’m making chicken.” If any of her friends just showed up, she’d feed them, so why not Hawk?
“Sounds good. Mel made steak last night.” He shrugged out of his jacket to hang it on a hook by the door. “I’d forgotten how good home-cooked food tasted.”
The edge she’d always sensed in Hawk had sharpened, focused with a palpable tension since the phone call. For the first time in her life, she could actually see the deadly soldier he’d become. How surprising he’d been able to hide that side of himself so well through the years.
Apparently he was done hiding. They’d seen each other naked, it had been fantastic, and now she didn’t know what to say. She casually smoothed back her hair and headed toward the kitchen. “Open the wine and have a seat.” Keeping her back to him, she tossed another couple of chicken breasts into the pan and smothered them with more of Mrs. Hudson’s chicken glaze. Dawn had stocked up during the Fourth of July Fair.
Hawk worked smoothly beside her, uncorking the wine and pouring two glasses. “Come sit down.” He handed her a glass and trucked the few steps to the living room.
Dawn swirled the wine and frowned. “When did you get so bossy?”
He shrugged. “Sorry.”
The guy didn’t sound sorry. She cleared her throat, her hand trembling around the glass. “This is weird.” Without meeting his eyes, she crossed into the room and sat on the sofa. He sat next to her, and her breath quickened. Her nipples hardened, just from his heat, and damn it, she wished she’d worn a bra.
“I told your brothers about us sleeping together.” Hawk placed his glass on the coffee table.
Fury rippled through her head. “You what?” she yelled.
He calmly recaptured her wineglass, put it safely on the table, and turned to face her—serious eyes, bruised face, indomitable body. “I told them the truth.”
“You moron,” she said slowly..

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