MaryJanice Davidson

Mysteria

Contents

Mortal in Mysteria by SUSAN GRANT

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

A Lone Wolf by MARYJANICE DAVIDSON

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

The Witches of Mysteria and the Dead Who Love Them by GENA SHOWALTER

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Candy Cox and the Big Bad (Were)Wolf by P. C. CAST

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

MORTAL IN MYSTERIA

Susan Grant

For my three children:

Connor and Courtney (the human ones)

and Tala (the furry one).

All my love.

Chapter One

The dirty, sweat-soaked demon dropped to his knees. His hands, bound at the wrists with chains, rested awkwardly at the small of his back. Nevertheless, he formed his mouth into a smile he hoped appeared as contrite as his posture.'Tis better if you do not infuriate the boss any more than you have already , he thought. "I am prepared to pay for my transgressions, Master."

"And pay for them, you shall!" The Devil's forked tongue darted out to moisten thin, malice-curved lips. "I have thought long and hard about your crimes," he hissed with the very faintest of lisps. "Now, prepare to receive your sentence, Demon."

"Aye, Master." All the demons were named "Demon" down here in Hell. To their master they were all but indistinguishable. Only Lucifer stood apart, with his trademark black goatee, the horns, the pitchfork, and the crimson suit. Proof that the whimsies of fashion in Hell had been at a standstill since the birth of time.

Fashion? Hell's bells, didn't he have more important things to worry about? Like losing his head, or some other body part of which he'd grown fond? The demon winced. His concentration simply wasn't what it used to be after the century of torture he'd endured for his crimes. Or had it been two or three centuries that he'd been paying for his terrible deeds? It had become difficult to keep track. Ah, but what was an extra century or two in the grand scheme of things? He'd existed for more than ten thousand years, tasked to bring the worst sort of doubt into the miserable, pitifully abbreviated lives of human beings. Far from being just any demon, he was a demon lord, and one of the most ancient of them all: the Demon High Lord of Self-Doubt and Second Thoughts, the bane of many a human failure, simpering creatures all too eager to listen to the fears that he could so easily plant in their weak minds.You can't , he'd whisper until they believed it.You won't. Try, and you will surely fail .

Countless men who could have ruled the world had never stepped beyond their front doors because he'd made them doubt their abilities, made them afraid to take chances, to risk failure. Nor were women any safer from his dark murmurings through the eons. He'd frightened countless wenches, silencing their voices by playing up their fears of sounding too shrill, too stupid, too… different.

Humanity's failures — he'd been the force behind so many of them. Until that fateful day when he'd glimpsed true courage and couldn't bring himself to destroy it, giving the Will-to-Go-On to a small, starving band of settlers wandering in the snowy woods of the Rocky Mountains. He wasn't sure exactly why he'd spared them, why he'd given them the inner strength to push themselves until they reached warmth and shelter, but he had — and it had felt damned good, too. In fact, it had felt so damned good being good to the damned that he repeated the deed all around the globe, losing himself for years in a virtual frenzy of beneficence. That is, until he was finally caught red-handed in the midst of one of those random acts of kindness, a crime considered so heinous that Lucifer himself had marched upstairs and dragged him back down to Hell.

On the positive side, he'd come out the other side with all his body parts intact, the important body parts, at any rate. It could have gone much worse for him. And perhaps it still would. The devil, as always, was in the details.

The demon bowed his head. "Tell me what I must do to appease you, Master."

"There will be no appeasement! None! There is but one fitting punishment for such atrocities. Banishment!"

The demon's head jerked up. "Banishment?"

"Yes." The fiery red orbs that passed for Lucifer's eyes narrowed to pulsing slits. "I hereby banish you from Hell."

It cannot be! The demon had expected a reduction in rank, the loss of freedom to come and go as he pleased, perhaps, but permanent eviction? His salary, his benefits — phoosh, gone! Just like that. Hell's bells, he'd slaved ten thousand years — for nothing! Done the Devil's deeds only to end up like this: out of date, out of use, and without a transferable retirement plan!

"Is this truly to be forevermore?" the demon almost croaked, knowing how the Devil so enjoyed toying with his minions.

Lucifer chuckled. "Not really. I have made you mortal, as well."

"Mortal…" The mere word tangled around the demon's tongue like a serving of snake entrails.

"Never fear. Because of your newly finite life, you won't have many years to fret your fate. Consider it a favor for your years of service to the Dark Empire." Lucifer waved a clawed hand. "No need to thank me."

A growl rumbled in the demon's throat. Of all the many things he'd like to give Lucifer at that moment, thanks was not one of them. Yet, something told him it wasn't mortality itself he needed to fear as much as the locale in which he would suffer it. "Where am I to be sent?"

"Why, to the very epicenter of your initial act of kindness."

Lucifer spat out that last word. Literally. A glob of moisture sizzled in one of the many fires burning deep within the bowels of the earth. "Mysteria. I trust you remember the place."

He remembered it, all right. Remembered it all too well. The settlers he'd helped had founded the village.

The demon shifted his weight on aching knees as he mulled over his options, which were near zero, as far as he could tell. Time was running out to reverse course, so he did what he did best and sowed the seeds of self-doubt. "Are you certain this is the best plan for me, Master? The best punishment? Are you absolutely sure?"

The Devil's voice turned deadly. "What do you mean?"

"What if it doesn't work out? What if they don't want me amongst them?"You can't… you won't. Try, and you will surely fail … "Imagine it, the Demon High Lord of Self-Doubt and Second Thoughts living across the street, mowing the lawn. Coaching Little League?" The demon curved his lips into a between-us smile. "Absurd, is it not?"

Lucifer shrieked in incredulity. The sound of a thousand screams filled the chamber. Goblins and gargoyles somersaulted through the shadows, fleeing the chamber as a rumbling began under the cold stone slab of a floor. "Your dark magic does not work with me!"

"I'm merely suggesting that you look at all sides of the equation — "

But Lucifer continued to roar. Somewhere far above them, on the surface, the ground also shook. The demon half-wondered how many casualties there would be this time. But that was no longer his job. He'd been fired. He would no longer be tasked with planting defeat in the survivors' minds, riddling their psyches with despair. At that, something close to relief filtered through him.Doing good has taken the fun out of doing evil .

Aye, it had. The demon sensed he'd never be 100 percent good. Yet, neither could he ever return to being 100 percent bad.

Lucifer grew in size until he towered above the demon, his clothing splitting and hissing as muscled flesh bulged and tore it apart. Horns sprouted from a ridged skull, curling upward, until they, too, were lost in the swirling mist of the chamber. Finally, he spoke. "I do not doubt, fallen one. I do not err. I do not havesecond thoughts !"

That much was obvious. Couldn't Lucifer have made the point without all the needless death and destruction? Without the unneeded suffering? A growl vibrated deep in the demon's throat. He'd witnessed such showy outbursts many times during his long existence, but this time, for the first time, a reaction to the master's wrath formed inside the demon, as if he had a temper of his very own.

He made fists. It caused the manacles to bite into his wrists, pain he welcomed as a ball of heat swelled and exploded in his chest, a conflagration he couldn't recognize or explain, for he didn't have feelings. Never had. He couldn't have performed his duties if he'd been created any other way. And yet, he felt something now, aye, something too wonderful and terrible to absorb, a sensation too new and yet inexplicably ancient at the same time. The pressure built and built until something finally gave.

The demon gasped in shock. It was as if his very core had wrenched open, releasing all he carried within him. The vileness, the blackness, he realized. The evil.

For half a breath he was so frighteningly hollow, he wondered if he were about to implode; then into the vacuum rushed something so sweet, so indescribably wonderful, that he nearly sobbed. What was happening to him?

"I'm sorry," the demon whispered on a ragged breath. It was the only way to express what had boiled up inside him. "I am so very sorry…"

"You don't look sorry," Lucifer hissed from high above.

The demon glared up at him. "Ah, but I am. Sorry for all the centuries of sowing doubt, of turning back those beings better than I. I am sorry for the evil I accomplished in your name. In fact, I hereby repent!"Aye, take that,you gutless stinking mountain of dragon offal .

"You…re-what ?"

"I repent. R-e-p-e-n-t." Was that not an Aretha Franklin song? Or was he confusing his tunes? The demon gave his head a shake. There they went again, his thoughts wandering. One thing was certain, something had happened — washappening — inside him, and he was helpless to stop it.

To stop the emotion, sharp and pure, filling him with anger, resentment, shame at his past. And hope — hope despite the completely overwhelming odds against him.Now you are just like the humans , he thought.

"I ask forgiveness for all the deeds I ever did in the Dark One's name," he said quietly. "Aye, I truly do."

Lucifer's voice was deadly. "I never forgive. You should know this, my minion. You of all the demon high lords should know."

"It wasn't of you that I made my plea."

Lucifer's molten eyes pulsed and glowed, his fangs glinting in the cast-off light. "What?"

"You heard me." Angry now, the demon flicked his gaze upward — heavenward — to make his point clear.

Only the fretful twittering of goblins interrupted the shocked, appalled silence. Then, a strange noise stuttered past Lucifer's parted lips. The demon marveled at that. It was the first time in all of history that he could remember hearing the Great Satan sputter.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Two jets of searing red lava shot out from the Devil's eyes and hit the slab where the demon crouched. Rocks exploded, pummeling him as he fell backward. The air was on fire, something that the demon should have been used to — Lucifer lost his temper often; they'd all been charred now and again — but this was different.

This was worse.

The demon spun in the center of a tornado, wrenched and torn in every direction, inside and out. He could no longer see or hear. And, after a blessed while, he could no longer feel the pain that wracked him.

Bathed in white light, he floated.Is this what it feels like to die ? If so, perhaps he would not mind. But he knew, even as he tumbled into oblivion — or, rather, into the forested slopes of Colorado — that Lucifer would never let him get away as easily as that.

Chapter Two

In a clear, sweet voice, Harmony Faithfull concluded her Sunday service: "Now, go in peace and enjoy this beautiful day the Lord has given us."

The sound of her six-month-old puppy's tail thumping on the hardwood floor was all that broke the perfect silence.

"Thanks, Bubba." Harmony looked up from her handwritten sermon, which had taken all of ten minutes to read to the six rows of pews. Six rows ofempty pews, lined up like abandoned soldiers on the pristine, knotty pine floor.

There should be scuffs marring those planks, she thought longingly, lost buttons in the corners, and crashed Cheerios. And under the pews, wadded-up Kleenex, handbags, and colorful hats…

Harmony sighed and neatened the lectern. "It's nice to know someone appreciated the homily today."

You're talking to the dog again.

"Yep. And when you're not talking to the dog, you're talking to yourself." Crossing her eyes, Harmony shut off the halogen reading lamp and the microphone. Sometimes, she wondered what she possibly could have been thinking — her, a city girl, relocating to Mysteria, a tiny hamlet in the Rockies, assuming she'd make churchgoers out of the locals here, who, um, weren't like any people she'd ever met anyplace else. There were supernatural happenings in the town, you couldn't miss them, really, and she had her suspicions that more than a few of the townsfolk had supernatural abilities. But God loved all creatures: great or small, good or bad, moral or immoral. Mortal or… ?

Harmony stopped that train of thought before it jumped the track. She was here because after two tours as an air force chaplain, she'd been looking for a new challenge.It looks like you found it, girl. In spades .

Six months ago, the church had been a tumbledown farmhouse with a barn on five overgrown acres. With the help of her father and brothers, she'd renovated the house, which now did double duty as a public place of worship and her personal living quarters, a cozy little home located in the back. She'd even stitched the white eyelet curtains herself in a spurt of delirious domesticity. Then her family had returned to Oakland, leaving her to grow her flock. Except that, aside from a few curious townspeople, no one had showed up.

Have some faith. Give it time.

Time… she had plenty of that lately.

Well, she'd simply have to drum up a little of the faith in herself that she'd always seemed to be able to drum up in everyone else. After all, she was Harmony Faithfull, the daughter of Jacob Jethro Faithfull IV, Oakland's most famous, and often infamous, but always ebullient, pastor of South Avenue Church. Daddy was a man who could fill football stadiums and concert halls with worshippers, who often traveled hundreds of miles to hear him speak. Charisma and the good word, it was a potent combination.

Harmony thumped her fist on the podium, and the puppy jumped. "It's in my genes," she said out loud. "I can't forget that. God sent me here because I have a job to do."

Bubba seemed to agree, a long pink puppy tongue draped over one side of his open mouth.

Harmony crumpled one of the sheets of lined paper she'd used for her sermon, crushed it in her fist, and aimed the ball of paper at the wastebasket across from the pulpit. It clipped the rim and spun inside. "Two points!"

She tapped a finger against her chin. "Maybe we can start an after-school basketball team. What do you think of that, Bubba-licious?" The puppy wagged his long black tail.

The idea of an after-school basketball team had worked for her father and some inner-city kids when he was fresh out of divinity school. The hoops had brought the children, and then the mothers, who'd dragged the fathers and the boyfriends, and within the year there was an entire community with Sunday potlucks and a fifty-two-member choir. Not that she could picture any of the O'Cleary great-grandkids shooting hoops, but it'd be a start. It was all about getting people through the door.

MYSTERIA COMMUNITY CHURCH. ALL FAITHS WELCOME.

That last part she'd painted onto the sign as an afterthought when weeks had gone by and nary a lost soul tromped through the door. Well, save Jeanie Tortellini, the town sheriff, and sometimes Candice, the high school English teacher. They'd drop by to see how she was settling in, staying for chitchat and coffee but not the good word. But then, Harmony firmly believed everyone was welcome here, for whatever reasons they chose to come. If they preferred their so-called magic, fine, but Harmony's calling was to let them know God watched over them as well. As a child, her parents had taught her that a true heart excluded no one, and that the church was the heart of the village.

Except in Mysteria, where that honor was held by Knight Caps, the local bar.

Harmony sighed. How could she convince the townspeople to congregate here instead? At least on Sundays. What did she have that they couldn't find anywhere else? Well, besides the obvious, she thought with a vertical glance.

"God, I need your help. Show me how to fill up this church, and I'll do the rest. Please." Harmony squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. Prayed until her head throbbed and her eyes hurt. Prayed until she was all prayed out. And then she started wishing, plain old wishing, like you would on a four-leaf clover, or a star, because sometimes, even in matters of the spirit, and maybeespecially in matters of the spirit, you just had to stack the deck. "Show me how to bring the townspeople here," she whispered. "Give me a sign."I'm waiting, watching, eyes wide open, Lord .

The floor rumbled. Was that the old furnace kicking on? No, it was warm today, too warm for the heater.

The earth moved again. Harmony frowned at her drinking glass still sitting on the podium. The water was rippling like San FranciscoBay on a windy day. No, the rumbling definitely wasn't from the furnace. It was coming from somewhere outside. Strange. Everyone knew a major fault line ran through Missouri. But Colorado?

One good jolt almost threw her to her knees. Then it was quiet.

Bubba started barking. In an instant, he'd transformed from drowsy puppy to barking, fur-covered projectile. Zero to sixty in 2.8 seconds, nails scrabbling for purchase on the hardwood, he flew out the front door.

"Bubba!" Grabbing the gauzy cotton of her skirt, Harmony hurried after the dog to the flower garden she'd planted near an ancient, gnarled apple tree, THE GARDEN OF EDEN, according to the ornamental iron garden sign that her sister Hope had mailed her as a housewarming gift. "Bubba! Bubba, come here!"

Three women jogged past on the road fronting the church. They were feminine confections coated in spandex, bling jingling, ponytails bouncing. One woman carried a broomstick gripped in her hand. Hmm, that was a little different, but maybe it was good for the arms. They waved, and Harmony, smiled, waving back. Now she remembered them — the Tawdry sisters. They had the most brilliant hazel eyes that almost seemed to glow. There was something else unusual about them, too, but Harmony couldn't place her finger on exactly what. But they, like the rest of the women in town, were always nice, if a little racy.

Black lace bra types, Harmony had dubbed them in private. Not meaning any disrespect. Her own sisters were black lace bra types. Not that Harmony had anything against a woman knowing her own charms or being confident about sex. God had never dissed procreation. In fact, He encouraged it — within the context of a committed, monogamous relationship, of course.Nothing you need to worry about, given your current state of isolation .

"Ain't that the truth?" Harmony followed the puppy across the lawn. Birds chirped; bees buzzed. The sky was a pure, clear blue. And the sunshine, the scent of pine, she could almost taste it. Face lifted to the sun, she inhaled deeply and became so carried away by her appreciation of the outdoors that she swept right past the naked man who was the target of Bubba's frantic barking.

The naked…

… man?

Harmony froze, the skirt falling out of her hands. There was no naked man.

Oh, yeah? Then how do you explain the afterimage that just seared itself onto your retinas?

Heart thumping, Harmony whirled around. Yep, there was a man there, and he was most definitely naked, sprawled on his side among the flowers, one thick, muscled thigh thrown forward, the sunshine bouncing off his butt.

Chapter Three

Wow. Eyes wide, Harmony stood there, staring, rooted to the ground, as if her foot were locked in cement. She'd asked God to send her a sign. But she'd never expected anything like this! The best naked man she'd ever seen, she decided with no small amount of half-crazed, hormone-driven, lust-fueled objectivity. And she'd seen her share of naked men.

Hmm. That didn't sound right. But it was true, naked men in her life had been a buck a dozen. Only she just hadn't slept with them. Her one affair, in college, was a pleasant but distant memory, and since then she'd spied naked men, fairly frequently, glimpses here and there, in and out of locker rooms, military field hospitals, and in the desert, where there hadn't been much privacy when she'd served as a pastor in Iraq…

Focus, Harmony. There is an unclothed hunk-a-love lying in your flower bed.

Right. And what in the name of heaven was he doing there? Men didn't just fall out of the sky.Ask and ye shall receive .

"Harmony," she warned herself.

She dropped to her knees, her fingers going to the unconscious man's corded neck to feel for a pulse. His skin was tanned, perfectly smooth. Midnight black hair curled long and loose around his neck. Taking a closer look, she saw he appeared flushed, as if he were sunburned or had stood too close to a fire. More likely, he'd collapsed after a night of carousing. He was going to be pretty embarrassed once he realized he'd left wherever he'd been hanging out without his clothes.

Bubba growled, low and deep. "Shush, boy," Harmony soothed. "It's okay. I know martial arts, and you have sharp teeth. If he turns out to be the town serial killer/rapist, we'll team up and put him away. Until then, Bubba, you behave."

Harmony pressed her fingers to the man's neck. There… she felt a heartbeat… slow, distant, almost forlorn. It was if he'd grown tired of living.

She sat up straight. Gosh, that was a weird thought. Tired of living? Where did that come from? If anyone was a mind reader, it was her great-grandmother Eudora, who was said to be a "seer." But as a child growing up in the Faithfull clan, the mere mention of Eudora's psychic talents would have earned Harmony the threat of having her mouth washed out with soap, if not the real thing. Yet, as Harmony studied the stranger's face, the resignation there, the weariness, she could almost believe it true that he was ready to surrender.

Well, she'd fix that. No one was giving up the ghost on her watch, especially not dressed in his birthday suit and crushing her best zinnias!

"Hello? Sir? Are you okay?" Bubba's brown eyes were wary and huge as Harmony tapped the man on the shoulder. "Come on, up and at 'em. You can't sleep here all day. People will talk."

Not even an eyelash twitched. She took hold of his solid shoulder and shoved. "Okay, Sleeping Beauty, time to rise and shine. I'll even brew you a pot of coffee to help things along. I make a mean pot of Java, too."

No response, not even a snore. He was dead to the world.

As a last resort, she switched to her air-force-officer voice. "Wake up, soldier!Now . Move, move, move!"

The man cracked open one eye, and then the other. At first she thought she saw a red glow, but it seemed to be a trick of the sun, because his eyes were beautiful, reminding her of the mellow gold of good scotch, the kind her father would reverently pour out in a glass once each week, late on Sunday night. "Now that God's work is done, Harmony," he used to tell her.

"Hell's bells." Sleeping Beauty frowned, squinting as if the bright sunshine hurt his eyes.

"It lives," she teased.

He peered at the Garden of Eden sign, his parched lips forming whispered words. "I'm dead."

"You're not dead. Not even close."

He turned toward her voice and his confused eyes filled with curiosity, maybe even wonder. "But… ye are an angel."

"Thanks for the compliment, but no. I'm a flesh-and-blood woman."

His head fell back to the dirt with a soft thud. "Dragon offal… goblin scum, he is." His accent was strong, a cross between a Scots burr and a bad Captain Hook parody. "The bastard did it, he really did, and now I'm here. Aye, and mortal, too..."

"Is that kind of like sleepless in Seattle?"

Groaning at her joke, he flung his arms wide and rolled onto his back.

Glory be. Her mouth went dry as she looked him over. For injuries, yes, that was it. Before she administered emergency caffeine, she'd better make darn sure he wasn't wounded.

Anywhere.

She gave him a thorough inspection. After all, it was her citizen's responsibility. Her pastor's duty.

He was built… incredibly, amazingly,enormously , and that's all she'd let herself think onthat subject, dragging her eyes away from where she shouldn't have been looking in the first place. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. Or a single scar. He was as sculpted as a statue of a Roman warrior, except with body hair, the perfect amount, too, short and coarse and dark.

Something drew her eyes back to his face, where she discovered he was watching her with something close to amusement. "You seem, uh, to be all in one piece," she quickly explained.

He flashed a blinding grin. "You like what you see, then."

She stopped her blush before the heat of it could reach her cheeks. She'd grown up with four brothers, two older, two younger. Like heck, she'd let the fact that a man was sprawled naked in her garden in all his admittedly very magnificent glory distract her.

"As a matter of fact, I don't like what I see." Was that the hurt of a wounded ego that flashed in his eyes? Certainly it was surprise. "I don't care for the sight of a man facedown drunk in my flowers on a Sunday morning — butt naked. But considering that I just got done praying for a sign, I suppose I shouldn't complain, because I didn't spell out the specifications!"

She tugged off the butter yellow sweater she'd been wearing over a matching shell and thrust it at him. "Here, put this on."

Sinew and muscle corded his arm from wrist to shoulder as he peered curiously at the sweater dangling from his fingers. It looked tiny grasped in his hand. Clearly, he didn't know what do to with the thing.

She waved her hand. "Cover up."Your huge wing-dinger , she almost shouted. "For modesty's sake." Although modesty was way more her issue than his, it seemed.

He pushed upright, clods of dry dirt sprinkling down as he sat up. Tight, defined stomach muscles brought new meaning to six-pack abs. She almost sobbed with relief when he spread the sweater over his private parts.

"I am not drunk," he argued.

True, his eyes were clear, not bloodshot, as he swept his gaze around the garden, lawn, and church. And he was in top physical form, too, gifted with the well-hewn body of an NFL running back — powerfully muscled, without a linebacker's bulk. Carving a body like that took time. Alcoholism didn't lend itself to keeping regular workouts.

"What happened to you?" She folded her arms over her chest. "It usually doesn't rain naked men. At least not in the six months since I've lived here. Unless it's a seasonal thing."

His lips twitched, his gold-brown eyes sparkling, as he sized her up in an approving way. "If it is seasonal, lass, then we had better take shelter."

"Clothes first. Where'd you leave them?" she asked as calmly as she could as he didn't seem to care that he wore none.

He glanced around. "They took everything. Left me with nothing."

"You were robbed?"

"Aye, you could say that." His expression grew bleak all over again. "Robbed and abandoned."

"Oh, no. I don't like hearing that. Everyone's so nice around here, law-abiding folks. I can't see anyone doing something like this. It makes me sick to find out it may be otherwise."

"Nay, lass. They were not from here. They were from… the south. Aye, that's it."

"Oh, you mean Colorado Springs?"

He shook his head.

"Pueblo?"

"Nay. Far, far to the south. Farther south than you have ever been, lass."

Mexico, she thought, nodding. "That's okay. We'll get them. Just because they skipped out over the border doesn't mean they're home free. You can use my phone to call Jeanie — Jeanie Tortellini," she added at his blank look. "She's our town sheriff. And a good one, too. She'll file a report."

He frowned. "Nay. No reports. Will do no good."

"If you don't let her know, the thugs who did this to you will do it to someone else next time they cross the border."

Tiredly but firmly, he said no. " 'Tis over. 'Tis done."

"Wow," she said in a quiet voice. "Just wow."

He glanced at her strangely. "Wow?"

"You were robbed, beaten, stripped, and unceremoniously dumped in a pastor's flower bed. You have every right to be angry."

"Iam angry."

"Yet, you haven't uttered one grumble of vengeance or head bashing."

"'Tis no use, truly, to wish for such things." He seemed to be ready to say more but stopped himself. "None of it would do any good. 'Tis done."

"That's exactly what I mean by wow. It's not easy to forgive and forget. A true man of mercy; that's what you are."

A look of pain crossed his face. "Aye, and 'twas my downfall, too," he muttered.

"Mercy is never wrong! Never. In fact, showing mercy is good for you. And not only for your body — " She threw her hand over her heart. "Forgiving is good for your soul."

He choked as alarm lit up his face. "Can you tell if a man has one — a soul?" All at once cynical and wistful, his expression revealed nothing of the reason behind the odd question.

She explained gently, as if to a child. Perhaps, spiritually, he was still very young. "Some people have rotten souls, and some have beautiful, generous souls, but no matter what, they have one. You, me. No exceptions to that rule. Everyone has a soul."

He made a skeptical sound, but the longing in his face was clear as he rubbed his cleft chin. "How do you know so much about souls?"

"It's my job. See that church? I'm the pastor." As much as she loved her chosen calling in life, she deflated a little. Once men found out she was a pastor, they stopped thinking of her as a woman. From then on, they only wanted one of three things: absolution, friendship, or free counseling.

"A woman of God," he said with dawning surprise. "You are a nun."

A laugh burst out of her. "It seems like that sometimes, but no, I'm not a nun. I can marry, have a family, just like anyone else."I can have hot, feverish sexual fantasies about well-built naked men. I can feel so homy I can't see straight. I sometimes think of "celibacy" as a four-letter word .

She thrust out her hand. "I guess I should introduce myself since you obviously don't know who I am. I'm Harmony — Harmony Faithfull." He grasped the tips of her fingers with a cool, dry hand. There was gentleness cloaked in that strength, softness that he seemed to want to hide, but that she recognized anyway, putting her at ease when common sense told her she should be feeling the opposite.Just like when you sensed he'd grown tired of living . "And you are… ?" Ironic how she could know what every pore on his body looked like but not his name. "You have a name, right?" she teased when he didn't immediately answer.

His dark brows drew together in concentration. She was about to suggest he see a doctor for shock or a possible concussion when he blurted out sheepishly, "I am called Demon."

"Oh. That's a favorite of mine. My nephew's name is Damon, too."

"Demon — Damon." He looked up, brightening. "Yes, I am Damon."

She smiled encouragingly. "Damon what?"

Again he concentrated.

Boy, he sure did seem rattled. But after all he'd been through, it was understandable. "Damon, you really need to see a doctor."

"Nay."

"But — "

"I am Damon," he announced. "Damon of Mysteria."

"Damon of Mysteria. It doesn't sound familiar. Or maybe I just don't recognize you without your clothes."

A devilish glint sparked in his eyes, sending shivers from her neck downward, flipping the "on" switch attached to all the neglected places in between as the sensation plunged to her toes. "Well, lass," he said, winking, "I dinna think you can say that any longer."

Chapter Four

Do not blush, Harmony. Do not. She stood up so fast that she got light-headed, her rational side praying that she didn't faint, while at the same time the wanton tart she was fast becoming argued that there were far worse fates than landing in that incredible lap. "No, I guess I can't say that any longer. Next time I see you around town, naked, I'll know it's you," she retorted. Turning on her heel, she took a couple of steps and stopped. "Coming? I have some clothes inside I think will fit. I'll brew a pot of coffee, too. You look like you could use it."

"Nay," he winced, "nothing hot. Water."

I'm with you all the way on the water, bud. Only, I'll take mine ice cold and in the form of a shower!

Damon pushed to his feet, her sweater pressed between his massive thighs. Harmony was five-nine, but he towered over her, taller than all her brothers, even Jake Jr. He had to be six-foot-five at least.

That long shadow fell over Bubba, who until now had been hanging close to Harmony. The puppy growled and backed up, teeth bared, fur rising in a ridge along his spine.

"Hey, boy. It's okay," Harmony soothed, but the puppy started snarling and wouldn't quit.

Damon turned one hand palm up as he focused on the dog. His gold-brown eyes were arresting as it was, but now they grew so intense that they appeared to glow. It was a much different heat from what she'd seen when he'd caught her staring at his, uh, equipment. Not quite human, Damon's gaze was animal-like in its intensity and focus, almost as if he were communicating with her dog, wolf to wolf, so much so that she half-expected them to start howling any minute as something went back and forth between dog and man. Then, spell broken, Bubba wriggled over to Damon to lick his hand, that cute little tail wagging furiously.

"Wow. He likes you."

"He trusts me," Damon corrected. "The like will come in time."

Mmm. The guy had a way with womenand dogs, she thought. An interspecies charmer.

They started walking toward the house. The road on the other side of the picket fence was empty of cars and joggers. Thank goodness. If anyone saw the new pastor going inside her house with a naked man… well, she'd never be able to get anyone to believe thereal story.

Evenshe didn't believe the real story.

Bubba pranced alongside them as they walked up the porch steps leading to the door at the back of the chapel where Harmony's living quarters were located. Stepping into her small, cozy living room, Damon looked painfully out of place: a towering, hard-featured, rugged man in the midst of everything small and soft. Or, it could be just that he was naked.

In five seconds flat, she'd found him some work clothes that belonged to her largest brother. When Damon returned to the kitchen after changing into a pair of Jake Jr.'s faded Levi's and a gray, oil-stained, long-sleeved Henley T-shirt, her hunch was confirmed: everything was too tight and too short. At least the buttons and zippers weren't popping. Yet.

"Have a seat, Damon. I'll fix you something to eat and drink."

Looking a little lost, Damon sat at her small table, smoothing large hands over the lace cloth. It was as if everything were new to him, everything a wonder. Even her, she realized with a tiny twist of her heart when his gold-brown eyes found hers for a moment before focusing on the glass of water she nearly spilled in his lap. It was more than her current state of isolation — or intuition; this man did things to her, plain and simple, with his ancient eyes and surprisingly young soul.

She reached into the fridge for a leftover apple pie, a baked ham, rolls, mayo, and mustard. Big men ate big; that, she already knew from the five super-sized men in her family. Grabbing utensils and napkins, she dropped a slice of ham in Bubba's bowl on her way back to the table, where she cut Damon a huge slab of pie and slid the plate next to the overloaded one that held a lumberjack-sized ham sandwich. After she made herself a much smaller sandwich, she carried her plate to the table to sit across from Damon as he downed his water with thirsty gulps. She poured him some more. "Feeling better?" she asked after he finished the second glass.

"Aye." He winked, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, in a truly medieval way, to dab at the droplets of water left behind. "How can a man not feel better, taken in with kindness, tended by such a beautiful wench?"

She lifted a brow. "Wench. Is that Scottish for strong, capable, intelligent woman, I hope?"

"Nay. 'Tis old English. Old,old English."

"But you're Scottish, aren't you? The brogue."

"I do have a brogue, don't I? You can thank my ex-employer for that, lass. His sense of humor knew no bounds." He winked at her and lifted the ham sandwich, sniffing it, his eyes closing. His pleasure in the scent was so palpable, his anticipation so sharp, that by the time the breathless second had passed and he'd dived in with a hearty bite, her throat was dry and she was left wondering what she'd just witnessed.

Did he approach all activities with the same explosive, all-consuming passion?

Harmony… behave.

Damon was thorough, but neat. Hardly a crumb escaped him. In short order, the massive sandwich was gone. Next, he turned to the slice of pie, hesitating for a moment as if he'd remembered at the last minute that he'd better use a utensil in her presence. In no more than four shovels of the fork, the pie was gone, too.

"More?" Strangely drained, she shoveled another slice onto his plate, and he started on that, too, without taking a breath. She might as well fix him another sandwich, because he was still going strong. "Something must appeal about my cooking, or you haven't eaten in about a thousand years."

"Ten thousand," he said, wiping his mouth and hunting around for more food. She slid the pie plate toward him and let him serve himself, which he did with as much grace as speedy efficiency. When the first bite of pie reached his mouth, he closed his eyes, savoring the taste, and was that a shudder that ran through him?

Fascinated, she balanced her chin on her hand, smiling as she watched him. "I don't know what to make of you, Mr. Damon of Mysteria."

"Make of me whatever you wish, fair maiden."

"Fair maiden. I like that better than wench."

His gaze went soft again. "It fits ye better, too."

She swallowed against the feelings his gentle, sexy tone fired up inside her. Sitting straighter, she tried to gather the scattered shreds of her professionalism. "Maybe you'd better call your family to let them know you're okay."

He shook his head. "There is no one."

"No one at all? You're not married?" She immediately bit her lip.

But he'd turned thoughtful. "Nay… never thought of it. My livelihood would have made such a pairing difficult. Impossible, rather. But, perhaps now that has changed…" When he returned his attention to her face, it was with such bold intensity, such raw consideration, that this time she did blush.

Harmony got up too quickly, sloshing water out of the pitcher. She grabbed a dish towel and started mopping at the puddle. Damon grabbed her wrist.

All at once, his thoughts burst inside her skull. His experiences, his emotions, too. They spun in a blur too fast for her to interpret, like subtitles set on fast-forward, but in those few heartbeats, she was able to gain a sense of the man: his confusion, his lack of guile, and his genuine fear — something she sensed he was not used to feeling.

Harmony, you're not Great-grandmother Eudora. You're insane. Your overactive hormones are finally taking their toll. You should have stuck to talking to the dog.

She studied his big hand and then his face. She didn't know how to explain what had just happened — nor did she want to. Her brain felt like a snow globe that had been shaken too hard. If he let go, maybe everything would settle down. "I'm a third-degree black belt," she said softly. "And my dog will rip your throat out if you try anything stupid."

Bubba protested with a little whimper, looking from her to Damon and back again. Harmony had the sudden feeling that she might not want to test the puppy's loyalties.

Damon let go. "I did not mean to frighten you."

Harmony sat back down, her heart thumping. What had just happened? Somehow, she regained her composure. "I'd like to help you. But to do that, you're going to have to tell me how you came to be under my apple tree." She left out the naked part. Those were details he could fill in. "I'll keep in confidence what you tell me."

Damon leaned forward. The maplecafe chair creaked under the shift in weight. "The true story?"

She leaned forward, too. "No," she whispered. "I want you to lie to me."

He took a deep breath, and then spilled. "I am the ten-thousand-year-old Demon High Lord of Self-Doubt and Second Thoughts, or I was until I was kicked out of Hell by Lucifer for committing random acts of kindness. After centuries of torture, I forget how many now, I was made mortal and banished to live out my days here, in Mysteria, the site of my original crime of beneficence."

Harmony stared at him. Damon stared back, as serious as they came. "I was just kidding about the lying," she said.

He opened his mouth to say something then seemed to change his mind. He drummed blunt-tipped fingers, glanced out the window as if seeking inspiration before returning his gaze to her. "I worked for a corrupt employer for many years. I carried out my orders until I learned what it was to be good. I learned that I liked being good over being bad. My employer punished me for it — for changing — and then he… he didthis to me. He let me go. And so now I'm here, in Mysteria. With no home, no job, and" — he cleared his throat — "no clothes."

"You've been through hell, haven't you?" With a bit of an alarmed expression, he agreed. She shook her head sympathetically. He was a strapping, healthy guy down on his luck; admitting he was jobless and homeless couldn't have been easy.

Jobless. Homeless.Here .

Inspiration hit like a thunderbolt straight from heaven. "I have an idea." She opened her hands so Damon could see the calluses, cuts, and paint stains. "I've been looking for someone to hire — a handyman and groundskeeper. It'd be a huge help to have someone here for the heavier work, so I can concentrate on the church. The fields haven't been planted, the fence needs repair, and the barn needs fixing. I'd like to make it into a social hall, eventually, maybe a school, or even a gym, and I thought if I had some help, it'd leave me more time for recruiting more parishioners. In fact, any parishioners." She sighed.

"No one comes?"

She shook her head. "Just this morning I asked God to help me. To show me how to bring people here. I asked for a sign. And what do I find in my yard? A naked Demon. Oh! I meant Damon. Sorry!" She threw her face into her hands to muffle the giggles bubbling up.

Through her fingers, she heard Damon assuring her," 'Tis an understandable mistake," in a surprisingly earnest tone.

She peeked between her hands and saw that his expression matched his dead-serious tone of voice. Her giggles turned to laughter. Something must have struck Damon as funny because he, too, fell into genuine laughter, rich and deep.

Finally, she got hold of herself, wiping her tears. "Oh, that felt good. I needed it, too. I think this is what's known as divine intervention."

Damon's sparkling eyes seemed at once impossibly ancient and like those of a newborn baby. "Aye, more than you know, my fair maiden."

"If I'm the fair maiden, then you can be my knight in shining armor. My hired knight. How does that sound?"

He dipped his head once. " 'Tis a fair offer."

They exchanged a smile that left her feeling cheerful and optimistic and warm all over. Really, really warm. Then she thought: what was she saying? Her smile fell as reality set in. "I can't afford to pay much."

He lifted his hands as if to say he didn't care.

"Actually, I can't afford to pay you at all." She pushed back from the table. "I'm sorry. I made a promise I can't keep. I'll give you a ride back to town."

"I don't require money. I'll work for… sustenance."

She shivered at the look in his sexy eyes, the way he drew out that last word.

"Food," he clarified. "And a place to lay my bones at night."

Bones… bones… she tried to keep her mind out of the gutter. "Okay." Why was she whispering? She thrust her hand at him. "Deal."

He took her hand, and she got the most curious feeling that he'd rather lift it to his soft lips than shake it. "You've been kind to me, Harmony Faithfull. Yet, you ask nothing in return."

"Why wouldn't I be kind to you?"

The hard line of his lips softened into an expression of surprise and pleasure. "That question alone answers mine, lass." He searched her face in a deeply intense, almost intimate way that made her go all squishy inside. Then he murmured, "Your goodness, it sits around ye like a halo. Are ye sure you're not an angel?"

Her smile came partly out of pleasure from his compliments, and partly out of the irony of being viewed as an angel. While her attraction to Damon was definitely heavenly, it was anything but angelic. "Very sure. Kindness exists outside heaven, too, you know."

"I've not much experience with kindness. With goodness."

"We'll have to change that," she said, her heart squeezing again.

"Aye, we will…"

He released her, then, and she slid her hand under the table. Closing her fist, she secretly held on to the feel of him.

Chapter Five

Harmony stood on the porch as Damon strode off to the barn to arrange his new home in the hayloft with bedding, supplies, and a box of Oreos (the taste of which had rendered him nearly orgasmic).

Damon held no menace — raw, smoldering male sexuality, yes, but not menace. But she was an urban girl, born and bred, and it was always wise to make sure a person didn't have a record a mile long. She considered herself street smart, observant, and never blindly trusting, but she wanted to make darn sure Damon's looks, charisma, and charm — not to mention her hot-running blood and his miraculously timed arrival — weren't interfering with her better judgment. Having his fingerprints checked out was the way to go. Any employer would do the same thing.

Harmony returned to the kitchen and wrapped the glass Damon had used with a paper towel. Carefully, she slipped it into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. "Come on, Bubba. Let's go shopping." She needed to buy Damon some work clothes that fit, but first she'd pay a little visit to Jeanie Tortellini, the sheriff.

She cut across the field to where a stand of aspens and tall pines marked the beginning of the RockyMountainNational Forest. After turning right, a quick walk on a dirt trail would bring her right up behind the Mysteria police station and jail.

Bubba jerked on the leash and started growling. "What, boy, another naked hunk?" At this rate, she'd have a whole staff of them working for her. Not bad for a single girl. But part of her didn't want an army of muscles at her disposal. She'd rather have Damon, who engaged her on all levels, swinging from weary and jaded to boyish and full of wonder in the space of a heartbeat.

The puppy tugged hard on the leash and tried to run into the woods. Harmony held on with both hands. "Bubba, stay!"

Jeanie Tortellini burst out of the forest with a tall blond man trailing behind her. His wrists were bound with her police belt. The loose end Jeanie gripped in her fist.

Bubba broke into a full-fledged bark. "Hush, boy!" Harmony tried to quiet the pup.

Jeanie's smile when she saw Harmony was genuine, if not a little startled. "Good morning!" She used her free hand to brush loose strands of hair away from her face. With pink cheeks, messy hair, and strangely bright eyes, Jeanie looked as if she'd been in a scuffle. But it was the woman's appearance of having dressed too quickly that puzzled Harmony the most.

Jeanie's hand went to her uniform shirt as if she, too, just realized the buttons were in the wrong holes. It must have been quite a struggle, her apprehension of the lawbreaker.

Harmony stopped about twenty feet from the pair. "I was on my way to see you. I need a favor." She stole a glance at Jeanie's prisoner. His white-blond hair swung around his waist, some strands tied in braids. And were those pointed ears peeking through the spun-silk hair? A bit of an unfortunate birth defect, because with his archer's quiver, dark green tunic, and thigh-high leather boots, he was a dead ringer for Legolas fromLord of the Rings . "But, I see you're busy."

"I was," Jeanie said. "But I'm not now."

Making a quiet sound, the prisoner cast Jeanie a smoldering glance, and Jeanie's mouth quirked in the barest of smug little smiles. Harmony got the feeling that there was more going on than she probably wanted to know. Par for the course in Mysteria.

"Behave." Jeanie tugged on the belt and I'm-too-sexy-for-my-suede-tunic Legolas lowered his eyes dutifully. He had the perfect male pout, sullen and sensual. "How can I help you, Reverend Faithfull?"

Harmony unwrapped her paper-covered package. "I hired someone at the church this morning — a groundskeeper." Deciding it was better to keep the lurid details of Damon's arrival to herself, she moved the paper so Jeanie could see the drinking glass. "He's not from around here, and as much as I think I believe what he's told me about his background, it pays to be sure he's not wanted for a felony. Can you check out his fingerprints?"

Jeanie took the paper-wrapped glass. "No problem." The sheriff slid her gaze over the prisoner. Harmony could almost feel the electric surge of their eye contact. "If that's all you needed, I've got to get this bad boy under lock and key."

Legolas's mouth curved. The idea of a lockdown seemed to invigorate the sexy pseudo-elf. Or did he just like being called a "bad boy"?

"Thanks, Jeanie," Harmony said, unable to keep from staring at the man's pointy ears. "Stop in for coffee this week."

"I'll be there. And be careful with your new help. If you need me, just call."

"Will do."

Jeanie grinned and gave Harmony a little salute. Then she frowned at Legolas, using the belt to jerk him forward. To Harmony, his stumble seemed a little staged.

Harmony gave Bubba's leash a much gentler tug and continued toward town, and the One-Stop Mart, which conveniently did mean one stop in the true rural tradition of general mercantile stores. Since Wal-Mart hadn't yet invaded Mysteria, and probably never would, it was the only place she'd be able to find work clothes for Damon.

Puffs of pink pollen whooshed with each of her footfalls on the path, drifting in cotton-candy mounds, a phenomenon that no one seemed to be able — or was willing — to explain to her, and that included the town physician, who Harmony swore, even if she wasn't supposed to swear, that she'd spied waving a wand as she drove past his office the other day. A wand, as in magic wand, a fairy-godmother model, too, she assumed, because it had sported a shiny star at its tip. Harmony couldn't imagine what the handsome but terminally distracted Dr. Fogg had been doing, circling the wand over old Mrs. O'Cleary's white-haired head, but the very next day, when Harmony had seen Mrs. O'Cleary at the One-Stop, not only was the old woman's arthritic limp gone, but her snow-white, overpermed pin curls had relaxed into soft, shiny blond waves! It was just the sort of weird, supernatural happening Mysteria produced in abundance.

And you expect people to come to church when the local doctor c

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 875