Moonshadow (Moonshadow #1)

As the monkey’s eyes flashed with interest, she knew she had struck the right chord. Smiling, she went to shower and prepare for her trip to town. Taking Nikolas’s warning to heart, she painted both offensive and defensive spells on her arms.

There was so much silver in the nail polish the runes shimmered in the light, so she dug out one of her favorite pieces of clothing, a gauzy, semitransparent top with long sleeves that flared at the wrists, with a tight, black spaghetti strap camisole underneath. She paired it with a pair of stonewashed jeans and the Doc Martens, and she even took a few minutes to stroke on some makeup, enhancing her eyes with a smoky pewter color, while brushing a fire-engine red lipstick on her lips.

The makeup made her look different, sultry. Who was she trying to impress with all this?

Nikolas’s dark, intense eyes came to mind.

“Fuck you for walking away,” she whispered to him. “I put on makeup. I look like a million bucks.”

So. It appeared she wasn’t over what had happened last night, not in the slightest. Sighing, she dug out her messenger-style purse and put every piece of identification she had into it, including her passport. Last of all, she checked her new, beautiful Glock to make sure it was loaded and all was in order, and when she was satisfied—and because all her purses had a concealed-carry pocket—she slipped it into her purse.

When she tucked her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans, she was finally ready to head into town. Her spirits lifted as she drove away from the property. The English countryside was gorgeous, and as she drove into town, for the first time since she arrived, she was able to see it in the sunlight and appreciate how picturesque it looked.

She stopped at the pub first to talk to Arran and Maggie. They were busy working on repairs, so she didn’t stay long, but they both gave her hugs so tight it warmed her heart. Arran whispered in her ear, “Thank you for my wife.”

She patted his back and smiled at him. “You are so welcome.”

“Aren’t you lonesome out there at that old place?” Maggie asked her curiously.

She laughed. Oh, if she could only get some real time to herself. “Not at all,” she told the other woman with complete truth. “I’m enjoying the space.”

“Well, if there’s anything you need, anything at all,” Maggie said. “You let us know.”

“Anything ever,” Arran broke in to emphasize.

“I promise, I will. When are you going to open again?”

They looked at each other, and a shadow fell across their faces. Arran said, “We’ll have to open soon. It’s tourist season, and we need the business, but we’re going to hold off until a week after the funerals.”

She touched Maggie’s arm. “Good luck, and I’ll stop by again in a few days.”

“It’ll be good to see you, lass,” Maggie told her. “Maybe by then, this place will be looking good enough I can make you a cuppa.”

“I’d like that.”

As she walked out, her phone buzzed. It was a call from Paul, the solicitor, offering her congratulations. Pausing to talk with him for a few minutes, she promised to get him the information on her new bank account when she had it, and then she headed to the small Barclays Bank to open a checking account.

When that business was complete, she browsed through some of the local shops and took some time to read and respond to Rodrigo’s email. He had sent a quick query, asking how her trip was going, and she got excited all over again as she wrote about becoming a landowner.

Nikolas’s warning stayed with her, so she kept a wary eye out, but everything in the town seemed so peaceful and normal she relaxed her hypervigilance as she stopped at the grocers to buy coffee. There wasn’t a coffeemaker at the house, so she settled for instant coffee, while she made a promise to herself to buy a percolator soon.

Then on impulse, she bought hot chocolate mix, a bunch of fresh flowers to brighten up the cottage kitchen, and Black Forest gateaux cake she thought Robin would like. As she was walking back to her car, a small shop featuring children’s clothes caught her eye. There was the most darling little navy blue jacket in the window that looked like it might fit Robin. Her gaze lingered on it while she struggled with temptation.

He’s not really a monkey, she scolded herself. And he’s certainly not a child.

But the jacket was so cute, and maybe he got cold sometimes. He might be healing at a magical speed, but he was still so underweight. Ugh. She pushed through the front door. As she bought the jacket, she told the friendly shopgirl, “It’s for my nephew.”

“It’s a lovely prezzie,” the girl said as she wrapped it carefully in tissue paper. “He’ll look so cute in it.”

“Yes, he will. Thank you.” She tucked the shopping bag into the crook of her arm, picked up the cake box, and pushed outside again.

As she slipped out the door, the bunch of flowers tipped over and fell out of the grocery bag. Muttering a curse, she juggled packages while she squatted to reach for them.

Dark boots came into view, and a man’s strong, tanned hand beat her to picking up the flowers. The man said in a pleasant Welsh accent, “Please, allow me.”

“Thank you,” she said.

She and the man straightened at the same time while Sophie took in details of his appearance. He was tall and broad shouldered, although not quite as tall as Gawain, and deeply tanned. He wore tailored gray slacks woven with a silver thread and a matching shirt that was open at the neck, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms.

The understated elegance looked good on him. She took in other details. He had chestnut hair, a strong face with good bones, and wore an intelligent, even contemplative expression, and while he appeared to be a human man in his midthirties, when she looked into his brilliant hazel gaze, she felt such a roar of Power coming from him, she staggered back a step.

Frowning, he held a hand out to her but checked himself. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said tightly, staring.

She hadn’t sensed his Power until she had looked into his eyes, which meant he must have a titanic amount of control over himself in order to keep it so tightly contained. How could one person hold that much Power and still remain sane?

Giving her a pleasant smile, the man said, “Would it be all right if I carried your flowers for you to your car?”

Her options ran through her mind at supersonic speed. The gun was buried deep in her purse, not her best, first choice should he try to attack. She would have to hit him with either the confusion spell or with the telekinesis, but with his kind of Power, he might shrug off the spells. So the gun might be the only effective weapon against him.

If it came to that.