Commanding Earth And Shadow *Duet Audiobook* - PRE-ORDER

In a world teetering on the brink of chaos, love emerges as the ultimate battleground.

Bellamy Blackwell wants to believe in a better world. Unfortunately, the world refuses to cooperate.
He thought he had nothing left to lose until an ancient evil sets its sights on Magnolia, a witch he’s been protecting from the shadows for years. He quickly realizes there are no lines he won’t cross to defend a soul still worth fighting for.

The shadows are hunting for Magnolia Green.
A healer by blood, and shadow-walker by birth, Magnolia spent years fighting the darkness within, until a relentless attack ravaged her hierarchy. When Bellamy extends a protective hand, she knows better than to go it alone. What she never expected was joining forces with the legendary Commander of Grayshell.

Grayshell may have won their battle with Adrastos, but locked out of The Middle, they’re poised to lose the war…and everything that matters to Aren in the process.
In his mission to breach the chasm between hierarchies, fortify defenses, and get his people back to Grayshell before Adrastos strikes again, he didn’t expect to find love—let alone in a young healer hiding an impressive arsenal of talents. But with an inter-dimensional war on the horizon, can Aren afford to split his focus?

The fate of entire worlds hangs in the balance.

“Checkmate.” Crossing my arms, I smiled over the table, torn between triumph and irritation. Bellamy studied the board for a moment, a mixture of amusement and pride warring across his features before those sensuous lips quirked incrementally sideways into something vaguely like a smirk.
We’d been keeping each other company every Sunday with afternoon tea and a game of chess, for six weeks now. He'd even trusted me to patch him up a time...or three, when he would drag himself out of yet another scrape he’d rather the local authorities not know about. Bullet holes, stab wounds, bites from demonic beasts I had absolutely no interest in ever encountering, the vigilante showed up bloody and bruised, with smug satisfaction set on his face as my magic did its work. It didn't seem to matter what monsters he encountered; Bellamy Blackwell was back in my living room every Sunday like clockwork.
“Are you letting me win? Because this is pathetic,” I laughed, flashing the man a smile, very much aware he understood I needed a victory and wanted to be the one to give it to me. It was driving me crazy. “Come on,” I demanded. “Another round. Don’t hold back—I don’t want your pity.”
“Ahh,” he sighed in that deep timbre that no doubt dissolved more panties than I cared to consider. Kicking back in his chair to balance on two legs, he cockily laced his fingers behind his head. “That I had any to give. You overestimate me, and far underestimate yourself.” He grinned before downing the contents of his cup. Bellamy’s smiles were few and far between. But when the man truly let one shine, they were positively radiant, and he was more beautiful than any man had a right to be. Had we come together under any other circumstance, I had a feeling I would have long-since succumbed to a smile like that—to a man like that.
But we did, in fact, meet under horrific circumstances. And while his evenings spent in that ridiculous vigilante’s outfit saved my life, he had been too late to save me. 
“What are you thinking about?” His voice lowered a bit, shadows dancing in those deep brown eyes. That focused evaluation was a brand across my skin as his jaw ticked. 
I shook my head, raven locks rippling over a shoulder, tickling my neck. “Nothing. My mind just wandered. Play.”
When my resolve didn’t waver, Bellamy reset the board with a long-suffering sigh. Setting the last pawn in place, he flicked his eyes up to me.
“Do you think you’re ready to go back to work? I’m sure they miss you at the hospital.”
Pretending to focus on my first move, I bit my tongue, refusing to indulge his fussing with a response. The nomad huffed dramatically, “It’s been six weeks, Magnolia. You’re going to need some sense of normality soon.”
“Don’t rush me,” I bit back, a dull ache forming in my temples, promising a nightmare of a migraine if he didn’t relent. I wanted to have this conversation as much as I wanted to slide down a slope of cacti into a pool of lemon juice. The very idea of stepping back into the hospital, with its blinding fluorescents and omnipresent odor of antiseptic, combined with constant noise of alarms and machinery made me break out in a cold sweat as my lungs forgot how to function.
 In one soul rending moment, my life had been dropped off either side of a chasm. Nathara told me that trauma wasn’t that different from grief. That the Magnolia that existed before that night died in the alleyway. 
I was still trying to figure out what I wanted the new me to be like. 
“I’m not. At least, that’s not my intention. I just—” He clunked the front legs of his chair back into place. “I think you’ll feel better when your hands are busy again.”
“Because you know me so well, do you?” I snapped, sick and tired of being told what to do. Of how to handle it. Of what the correct reaction was according to people who had never survived it. Thus far, the response seemed to be unsolicited opinions delivered with the audacity of gods-ordained sermons, regardless of if they had the authority to speak on the subject.
“I’m trying.” He slid a pawn forward, then braced his forearms on the table, eyes dropping down the line of my body before climbing back to my face. A soft crescent carved his lips, dark brows winging up. “I would like to.”
Cursing the way my pulse hammered under his focus, I stared him down and watched as he blew out a long breath. Mirroring the action, and trying to silence the wave of misplaced temper, my next piece settled with a weighted click. Bellamy was the last person on the planet my anger should be directed at. But Gods, I was just so. Damn. Angry. At this life. At the world for creating so much heartache. At the dead man of Renown who felt entitled to my body when it wasn’t his to fucking touch. At myself, for going out at all that night when I’d desperately wanted to stay in. For locking up like a fawn. Not knowing how the hell to fight back.
Rubbing a hand over my aching neck, I slid my eyes closed and blew out a long breath before slowly taking a disciplined inhale through my nose. The therapist with nauseating euphemisms printed on posters of happy sunflowers swore the technique would help. But she also thought providing statistics on how many women survive sexual violence could soothe me, when all it did was douse my rage with kerosene. So, what the fuck did she know?
I could feel Bellamy’s focus pinning me to the kitchen chair before even looking up to see his expression was shadowed with concern.
“Don’t look at me like that, Blackwell.” He pursed his lips into a tight line, so I pressed, “I mean it.”
Bellamy mumbled something before leaning across the table, gaze locked on mine, as he shifted another piece. I closed my eyes as the heat of his body overwhelmed me, his warm scent wandering up my nose. Bergamot, pine, cloves, and something comforting, like crackling embers. It filled my chest with a heat that was promptly stamped into the depth of my soul. Evidently, my body was perfectly capable of moving on, although the same couldn’t be said for the rest of me. 
When I refocused on the match, he opened up his side. I blinked. Jerking my eyes up to him, nose crinkling with confusion, I blinked twice more. Bellamy chuckled and gave a shrug.
“Either you are worse at this game than you used to be, or I clearly do not understand the rules,” I said, speculation somehow cooling my temper. He might as well have flung the board out the window like a frisbee. Perhaps it would boomerang back and smack some sense into his thick nomad skull. Bellamy didn’t make garbage moves. His plays were always calculated several steps ahead, most often accompanied by a lesson, with a side of patronizing swagger I loathed to admit I kind of liked. Which meant this insanity sent an inferno of suspicion through my bloodstream. Before I could demand to know what he was up to, my usually quiet companion was talking again.
“What about surfing? Have you gone?” Bellamy asked as he slid away from the table, turning for the kitchen.
“No, Dad. I haven’t gone surfing. Before you bother asking, I haven’t been back in the coven garden, either.” Amusement flickered in his eyes at my petty barb, shooting a playful glare over his shoulder as he opened a cabinet to retrieve cups.
Surfing had always been my safe space. My favorite place to worship. But surfing meant facing my covenmates—my best friends and soul sisters—which left me two options: slap on a brave face and pretend I wasn’t screaming inside, or be honest and subject myself to the deluge of well-meaning but unwanted advice, and overbearing mother-henning as they demanded every detail from my nutrition and sleeping habits to how many times I urinated in the last twenty-four hours. As doctors, it was our job to analyze, diagnose, and heal afflictions.
But it’s the wounds we can’t see that refuse to be forced to heal.
Not even by brilliant witches born to mend.
Perhaps that’s why I could tolerate Bellamy in my house when my own coven sisters made my skin crawl. The first Sunday he showed up unannounced, he managed to weasel his way through my wards, strolled into my space as though he’d been summoned via engraved invitation, and set up the chess board. Plopping his mammoth frame into my chair, he cracked open a beer and asked what I wanted to order for dinner. 
It was like…somehow he knew what I needed in a way my sisters couldn’t wrap their brilliant minds around. I needed Bellamy’s…normalcy. His swagger and tolerance for my endless stream of sarcasm. That was the first time I slept without nightmares that week, his steady magic a silent reassurance that I could rest. When I woke up the next morning, I was tucked in under my favorite blanket with a note on the table with his promise to ‘return in seven days' time’. Freaking weirdo couldn’t just say ‘next week’. It made me smile.
The last thing I wanted now was for him to join the rest of them in their relentless attempts to drag me back into a world that felt like being buried alive.
“They mean well, you know?” That deliciously deep timbre wrapped around my spine, drawing my focus back to his face, which had pinched as he paused to study me. It wasn’t…pity, per se, more of a heavy handed analysis. As if I were a puzzle for him to solve.
“What?” I asked, the blade finally vanishing from my voice as I got control of my breathing.
“Your covenmates–sisters, or cousins, or whatever you call them. They mean well. As do I. We just care about you, Green.” Reluctantly, I nodded, though his reassurance didn’t dissipate an ounce of anxiety. “You’ve given yourself time to grieve, it’s time to soldier up and put your life back together.”
“I’m not a soldier,” I mumbled weakly, my old pal, shame, rearing her hideous head as nausea bubbled in my stomach. What did that even look like now? In a matter of moments, I’d gone from the strongest witch my age, to the one they all pitied. I hated nothing as much as I loathed being the object of their pity. I was supposed to be the one supporting them, running the garden, assisting our High Priestess and her second and third. Not taking up their energy when it should be directed towards saving lives.
“Aren’t you?” he challenged. “We all fight different battles. Get up. You love these women. Stop pushing them away.”
“You seem awfully confident in that assessment,” I noted.
“If I’m wrong, then you have spectacularly peculiar taste in decor–do you have a habit of keeping strangers’ faces on your walls?” He jerked his chin at my favorite collage of gold framed photographs–graduations, competitions, dance rehearsals, and birthday parties–before returning to his mission. His words settled in my chest whether I wanted them to or not.
My lips pressed into a tight smile as I watched him move with now-familiar ease around the space, fetching cookies from a box and grabbing my favorite cloth napkins from the drawer before returning to our game, like he was a part of the little loft I’d called home all these years. My throat thickened at the observation. 
“What?” Bellamy’s voice was like whiskey poured on ice, equal parts soothingly smooth and capable of igniting an internal inferno. He hesitated by his chair, eyes on mine. 
I shrugged. “Do you have to work today?”
“Not until late tonight.”
“Wanna grab a bite?”
That soft, shadow of amusement stretched his lips. “It would be my pleasure, Green.”
 
* * *

The street was abuzz with nightlife as we left the restaurant, the lingering smell of garlic and tomato still tickling my taste buds. If my thighs weren’t prone to thickening as quickly as a cornstarch gravy the moment I let down my compulsive macro counting, I could have devoured an entire second plate. Even at my fittest, I still had curves for days. My father must have been a brute of a man, because I surely had not received my figure from my stick-thin mother.
I’d always assumed I’d grow up to look like her. Naïve, I know, but when you’re raised by one parent, it seems unfair to take after the absentee. Smiling softly, I thought back to her unending metabolism which had magically erased heaps of junk food no one person should consume. Pizza night every Friday—one for each of us. Never those little personal pan ones, either. Full size, Chicago deep-dish steeped in grease from the abundance of cheese. As she curled up beside me with some sort of classic film on the television, I’d always marveled at how stunning she was. Towering over six-feet, her features were slight and muscled, like the clans to the East.
Alas…
An unseasonably chilled wind tore through my hair, yanking me back to the moment, and I shivered against the cold caress. Blinking back the tears that always burned when I thought about Mom, I jerked my eyes up as Bellamy bristled. He was scowling at a couple of junkies huddled around a trashcan fire, evidently offended by their presence on our stroll. When he rolled his eyes and returned his focus to me, heat rushed through the air, caressing my cheeks. Despite his unspoken gift, curiosity suddenly required vocalizing.
“Why do you do it?” When his lifted brow insinuated he wasn’t about to humor me, I scoffed, and clarified. “Why guard the city? It’s…such a mess. You could never clean it up. Why risk your own neck?”
“Better the burden lies with me.”
There was clearly no deeper follow up on the horizon. “How do you decide?” I rephrased, irritated as his non-answer.
“Decide?” It was more statement than question, but the insinuation was clear, and I opted to take the bait.
“Who you go after? Who you take down, versus who you don’t.”
He quirked a brow, inhaling deeply as though he’d never contemplated the question before. “Honest?”
“Honest.”
He nodded, wetting his lips before saying, “I trust my gut.” 
Simple. To the point. Just like Bellamy. I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Come on, how do you know the sickos from plain old lowlifes?”
“I can tell.”
“Very insightful.” Hell, he’d grunted the response with all the enthusiasm of booking an appointment for a root canal. I felt, more than saw, his shoulders roll back as he bobbed his head, contemplating. Silence stretched on as our footfalls echoed off the buildings, and I blew warm air into my hands as we passed a group of rowdy young men playfully taunting each other. When Bellamy cleared his throat, he earned my undivided attention.
“There’s not always a science to the way magic works. Sometimes, there’s just this…knowing. My intuition has been amplified, ever since I ascended. It tells me who needs me. Tugs me toward the when, where, and who could be worth saving. I simply choose to listen.”
Well that was…nebulous, albeit effective. On the tail end of a long breath, I asked, “You don’t ever feel bad?”
Deep chocolate irises landed on my face, searing my skin as we stepped closer to the building between the street lamps.
“Bad?” he asked, face pinched as though the question was positively preposterous. 
“About…killing them? I mean, I know you operate under some sort of code, but I can’t help but worry that at some point you’ll look in the mirror and be afraid of who is staring back.” 
His breath came out in a short little huff, the distant cousin to a laugh. “No, Green. I don’t. Everything I do, and everything I am, is in pursuit of serving and protecting the people I care for.” He quirked his head, and for a moment, I thought he might amend the statement, but his eyes scraped over my body before a gentle facsimile of a smile pulled one corner of his lips upward, sending an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies beating low in my belly. “Those of them left, at least.”
I sucked in a breath. The streetlight crashed over his features before shadows enveloped him again, my forbidden power stirring to life every time we stepped through the divide into darkness. Bellamy flicked his fingers, kicking up a breeze that whisked a pile of stray trash into the nearest can. His magic was an effortless thing—no doubt a blessing for existing as long as he had, as though the two had melded together to become one force of nature, where mine was a constant force of wills. Yes, I could heal as well as the High Priestess, or her second and third. But my other gifts…those had to be wrestled into submission. When a second pile of trash did a flip into the can, I managed to laugh. The sound was nervous. The inevitable result of the way the air had gradually charged between us as he performed simple novelty tricks. I wasn’t ready for a charge. Wasn’t even ready to think about what that could look like. When he spoke, his voice was gentler.
“Don’t tell me you’ve wasted a wink of shuteye battling guilt, Green.”
The words stopped my breath, turning it to solid matter that lodged in my throat. “Of course not,” I scoffed, willing more strength into my voice. That wasn’t entirely true. While I could justify the justice served, the idea that a life had been taken for me made me…feel a bit green. All evil came from a soul deep wound. Any of us were susceptible of succumbing to our darkest side, should the right circumstances present themselves. 
His evil had ended after inflicting a soul deep wound on me.
“He got what he deserved.” Strong, combat-hardened fingers lifted my chin, and I blinked away the stinging in my eyes as I studied the enamoring tilt of his features. There was something endlessly regal about Bellamy Blackwell. Perhaps it was the tall hold of his even taller frame. Or the cheekbones that could cut glass, with a jawline to match. Dark eyes rimmed in darker lashes, all topped with luscious onyx hair. A mouthwatering male specimen.
 “Besides,” he added dryly, lips tugging sideways as mischief slithered beneath the expression. “Who would drink all of my honey if you hadn’t come into my life when you did?” Gently, he traced a thumb over my cheek, wiping away a runaway tear. The gesture was oddly comforting, although he’d never been one for much in the way of physical contact. While we spent our afternoons in my apartment, he made a point of arriving with honey—which he claimed to buy and never use—and a bottle of fresh cream, a box of English scones often tucked under an elbow. “It would have all gone to waste.”
I snorted, jerking my face away so I could press the heel of my palms against my damp lids before sucking down a breath and smiling up at him. “A travesty, that would have been.”
He hesitated for a beat, dark eyes glittering. Something in the expression…
Bellamy ran a hand over his silky black hair, grin turning sheepish as he went to open his mouth. Abruptly, he snapped it closed, attention jerking down an alleyway cloaked in shadows as impenetrable as deep water. 
Goosebumps spider-walked down my arms as his body language shifted. He wrapped a great arm around my shoulders as we walked, his wingspan swallowing my body, shifting his enormous frame in front of the man concealed in darkness. The streetlight glinted off his gray skin, his unfocused eyes and tainted scent speaking volumes to what coursed through his veins. Renown. Demon entangled Renown.
My damn body trembled as muscles from head to toe locked up, rooting me to the spot. Not even Bellamy’s now familiar scent, or the dark power radiating off him could tamp down the terror raising bile in my throat. Bellamy grabbed me around the wrist, dragging me forward, keeping his body between me and the man in the darkness.
After another block, he took his gaze from where the sidewalk and alleyway met. He dropped my hand, staggering back, eyes wild as he took in the shadows curling like smoke on my shoulders and around my fingertips.
I hadn’t noticed them myself until he startled. My own shock seemed to stamp them out immediately, as they retracted into my limbs. Fucking traitorous shadows. The morbid irony of a healer forbidden from dark magic being gifted in the realm between life and death had never been lost on me. 
The nebulous wisps of power disappearing didn’t stop the accusation from stirring in Bellamy’s eyes as he stared at where my fingertips had been moments before. Scowling, he wrapped his arm back around my shoulders, lending me his warmth. 
He flung open the townhouse door the moment we arrived, and nearly shoved me inside as he clicked the deadbolt into place. When he whirled on me, I slid away until my back hit the wall, breath coming out in a whoosh as he closed the distance in a heartbeat. A deep v carved between his eyes, as he caged me in with his bulky frame.
“Goddamn, what were you thinking?” His eyes smoldered down, flicking between each of mine as he exhaled harshly. “You’re a shadow walker?” His anger was a bucket of ice water, jarring me from my terrified stupor, replacing it with a different kind of fear as I pushed back against the shadows clawing at my veins. 
“Excuse me?” I bit out, glaring up at him. I didn't want to have this conversation, either. Not with anyone—but certainly not with him.
“You’re a shadow walker?”
“That’s freaking news to me.” I shoved him backwards, slinking down the wall to cross into the kitchen, bristling as he followed. Nat and the girls knew of my forbidden curse, of course. It wasn’t something that could be hidden while we all lived under the same roof, as it was prone to appearing when I was in the throes of a temper tantrum or deep in despair. It didn’t mean the power was welcome within Hazelharbor walls. We didn’t practice dark magic, and shadow walkers had to immerse themselves in the literal gray of a realm of their own. Essentially shifting between this life and the next, where time held nearly still around them. Walking between worlds was a dangerous thing. You never knew what lurked just beyond what the eye could see, just waiting to stow away.
“Don’t even try that bullshit with me, Green. None of this ever needed to happen. Why didn’t you use them?”
I snatched my mug off the table and turned for the sink. “I never learned.”
“Why the hell not? Magnolia, he could never have reached you in the shadows. He couldn’t have touched you. Fuck, nobody can touch you in the shadow realm. What are you thinking? Hiding from your powers like that?”
“I’m not hiding—”
“You never played with them, learned to utilize them?”
“Hazelharbor is for healers. Not death walkers.” I slammed my mug down on the counter, the crack of the porcelain making me wince.
“Shadows and death are not one in the same. He could have killed you. He—”
“Just stop.” My entire body quaked again while pain tore through my bones as the memories came in violent flashes. My heart beat so violently I barely heard his next words over the roaring in my ears.
I realized his clenched fists shook far more than his voice, and that did something strange to my gut. Perhaps that would have stifled the anger if he hadn't followed the statement immediately with another question.
 “What would you have done if I hadn’t been with you when that monster came out of the alley? No gun, no weapon, no training, you have refused your God-given power. Do you know the vile thoughts that man held the moment he saw you? It’s like you want to be a—”
His words were cut short as my palm smacked into his face with a brutal clap. It would have rocked a lesser man. As it was, his eyes flew open, betrayal a suffocating blanket between us. I fought the guilt-laced shock rattling through me, tamping down the desire to look at my hand.
Victim. He was going to say victim, and that was the one thing I refused to ever be again. It didn’t matter if I locked myself away in the garden or a Hazelharbor tower so I could still serve Nat, Sorin, and Zehra. I’d never identify with that word again. It defined too many years of my life as it was. First, when Mom didn’t come out of that fire, but I did. Even then…it had never been repeated so relentlessly as it had in the last six weeks. First the nurses and doctors, then the police and hospital’s minister, and worst of all—by my own sisters. To even insinuate I somehow wanted this reality sent my muscles shaking.
“Don’t. Don’t you ever speak to me like that. My existence isn’t asking for abuse. What that monster did was not my fault.” The words became an anvil on the air, but whether I was convincing him or myself, wasn’t entirely clear.
Eyes still wide, Bellamy reached forward, but I recoiled, pulling inward and wrapping my arms around aching ribs. No one could know Nathara’s adopted daughter harbored magic like this. No one could know the fourth in line could walk between worlds. They wouldn’t allow it.
“Of course not. But I can’t be here twenty-four-seven. You know that.” He scrubbed his palms over his face. “What are you doing, sitting on a gift like that and doing nothing? Did you not learn anything from what happened to you?” 
As if the repercussions hadn’t affected each and every decision since. My decision to leave the hospital after years fighting to serve in its walls. To dedicate myself within Hazelharbor. To retreat into my love of plants, and minimize my interaction with the outside world. 
Outrage sent my arm flying to slap him again, but Bellamy caught my wrist and pinned it to my side, stepping into my space until our faces were inches apart. Shadows unfurled from my fingertips, whispering up toward his fingers on my wrists like they might peel his bones from the flesh if I asked it of them. 
He dropped me like a hot stone, his voice low and guttural as he demanded, “Don’t strike me again.”
“Go to hell,” I said, fighting the wobble threatening my tone with a placid flatness instead.
“You know I’m right, Magnolia. You know it and you hate it. You are choosing to be weak.”
“Get out.” Shoving against his chest, frustration turned to something hotter as Bellamy stayed rooted to the spot. “I said get out! You’re not welcome here.” My wards began a steady pulse forward, and Bellamy’s eyes widened as they slowly shoved his feet across the floor. My hands were trembling, a cruel twist of rage and betrayal tangling in my chest as I spat, “I don’t need you.”
“Mag—”
I gritted my teeth and pointed to the exit. Shadows darkened in his eyes, and he blew a hard breath out his nose before storming for the door, which slammed and locked behind him.

BELLAMY
I knew the bloody witch would be a pain in my ass. Groaning, I peeled my head and arm away from where I’d leaned them against the door, fighting the insufferable compulsion to break the damn thing off its hinges. Beautiful women were often more trouble than they were actually worth, and this one was spectacularly prone to a disconcerting level of chaos. 
Darkness was drawn to her like she held a beacon in her chest, echoing what I’d felt the first night we met. This woman was significant. Because nightmares given flesh don’t generally have a propensity for plaguing the inconsequential. No, the haunted souls are intentionally selected to deter their life missions.
Meet me at the healer’s house, I ordered down the line, mind-to-mind. Before my cousins could respond, I sensed the pressure of watching eyes. Not an inch of me bristled. It was simply an awareness, like the presence of a doe in a thicket. I didn’t have to mentally pry, because when I turned toward the street, the wide eyes of Magnolia’s most loyal companion met mine. The companion who was unaware I already knew her role in things. 
I’d been surveying anyone coming and going, but never gotten to stand face-to-face with her before. Fuck, she was just as beautiful as Magnolia. If the creator were indeed real, he’d certainly taken his time when sculpting the witches of Hazelharbor. 
Straightening, I sucked down a disciplined breath as those princess eyes narrowed skeptically over the armful of bags she clung to her chest.
It was adorable, really, that she thought she would have a say in the outcome, should my presence be unwanted on that stoop.
Blythe Briar glanced around, a mixture of apprehension and intrigue in her expression before it settled into the stubborn pride I most admired in her soul sister. She certainly wasn’t about to show the random male on the doorstep that she’d been startled. For healers, they at least had an abundance of fortitude. That was good. They’d certainly need it in the coming years. There wasn’t a warrior on the planet that hadn’t sensed trouble brewing.
“Can I help you?” Innately feminine, with an underlying authority to her voice, the little blonde sashayed forward. I could practically see her reaching out to her coven sisters as she looked around, not bothering to hide as she surveyed her surroundings. Smart girl. This one has street sense under that pretty little exterior.
“Just leaving, I’m afraid. I’m Bellamy Blackwell,” I said, pausing in relief as her eyes widened in recognition. So, Magnolia had spoken of our time, after all. “Doctor Briar, I assume?”
“Blythe,” she corrected, the edge of her voice still sharp as a blade as her eyes unabashedly evaluated me. I jumped the fifteen yards between us, noting the way her throat bobbed as she looked up to meet my gaze. She didn’t step back. Didn’t cower. Interesting. Most Hazleharborians were a bit meek when confronted with the palpable energy of Bellpost warriors. 
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I said, extending a hand and chuckling as the little blonde hefted the armful of groceries she kept firmly between us. “Please. Allow me.” Reaching forward, I pulled the brown grocery bags from her arms before she could respond. I jumped back to set them on the front mat, swearing to myself as Magnolia’s wards pressed against my presence so close to her. Fuck, she was a temperamental little thing. Had every reason to be livid with her circumstances, but I didn’t think she’d direct it towards me. My chest ached as I felt her grief reach out like a shadowed limb and trace along my own shield. I’d known better, and still opened my fat mouth.
Returning to the witch on the sidewalk, I nodded, offering my hand again, pleased when she took it. It was amazing how much you could learn through a simple introduction, and Briar was no different. Heat traced up my arm at the contact, our gifts rushing through each other for the heartbeat before her eyes widened and she took her hand back, those bright blues giving very little away as she crossed her arms, rocking on her feet. Something like focused curiosity snaked its way onto her stunning face. Her magic felt like sunlight—an alien kind of warmth lingering in my veins as I studied her.
Clearing her throat, Blythe shook her head and ventured, “How’s our girl today?”
“Hmm,” I hummed, disappointment slithering through my chest. “She’s…hurting. I’m not helping, I’m afraid. She requires space to heal, which will demand a great deal of patience on your part. I’m glad you’re here, Dr. Briar.” I was. Relief gradually cooled my leashed temper, because at least she wouldn’t be alone as she self-destructed. Through all her anger, she wouldn’t abandon Blythe. Of that, I was sure.
The corner of the little witch’s mouth quivered before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to trust me, schooling her features back into neutrality. “You’re…I feel like I should know you from somewhere?”
Well. That was…interesting. As far as I knew, the girls were both new blood, but there was an undeniable familiarity in her energy to me as well. Perhaps it was just her perpetual proximity to Magnolia.
“Friends by proxy, I suppose,” I supplied, not sure if it would serve as an adequate explanation.
“Yeah. I guess that’s true.”
“Well,” I cut through the awkwardness settling between us. What did one say to the best friend of a victim they’d saved? Hi, nice to meet you, so sorry the person who means the most to you was targeted by a psychopath? “She’d be less than pleased to find me loitering, so I’ll be on my way. It was nice to meet you. Perhaps our next interaction can be under better circumstances.”
The pretty little healer shifted on her feet, head quirking incrementally sideways. “Will I be seeing you around?”
A subtle ache planted in my cheeks as I forced them to accommodate a smile. “Perhaps someday, Dr. Briar. You take care of her for me, okay?”
Concern carved into her features as her attention flicked to the townhouse behind me, her light brows dipping toward the bridge of her nose. Blythe’s swallow was audible as she nodded, moving with a new sense of urgency toward Magnolia’s front door. With that painfully uncomfortable interaction, I walked away from Magnolia Green. 
I’d only made it to the sidewalk when Blythe’s voice carried back on the breeze.
“Mr. Blackwell?”
Finding her with one hand on the door, the other wrapped around one of the bags, I silently hesitated at the edge of the wards. 
“Thank you…for bringing her back to me.”
Something akin to heat bloomed in my chest. When I simply nodded in acknowledgement, Blythe smiled stiffly and opened the door, the last bag following her in on a trail of her power.
“Well,” a familiar voice drawled behind me. “I see that ended well.”
“Take a hike, Bartholomew.”
“Oooh, full naming me? That’s cold, cousin. Even for you.” 
Barry—Bartholomew—was one of only two people I trusted with my damned immortal soul, his presence here a balm despite his smart mouth and perpetual skunk-like scent. Life had never been kind to our family, and Barry best coped with a compulsive drag of marijuana to dull the memories cemented in his mind. Of all our cousins, the two of us looked the most alike, the similarities glaring, and voices possessing the same deep timbre.
Aware of Blythe’s curiosity, I kept the conversation as veiled as possible. No need to alert the healers to the precarious position they were truly in if she was using a charm to eavesdrop.
“Where’s Smith?”
“On his way.” So, he was focused on a task not to be openly discussed. Good man. “What of the witches? You’re still heading east, I assume?”
“If there was a way around it, I’d have taken it by now.” Crossing one arm beneath the other, I rubbed at the tense spot between my brows. “We can’t lose this mark, Barry. I can’t afford to, and if you’re focused, the girls will be okay. At least for a while. We’ve made quite a show of publicly decimating those who’ve thought otherwise.” I glanced up to the window, thinking of the way her eyes flashed when she argued, the sound of her laugh…the way her magic finally came out to defend her tonight. “She has shadows.” 
Barry stiffened, turning to look at me under speculative brows. It wasn’t like me to miss such a vital detail. I shrugged. “Too much going on. Focus, Bartholomew. No harm can come to them, do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir. Keep your head down in the field. We’ll stay under the radar here. You have my word.”
“Good. I’m going after the big one.”
 “I was afraid you’d say that.” Barry sighed, plucking the perpetual joint from behind his ear and bringing it to his lips, mumbling a, “Thanks,” when I lit it for him with a spark of power. Barry was like most Bellpost men, gifted in shadows, bloodshed, earth, and not much else. But he was loyal. And loyalty was the one thing I valued most. “We trust your judgment. If that’s the next play, I’ve got your back.”
My attention flicked to the apartment as the bedroom light flipped on, Magnolia’s sinful silhouette shifting through the window frame. My chest ached. She had no idea how much danger she was in. No idea what we’d done to protect her these last few weeks. The Renown was the first but far from the last, and I was certain the threats would only continue. I needed her to stay protected. Sometimes, I allowed myself to imagine, even just for a moment, that the time spent with her was the real me. That being here, sipping on tea and teaching her strategy, could be my life. Even if just for a moment. But the moment had just slammed closed behind me, and she seemed to harbor no intention of reconsidering her order. 
It was time to refocus on the big picture in which there was no chance of a man like me getting the girl. Not that I had anything to offer a proper partner.
Nodding, I turned to my cousin, reaching out a hand to pull him in for a hug. Before he could vocalize his gratitude, Smith appeared, effortlessly shifting our direction. When he stepped close, he made to kneel, and I growled. Snagging him by the neckline, I hoisted him upright, and pulled him in for a hug. Old fucking traditionalist. Damn, was I becoming sentimental in my old age?
“Christ, Smith, none of that. It’s just us. Boss man?”
“It’s done. We’ve set the pieces in motion.”
“Well done. Now, you’re staying here.”
“What?” Smith balked, brows furrowing. I grabbed the back of his neck, bringing our foreheads together. 
“Trust me,” I demanded, releasing him. “You are where I need you. Call me at the first inkling of trouble. If you let the demons touch either of them, I’ll cut your balls off, understand?” 
“Jesus, man. Yeah. We’ve got them.”
“Good.” I said nothing else, making for the perimeter of the wards, but their focus on my back made me bristle. Not bothering to face them, I hesitated, demanding, “What?”
“Your brother coming with you?”
I certainly didn’t have to ask which one. “Yes.”
“Good. Somebody’s gotta watch your back.” 
Well, if I’d still had a heart, it would have warmed. I shot a smile laced in arrogance over my shoulder. Never let ‘em see you scared. “See you soon. It’s only a matter of time before more come knocking. Be ready.”