He’s supposed to be dead, but he’s killing again…
Nearly a decade ago, hedge witch Chance Monroe’s life irrevocably changed. She survived the attack of a serial killer. His death should have set her free.
When her ex-lover shows up on her porch, Chance isn’t ready to hear Randall Oakes is still alive and less prepared for the sea of emotion swamping her. One man wants her dead and the other just wants her. When the FBI offers protective custody, Chance refuses. Connected to the earth, Chance must rely on her supernatural senses and her wits to survive this game of cat and mouse.
In the farm rich countryside of her native Northern Virginia, Chance confronts her troubled past, a supernatural adversary and a sizzling passion that’s lain dormant for years….
This time, she will teach her hunter a lesson: earth witches aren’t easy targets…
Urban fantasy. Previously published as Prime Evil, but has undergone significant rewrite and editing.
Just when I began to think we would have to take a break in the negotiations, we settled on a gift of power, relocation and my boots. I was a bit prickly about the boots. They were a six hundred dollar pair I’d splurged on spontaneously in a brief fit of self-indulgence. But the First One was unbending. He wanted the boots. Being honorable sucked.
Resigning myself to the inevitable, I stripped the boots off and offered them in good faith. The imps were to return all other property to the homeowner and remove themselves from the domicile. Bound by barter law, the First One agreed and the rest were forced to follow along, though there was grumbling amongst the troops.
The imps dispersed when I released my captive. I rushed inward closing down my attunement with the Earth, ears popping at the swiftly changing pressure. I was sitting in a cramped position, feet both soundly asleep, despite my removal of the boots. Even at my age, my back protested from sitting in the same position for too long. With pained and gradual slowness, I regained my feet. The scars on my abdomen tightened uncomfortably, but I ignored them and began the chore of straightening what little mess I had made. A glance to where the uniforms were snappily folding themselves before whisking out of the room—and hopefully back to the closet they came from—assured me the imps were holding to their end of bargain. I allowed myself a brief, if satisfied smile, until I thought about my boots. The smile became a grimace. Better to focus on the job well done.
Hoisting the duffel onto my shoulder, I shuffled my way through the kitchen and out to the porch. Mr. Adams looked up sharply as I stepped outside, a great deal more stiff of posture than he’d demonstrated to me the afternoon before.
“Are you quite all right, Ms. Monroe? I checked on you last evening, but you were not responding and I could not seem to step further into the room.” He sounded genuinely concerned. What a sweetie!
“I’m fine, Mr. Adams. I have negotiated with your imps and they are diligently returning your belongings. I’m going to need a day or so to relocate them, but they are amenable to the suggestions I have made.”
“Quite good.” He nodded, accepting my explanation with a modicum of grace. “I expect you will need to make a return visit before the invoice will be complete?”
“Yes, sir.” Drooping with exhaustion, I preferred the idea of stumbling my way to the car to small talk about my services. But he deserved his explanations.
“I expect at least one more visit, two at most. I’ll need about twenty-four to forty-eight hours to prep a place for them and do the actual relocation.”
“Very well. Thank you, Ms. Monroe. I’ll await your return.”
Padding down the wooden steps, I gritted my teeth as sharp points of rock dug at my small, socked feet all the way to the car.
I was really going to miss those boots.
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