July 2026

Vulwin tilted up his chin. “Dragon or no dragon, you’ll not leave this courtyard alive -- Your Highness.” He spat the last two words like a curse.

Dearg smiled, though the expression didn’t reach his brilliant eyes. “It would take a far better fighter than you to put me down. You won’t be the first I’ve killed, and you won’t be the last.”

“Oh, I’m all a-tremble,” Vulwin sneered. “You fought fifteen duels. I’ve killed two hundred and three.”

“Then it’s high time someone stopped you from preying on my father’s court,” Dearg said. “And I was talking about those I killed on the battlefield.”

Everyone had seen Dearg in werewolf form as he raged across the battleground in the last war, killing enemy centaurs and their troll allies. He’d reminded me of a tiger -- as terrifying as he was beautiful, all muscular power, grace, and slashing claws.

Vulwin’s eyes flickered. “You won’t find it so easy without your magic.”

“Won’t I?” The prince turned to the crowd. “Give us room. I grow bored with listening to his teeth clack.”

***

Iona

The sense of menacing, boiling power radiated right through the walls as he walked into the building. Admittedly, I was sensitive when it came to magic — an occupational hazard when gods lurk in your family tree. Dearg’s approaching bow wave reminded me uncomfortably of Mom’s, though the power itself was quite different. My mother’s and grandmother’s abilities felt like a more intense version of the nature magic most Sidhe had. The prince’s power felt ancient despite his youth -- all dark woods and dragon magic.

Shit, this could be bad. What the hell could he want?

The sense of power grew stronger as Lapis opened my door. "…And this is her office,” she said as she led the way inside. She gave me a tight smile. “Chief, if you’ll excuse me, I have paperwork to finish.” She vanished back down the hall far faster than a police report deserved.

Traitor.

I forced myself to smile despite the instincts Prince Dearg’s menacing aura triggered and resisted the impulse to conjure a sword. We don’t want to piss off Darth Fido.

As the prince walked in, I rose and circled my desk to meet him. Cachamwri’s Egg, he’s huge. He had to be six-five at least, with the muscle to match. Rather than court garb, he wore a short-sleeved black shirt and slacks that made him look as if he were trying to cosplay as a human. Sidhe men were typically lean, but Dearg reminded me of a tight end for the Chicago Bears. That, or the sculpture of Rocky.

“Dearg Galatyn, Prince of the Two Kingdoms of the Sidhe,” he said in a velvet rumble that made me blink. His smile was so warm and open, he instantly transformed from Darth Fido to Prince Do-Me-Now. Rather than the typical chill beauty of Sidhe nobility, he had rough-hewn good looks that made him appear almost human. His jaw and cheekbones were broad and masculine rather than narrow and inhumanly beautiful, with an aquiline nose and lips so full and sensual, my libido purred. He wore his curly black hair shoulder length rather than down to his hips, as most nobles did. Guess the Blade didn’t want to give his opponents a nice, long handle to grab.

My fingers twitched, wanting to stroke all that hair, find out if it was as soft as it looked… Stop. It. Being a fertility goddess’ grandkid could make professional etiquette a challenge.

“Uh… Iona Anann, police chief of Summerwood.” I’d have bowed had he not thrust out a hand for a human-style handshake. I took it, feeling those long, wolf-hot fingers engulf mine as I gave him my best professional smile. “Your highness, you honor us…”

“Let’s dispense with the royal etiquette. Besides, I’m the one who should be bowing to you. You do outrank me.” I might have been charmed, except his wide, white smile clashed with watchful eyes. Opalescent irises flecked with glowing motes of magic enhanced that probing, uncomfortable stare. Yep, he was a Galatyn — only the royal family had eyes like that.

“The only title I use is Summerwood Police Chief,” I told him. “I’m not a goddess. That would be my grandmother’s job.” And I’m sure as hell not my mother.

A sudden flare of green sparks drew my gaze to the sword belt that cinched his narrow waist. It supported a wide scabbard and a sword spitting green sparks and an emerald glow. Dragon’s Breath. I eyed it warily.

I was no stranger to energetic cutlery -- my grandmother created magical weapons for the heroes and royalty of Immortal Earth. Dragon’s Breath was something else again, imbued with so much power it made the air seem to waver around it like pavement on an August day…

…In a volcano.

What’s going on that the dragon god would send his Blade armed with a weapon like that? What did I miss? Damn, but that was a chilling thought.“Your sword seems to be leaking,” I told him as I gestured him toward a guest chair.

There went that charming smile again. It still didn’t reach his duelist’s eyes. “Yes, I know.” He sat down, deftly maneuvering the blade so it wouldn’t tangle with the chair if he had to rise in a hurry. “It’s irritated at me.”

“About what?” I asked, intrigued.

“I haven’t killed someone who desperately needs killing.”

Before I could react to that revelation, a flicker of red and blue rippled across the biceps of the prince’s right arm just below his shirt’s short sleeve. I thought at first it was a tattoo, but… It moved, curling around his arm, then spiraling down his forearm. When it reached his thick wrist, the dragon tattoo lifted its head off his skin, popping three-dimensional, and looked at me. Its eyes glowed gold, and each red and blue scale shimmered. Its long, reptilian muzzle curled in a smile that looked downright sly. Being my mother’s daughter, I’d seen a lot of weird shit, but the power that blazed off that thing… Cachamwri, I presume?

It laughed silently.

"I assume that's the Dragon's Mark." Dearg was the Heir to Heroes — another of the stories Grandmother had told me. Every king of the Cachamwri Sidhe for thousands of years had been born with that mark. According to legend, when the Mark moved, it meant the god expected something of his Heir. "I didn't know it could turn three dimensional like that. It's got one hell of a lot of juice."

"That's putting it mildly." Dearg looked down, and the dragon’s head twisted to look up at him. He eyed it warily. "Cachamwri uses the Mark as a conduit for his magic when he wants to communicate with me or give me an extra jolt of power." The prince grimaced. "He animates it when he wants to unnerve people. If he really wants to make a point, he can manifest in human form through it."

Now that I hadn't heard. I do not want Cachamwri manifesting in my town. I've got my hands full with the dragon we have. Not that I could stop him. I knew from painful experience it was never a good idea to piss off a god.

***

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I'm also honored to announce that my previous book, Invisible Monsters, also finaled in Passionate Ink's Passionate Plume contest in the Speculative fiction category.