Dani Harper - Storm Warrior

Morgan replaced the umbrella in the lobby, then decided to leave her soggy shoes by the radiator there. She peeled off her socks and hung them on the radiator as well—they wouldn’t catch fire, would they?—then made her way down the hall barefoot, guided by the strange yellowish glow of the emergency lights. The hotel had a quaint cooler that offered slices of pie and cake, squares of cheese, and biscuits. Luckily, there was a pint of milk left, and she dropped the last of her pocket change into the cigar box next to the cooler. At least her roommate would have her sleep aid. Morgan wondered idly if any of the foods could help her resume dreaming. Cake before bed will give you nightmares , Nainie Jones used to say. Wasn’t there anything that would give you incredibly sexy fantasies? Morgan would like nothing better than to continue the amazing dream she’d been having. Well, one thing could be better—if she really did have a lover she felt so deeply connected with.

At this point, no lover had appeared in her life at all. She had had plenty of dates and boyfriends, but no relationships that were truly serious, nothing that coaxed the embers of her heart into flame—or whatever was supposed to happen. It’s probably my own fault. Morgan had never really looked for love, always supposing that she’d find someone later . Later, after graduation, after college, after she got through her practicum, after she set up her clinic, after she had more time…To be honest, she’d nursed a small hope that she’d meet someone special while she was on vacation. And wasn’t that just narrowing things down for the universe? Don’t bother me with love until three weeks in such and such a year when I’m finally on holiday.

She laughed at herself even as she carefully watched her feet on the stairs—and she didn’t see the monstrous dog sitting above her on the landing until she was nearly eye level with it! She yelped and gripped the railing, nearly losing both the milk and her footing. But in the seconds it took her to recover and look again, the creature had vanished.

“Okay, now this is just crazy.” Morgan looked down the hall. There was no place for such a big animal to hide. The emergency lights were sparse and faint, but she wouldn’t miss seeing a black dog against a yellow wall. “I’m obviously overtired,” she muttered. She’d been thinking way too much about the dog lately—small wonder that she thought she saw him for an instant. The fact that she hadn’t been thinking about the dog at all in the moments before she saw him notwithstanding. It was just a strange night, and she needed to go back to bed.

Gwen was delighted with the milk. Morgan was just grateful that her bare feet and wet clothes wouldn’t be noticed in the dark. She toweled off her hair in the bathroom and hoped her clothes would be dry by morning. Her flannel sleep shirt felt like bliss. The bed did too; although, it had been a whole lot warmer in her dream.

She fell asleep thinking about the sexy stranger, but she dreamed of the dog instead. She was back in America, back in the Spokane Valley. Going about her daily tasks. Working at the clinic, shopping, banking, picking up the mail. And everywhere she went, the enormous black creature was at her side. His broad back was level with her waist, and she could rest her hand there as she walked. She could feel the warmth from the dog, the texture of his fur. More than that, she felt as if he belonged there, had always been there.

When morning came, she was surprised to find that she missed him.

Kindness was in the woman’s voice; concern warmed her pale-blue eyes. For him . Most people in his country either pretended not to see him or made a hasty departure. They knew what he was about, what his dark purpose was, and they feared him.

Not Morgan Edwards. She didn’t seem to be aware of the significance of his presence or perhaps didn’t care. Instead, she had noticed him, watched him, even worried about him. She’d ventured out in a storm to make sure he was all right, not knowing he was unaffected by the rain. Offered him food, not knowing he didn’t eat. And finally, she had invited him inside.

Inside. He’d long forgotten what that was like. To be warm and comfortable, if he was able to feel such things, but also to be welcome. Wanted. Curiosity, in itself a novelty, compelled him to accept the woman’s invitation, if only for a moment. He’d watched her with interest, admired the fearless efficiency in the way she moved. She’d been startled when she came face-to-face with him—but she hadn’t screamed. He’d been startled too. Morgan Edwards was pretty by human standards and almost as finely featured as the fae themselves. Yet, while their hair was fine and icy white, hers was thick and glossy, its waves the color of a newly hulled chestnut. He didn’t breathe, yet her scent had filled his nostrils, crept into his lungs to nestle by his unbeating heart and warm it. It shouldn’t be possible.

He’d vanished then, returned to the elements outside, to the cold and familiar darkness. Yet a faint spark had been fanned to life inside him, some emotion he could not name. Emotion was a stranger, must be a stranger, and yet he felt something. Because of Morgan Edwards.

But the woman was marked, and he must not interfere. He was forbidden to interfere. Destiny ruled over life and death , the Tylwyth Teg had said, before charging him with his terrible task. What destiny has decreed, you will herald. It cannot be altered or defied. Yet, for the first time in centuries, he considered that perhaps the Fair Ones were wrong.

Spokane Valley, Washington, USA

Barely home a week, Morgan found herself on the run from morning to night, and this day was no exception. She’d had four surgeries that morning and several appointments and walk-ins in the afternoon. Most were for dogs and cats, but a snake, a chinchilla, and a tree frog came through the door as well. She’d spent an hour after the clinic closed poring through books and searching the Internet for the nutritional needs of pink-toed tarantulas, thanks to a frantic phone call from twelve-year-old Ryan White about his beloved Ozzie. The pictures creeped her out, but in the end Morgan was able to call Ryan back with some suggestions for Ozzie’s diet.

Exhaustion dragged at her as she switched off the lights. The three animal health techs—Cindy, Melinda, and Russell—were working out wonderfully. As assistants, they had made a huge difference in the last few months, but the clinic was busier than ever. Maybe it was time to bring on a fourth vet. Jay was on call tonight, and Grady was already heading out to a local riding stable for a foaling. Morgan was just grateful it wasn’t her turn as she locked the doors behind her. The clinic was located in an industrial park on the edge of town, and most people had gone home by now. It was blissfully quiet. She paused outside her car door to breathe in the cooling air, rich with the scents of late summer fields—

The attack came out of nowhere. She was grabbed by the shirtfront and pushed backward over the hood of her car. Morgan found herself face-to-face with a rough-looking man with a scraggly goatee. His bloodshot blue eyes were set in a pallid face marked with open sores, and he was holding a knife to her throat.

“I’ll cut you, bitch. Understand? Where’s your fuckin’ purse?”

“In the car. It’s in the car—in the trunk,” she breathed, afraid to move.

“Why the hell’s it in there? You lyin’ to me?”