A couple of days ago, When at War with Witches was released! 🥳 

I have this problem where I write a story, thinking I’m writing a standalone, and then completely messing up by creating a world I don’t want to leave. It happens all the time, and this time, it’s no different. 

I had this idea. I wanted to write evil witches, a story where the MCs came from different sides of a conflict but were forced to work through it. I did that. We have a witch and an alpha werewolf forced into an arranged mating. 

We sprinkle it with cookies, and we have a story, right? (We’re celebrating Lacy Oatmeal Cookie Day.) 

Right! Only…there are so many witches and shifters, and I can’t just leave them, can I? So now I have a problem. When will I find the time to write more stories?? 

If you’re in the mood for an arranged mating, shifters, witches, and cookies, check this out!  

When at War with Witches

Curses, monsters and arranged matings!

Rourke Flint, alpha of the Flint Pack, is sick of being at war with witches, sick of watching his friends die. So sick of it, he’d traded a piece of land for a witch to take as his mate in hopes of building an alliance. But werewolves mate for life, and now he’ll be forever tied to whichever witch they’re handing over. 

Ezra Inaxx Kuxium Enizax is a useless witch and the one the clan decides to sacrifice to the monsters. He’s never met a shifter before, but he’s heard the stories. Deviants. Beasts. Giants. And now he’ll spend the rest of his life with one of them. 

Rourke soon realizes the witches don’t want a treaty, and Ezra was sent to him as an insult. Ezra knows his clan never intended for there to be peace, but Rourke isn’t nearly as cruel as he was led to believe, and wouldn’t peace be a pleasant change? What if he could give Rourke enough information to achieve it?

Buy Links:

Gay Paranormal Romance:  52,872 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Rourke Flint looked at the small blue diamond-shaped pill Ulric, his second in command and best friend, handed him.

“To get you through.” Ulric grimaced.

Fuck. Rourke rubbed the hand not holding the pill over his face. Hell. Shit. Motherfucking witches.

“Yo only have to fuck her once.”

Rourke looked at him. “Yeah, and then never touch another living being ever again.”

Ulric winced. “Sorry.”

He’d most likely have to touch her more than once. Mating bonds were strong, and while they didn’t have to have sex, he’d have to smell her. Hold her.

And witches stank of rot.

Rourke blew out a breath and shook his head. It had to be done. They’d been at war for decades, had emptied all their resources—both monetary and relationship-wise—and now they’d finally managed to push the witches back. Again. They had to ensure peace, had to prevent them from instigating a new reign of terror.

He fucking hated witches. Power-hungry vultures. Never satisfied with what they had.

Shifters bonding with witches was an ancient tradition they’d long ago left behind, but Rourke was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of watching his people die. Tired of investing all their time and means into a war with no end.

They’d won back their territory, which they had many times before, but this time, he’d demanded a mate as a bounty. If he mated one of the witches, it would keep them from attacking. Right? It was how they’d ensured peace in the olden days.

He let out another shaky breath. He wished he could have someone do this in his stead, but it had to be him.

He was the leader. He had to make the sacrifice.

“You only have to get through it once. Fuck her, bite her, and then it’s done. We can lock her up in one of the dungeons, and you can continue with your life as if it never happened.”

Rourke grimaced. It wouldn’t be as if it never had happened. Mates had to be physically close or they’d lose their minds. Or he would. He didn’t know if it affected witches the same way. A mate bond was magically enforced monogamy, a need to keep your other half close, to touch, scent, and protect. He’d never been one to share, but he’d always had a healthy sex drive. Now he suspected he’d be resigned to his right hand for the rest of his, hopefully, long life.

It would be worth it. Had to be worth it.

The one advantage they had over the witches, other than their size and physical strength, was their longevity. Witches had human lifespans, werewolves did not. But by binding himself to a witch, he’d tie her to his life force. She’d live for as long as he did. She’d die when he died.

“You’ve been with a female before, right?” The way Ulric scrunched his face would’ve made him laugh on any other day, now he only nodded. He wasn’t opposed to bedding women, but if he had a choice, which he’d always had up until today, he picked men ninety-five times out of a hundred. Once in a blue moon, he came across a female he wanted to be with, and when it happened, he was. If she was willing.

What kind of woman volunteered to be his till the end of time? Witches were bigots and homophobes, so he was sure it would be a woman. Same-sex couples weren’t allowed in the covens.

What did it say about her wanting to give up her life in the clan and to come and live on pack land? Maybe she wanted a long life. Perhaps it was reward enough.

Whatever her reasons, he had to fuck her. Panic clawed at him. He couldn’t do this. Witches smelled like walking corpses. How would he be able to get it up? He glanced at the pill in his hand again.

Ulric must’ve seen the flare of trepidation because he slid an arm over Rourke’s shoulders. “Hey. It’ll be fine. You asked for a volunteer, and they have one. Whoever she is, she wants this. And who wouldn’t?” He jostled him a little. “You’re a catch, and she gets to move away from all the other witches. It’s a double win for her. You’re the one suffering.”

Sometimes he wondered if Ulric could read his mind.

“Hell, she might know a spell to make you enjoy it.” He grinned in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Right.” Rourke pulled in a deep breath and tucked the blue pill in his pocket. He’d take it later. He refused to meet the witch congregation with a hard-on.

Witches were ugly fuckers. Or maybe they weren’t. They looked human, but they were often small, fine-limbed, and they always had long hair with braids and feathers and shit. Not to mention the zillion piercings and tattoos. Shifters couldn’t have piercings. They ripped when they shifted. Tattoos healed during shifts too.

He believed the tattoos were connected to magic, but he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about the piercings or the stuff they put in their hair either. Maybe they were purely ornamental, maybe they held power somehow. One bonus of having a witch in their home was the knowledge they could gain. He’d be the dominant partner. He could force his mate to submit to him and to answer his questions.

“Ready to go?”

Nope, not ready at all. He sent Ulric a pleading look. He’d never let anyone else see him like this, but Ulric was his oldest friend.

“We’ll get drunk after, okay? As soon as they’re off our land, we’ll drown our sorrows.”

Rourke nodded. He couldn’t reply since there was a lump blocking his throat. Fucking hell.

* * * *

The car lurched to a stop, and the seatbelt cut into Ezra Inaxx Kuxium Enizax’s chest.

“Stop your crying.”

He touched his cheek. He wasn’t crying, was he? He’d learned long ago not to cry. His cheek was dry. He wasn’t crying.

Looking into the front seat, he realized Shixyll—he’d long ago lost the right to call her mom—was glaring at Jiprix. Ezra’s eyebrows moved in surprise as he took in Jiprix’s glassy eyes. He might be the closest thing Ezra had to a friend, but he hadn’t believed he’d ever shed a tear over him. And he hadn’t, they were still pooled in his eyes.

“This way he can be useful.” Shixyll turned her head and glared at Ezra. He didn’t say anything. There was no use. She never allowed him to speak, and he’d been cursed or hit enough times to know it wasn’t worth it to try.

Ezra was a useless witch. He had next to no powers, and he was never allowed to learn anything about their plans or be part of any decisions. They never sent him to battle because he had no combat skills. He couldn’t hurt a fly with his magic—he’d tried. Many, many times.

Jiprix could turn a creature inside out without channeling power from a familiar. He was useful, but Ezra was not.

“We’re still sacrificing one of our own to the beasts.” Whatever had made Jiprix sentimental was gone now. His voice was clipped but firm.

“Spoils of war. They’d have demanded more land if we hadn’t agreed, and losing him doesn’t weaken us. It’s the best use we have of him.”

What would it have been like to have someone in his life who cared for him? What if he’d been hugged instead of shoved away? A caress instead of a slap. He had no illusions being among the monsters would make his life better, the opposite. Witches didn’t have claws or super strength. They weren’t huge, hulking creatures fit for nightmares.

He didn’t know if he’d survive the punishment they’d give him for disobeying or not complying fast enough. He always tried to do what people asked of him, but for some reason, he always failed. He had the scars to prove it. He didn’t think an enraged werewolf would leave scars, they’d simply take his head. And maybe it was for the best.

Maybe his stay with the monsters would be short.

“We’re here.” Shixyll opened the car door without so much as a glance in Ezra’s direction.

Jiprix sighed. “Do what they tell you. It might not be too bad, and… eh… don’t fight him.”

Ice filled Ezra’s veins. Right. Don’t fight. Let the leader degrade and bite him to buy his clan time to gather their forces for a new attack. And should Ezra happen to die during said attack… No one would care.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and opened the door. Forcing Shixyll to come get him would not be good.

His legs shook as he put his feet on the gravelly ground. In front of him was a wall of beasts in giant human shapes. They all looked to be seven feet tall, the few females were a little shorter but not by much.

He’d once heard they were twenty-five members in the pack, about the same size as the clan, but looking at them now, it felt as if they were a hundred and twenty-five.

Ezra only reached to their chests. He allowed his eyes to slide over them, trying to see which one was the leader, but it was hard to tell who was the most powerful. They didn’t have piercings or braids to signal their strength or status. Without thinking he sucked in the ring he had at the center of his lower lip, the one indicating he was of age and his powers were fully manifested. It also told everyone he hardly had any powers since it was the only lip piercing he had.

His gaze landed on a tall man with harsh eyes and a gaunt body. His clothes hung off him, indicating he’d once been much more powerful. One of the prisoners? They had been forced to give up their prisoners. He didn’t know how many there had been, but he’d heard whispers about it when he’d fed the clan.

Ezra didn’t know what new tactic the shifters had used to win back their land plus some additional areas, but whatever they’d done, it had required Shixyll to trade the prisoners. She’d traded them for the additional piece of land and allowed the monsters to keep their original boundary, but they’d somehow also persuaded her to agree to trade him.

Maybe it hadn’t taken much effort on their part. He didn’t think she’d be willing to make any sacrifices to keep him safe.

“Alpha Flint.” Shixyll didn’t bow her head as she addressed the man in front of her. He was massive, but the man next to him was bigger. Ezra’s throat clicked as he tried to swallow despite his mouth having gone dry. How could they be so enormous and still move as fast as they did? He’d never seen one move, but he’d heard the tales.

“Shixyll.” Flint didn’t say anything else, but his gaze flicked first to Jiprix then to Ezra. It was the right order to acknowledge them. Maybe he sensed their power, or maybe he simply looked at their braids and piercings. He’d always been told shifters were stupid, more animal than human, but maybe they understood magic.

“Where is my wife?”

Wife? Ezra’s eyes widened. Oh fuck. No, no, no. Was he expecting a wife? No one had told him. Without thinking he took a small step back.

“We never agreed to give you a wife.” Shixyll grinned evilly, and for a second Ezra shut his eyes. She was openly disrespecting him. It was insulting to give him a worthless witch, but she’d taken it one step further and given him a male. He should’ve realized, but somewhere he’d heard shifters weren’t picky about the gender of their bed partners. It was the one intriguing thing he’d picked up on.

He should’ve known it wasn’t true.

“You promised me a mate.”

“I did, and I’m giving you Ezra.” She yanked at his arm, making him stumble since he hadn’t been prepared.

“A male?” Amber eyes swept over his face but didn’t linger long enough to meet his gaze. Ezra assumed the shifters knew witch clans were run by women. Of course they did. Flint had negotiated with Shixyll after all.

“You don’t care what you stick your dick into, do you?” Shixyll cackled. “Take it or leave it.”

Ezra flinched, and he did nothing to hide his reaction. Shixyll might punish him, but he doubted it would be worse than what Flint would do to him.

Ezra held his breath as he waited for an explosion. Would the war restart right here? Ezra almost expected it to. Maybe it had been Shixyll’s plan all along—bring Ezra here, disrespect Flint so much he had no choice but to retaliate, and then it would start all over again.

Flint snorted. “Right. Let’s get it over with then. Are you waiting here until it’s done?”

Shixyll raised her chin, and her braid cuffs clinked. “Yes. He’s ours if you don’t fulfill the mating, and we’re not leaving here until we have proof.”

Bile rose in Ezra’s throat. She’d wait to see him properly humiliated, to have the entire pack see him debased. His eyes burned.

A large hand curled around his upper arm. “Right, give us ten minutes.”

For a second, Ezra considered fighting. But fighting never helped, so he shut his eyes and allowed Flint to pull him away from the crowd. Perhaps he should be glad he didn’t claim him in front of everyone.

Have you seen that The Panther’s Escape is out?!? 😁 A few days ago, the fifth story in the Within the Walls series, The Panther’s Escape was released, and I’m so excited. The day we’re celebrating is National Snuggle a Chicken Day, because why not?  

Despite being a chicken owner, I have to say I don’t snuggle chickens all that often, but to each their own.   

In this story, we have Namir who is one of the blood slaves who were saved in the first book in the series. He’s keeping to himself and doesn’t want to talk to anyone. One night he finds a chicken in his garden and brings it inside, convinced he can teach it to become housebroken.   

Jinx lives in Oakmouth, a different community from the one in Myrfolk. He has a daughter and he wants out. His daughter is different, and different isn’t accepted in Oakmouth, so he’s hoping for a place in Myrfolk. But one day, the leader of the Oakmouth community kidnaps Jinx’s daughter and says he won’t get her back until he kills Gertrude, the Myrfolk leader.  

Jinx goes to Myrfolk, and there he meets Namir.   

It’s a 58k paranormal romance with chickens, blackmail, and PTSD. As always, I suggest reading these books in order. There is a new couple in every story, but people from previous stories appear and the community is close-knit.   

The Panther’s Escape

Are you willing to commit murder to save your daughter?

Jinx Kilduff is in trouble. Big trouble. The leader of his community wants him to take out Gertrude, the leader of the Myrfolk community. To get Jinx to follow through, he kidnaps Jinx’s daughter. Jinx doesn’t want to kill Gertrude. He’s been trying to get her to take him in so he can escape the life he’s trapped in. Now he’s forced to kill her instead.

Namir Klossner wants to be left alone. He doesn’t want anyone in his space, so no one is more surprised than him when he offers a panther shifter from another community to stay in his guestroom. There is something about him that makes Namir want to keep him close. Mostly it’s because he doesn’t trust him, but he’d be lying if he said that was the only reason.

Jinx will do whatever he has to do to get his daughter back, but maybe there is a way other than to kill Gertrude. And maybe, just maybe, he can stay with Namir. There is nothing Namir hates more than vampires, so when he hears Jinx has a daughter and she is kept prisoner by one, he swears to do everything in his power to get her back … and if he succeeds, maybe Jinx will want to stay with him.

Buy links:

Paranormal gay romance: 58,367 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Namir Klossner was stalking around his garden in the dark. The ground glittered in the cold. They had had a few mild days where the snow had melted, temporarily, and now it was a clear night, and the temperature had dipped well below freezing. The moon hung low in the sky, casting the world in a yellow light.

Everything was quiet.

It was an illusion. Namir was aware of people patrolling the walls not too far away from where he was, but silence had wrapped around the garden, and he was alone. Isolated. Abandoned.

He wanted to be.

He didn’t want anyone in his space. There had been too many people in his life already. They’d never seen him, hadn’t cared about him. All they wanted was his blood and his body.

He’d been sure he’d die a slave—had wanted to die. Death was the quickest way out.

It hadn’t happened.

Gertrude, the supernatural community’s leader, raided The Virgin Drop, the blood bar where he’d been kept. She’d brought him here, inside the walls, together with Rue, Chaton, and Zeeve, three fellow blood slaves. She’d saved them from the vampires, given them a place to live, a roof over their heads, and food on the table.

He didn’t know what to do about it.

Was he supposed to pay her back somehow? He hadn’t wanted to be saved. Now he’d be forced to live with the memories instead of fading away.

He’d been ready to die, had prepared for it, longed for it. She’d ruined his plan, had stolen his escape, and he didn’t know how to be.

Who was he now?

Not the same as before. What if he built a life and everything was taken from him again? He couldn’t live through it one more time, so he kept to himself and waited. Counted the days and looked out of the windows of the house at the people moving around on the street.

There weren’t many people moving around in this part of the community unless it was crate day. Chaton had the house next to his, but he didn’t live there. He and Rue had turned the entire yard, both the back and the front, into a vegetable garden. Nothing grew in January, but twice a week, they handed something out in small wooden crates to every community member.

Namir never went to get his, but either Rue or Chaton would give it to him anyway. He should go, spare them the extra work, but he couldn’t make himself.

The problem was both Chaton and Rue had hooked up with vampires. Namir hadn’t come out of his years at The Virgin Drop the same as before, but he didn’t think he was messed up enough to voluntarily be in the same room as a vampire ever again. Why choose to relive your worst moments in life?

Chaton had stayed with him in this house when they’d first come here, and Namir could’ve handled it better. Part of him was feeling guilty about how he’d acted. If he hadn’t been such a dick to Chaton, he might not have been willing to hook up with a vampire to get away from him.

That was saying something. Move in with a monster to escape Namir. Not his proudest moment, but it was for the best.

He didn’t want anyone in his space, but it wasn’t Chaton’s fault Gertrude had placed them in the same house.

She’d most likely done it to make them feel safe. After having lived in a cage, a house was overwhelming. He hadn’t left his room for months other than to use the bathroom and eat. Though, he hadn’t had much of an appetite.

Then Chaton had moved out, and first, he’d been ecstatic. Or, he hadn’t had any strong feelings, but he’d been relieved, only to then realize how many of his thoughts he could hear in the silence. He could hear his heart beat, hear every breath he took.

He crept low on the ground close to the leafless currant bushes. There was a light on in the neighboring house, in the little boy’s room, he believed. He wasn’t sure if it was the boy’s room, but he’d seen him in the window. A human family.

Gertrude had told him it was a woman and her two children. The father had abused her and maybe the children too. Gertrude wasn’t sure. She had warned him of them coming the day before they’d moved in, but then Gertrude had said it would only be for a month or two. It had been two months now, and they were staying.

Namir hadn’t spoken to them. If he had to have neighbors, he preferred a human woman. She wouldn’t bite him, and he didn’t think she’d assault him. It would be hard for her to do anything to him since physically she was so much weaker than he was, and after having watched her with the kids, he didn’t think she was the kind of person who would try.

You could never be sure, though.

He let out a low growl and pushed his claws into the frozen ground, then a scent caught his attention. It was new. He inhaled and turned in the direction of it. Never had he come across it in his garden.

He sniffed again and stalked toward it. He kept his body close to the ground, his paws touching the surface without making any sounds. Moving past the garden bed where Rue had planted some weird kind of plants last summer, he slipped closer to what he believed were raspberries.

There, tucked in by the shed, was a bird. He moved closer. The ice crystals on the black feathers glimmered in the moonlight and for a moment, Namir’s heart stopped. It had frozen to death. Poor bird, all alone in the world. He nudged it with a paw, then skidded back when it jerked awake and squawked at him.

It tried flapping away but wasn’t successful. Shit. It must be half dead. He shifted into human form and shuddered as the icy air wrapped around his naked skin.

“Come here, birdie.” He tried grabbing it, but it made another sound and rushed straight into the bare raspberry canes only to fall back from the impact. Ouch.

He grabbed it, but it only made it struggle more. “Shh… I’ve got you. Easy now.” He wrapped an arm around it, so it couldn’t use its wings, and hugged it to his chest. “See, it’s not too bad.”

It settled, tilted its head, and blinked its black eyes at him. The head and throat had black and almost orange feathers, the beak was dark, and the rest of the body had black feathers. This couldn’t be a wild bird. He held it away from his body to be able to see better, and it instantly began to flap its wings.

“Easy, easy.” He shivered and brought it closer to his body again. “Let’s go inside.”

It had to be one of Ty’s chickens. He’d never spoken to Ty or Jagger, seen them, but never spoken to them. He’d heard the roosters crow, and Gertrude had told him Ty had chickens. But were there black chickens?

He’d seen white and brown. His grandmother on his father’s side had raised chickens, but he didn’t remember much about it. He’d only been a boy when she’d passed, and leopards didn’t maintain close contact with each other once they were adults, so he hadn’t seen his grandmother many times.

Walking into the kitchen, he put the chicken on the floor and went to get dressed. He wasn’t one to strut around the house naked, and he couldn’t now when someone was watching him. He put on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt in a hideous orange color Gertrude had gotten him.

He didn’t care. She’d bought all his clothes, and he preferred it when she got him something in black or blue, but he hadn’t said anything about it.

Hurrying back into the kitchen, he stared at the bird. It was slowly walking around, its head bobbing with each step as if trying to look around corners.

“Hi there.”

It stared at him, still walking.

“Are you hungry?” Shit, did he have anything he could feed it? He hurried over to the pantry. The shelves gaped mostly empty. Gertrude would be by any day now with a bag of groceries. She’d stopped asking what he wanted since he never gave her any answers and got him the basics. It was okay. Better than okay.

Rolled oats. Normally, he made oatmeal for breakfast since it was quick and easy, and Gertrude kept buying oatmeal. It was cheap, he guessed.

He grabbed a handful and sprinkled a few on the floor by his feet. The chicken instantly dove for them. The beak tapped against the kitchen floor tiles.

“Good?”

It ignored him.

“Are you thirsty?”

He took a step in the direction of the cupboard with the bowls, and the chicken edged away from him, still mostly focused on the oats. Moving in slow motion, he grabbed a small dipping bowl, filled it with water, placed it on the floor near the chicken, and dropped the last of the oats next to it.

Then he walked to the bedroom to get his phone. The bird ignored him when he entered again, so he sat on the floor and Googled. He searched for black chicken and stared at the result. There were some pitch-black chickens, almost blueish black. They didn’t look real. Several of the photos showed black chicken meat and it had him scrunching his nose.

He scrolled farther down the search results only to pause at a photo of a bird looking like his new companion. He clicked it, but when photos of lots of different-colored chickens appeared, he jumped back to the search result. He found one about the same as his bird but was a little too round. Black Cochin. Pretty birds. Maybe. He didn’t know what made a bird pretty, but he liked the fluffiness. It didn’t matter, they didn’t look like his bird.

He found an article with the headline: 15 Black Chicken Breeds and clicked it. Fifteen. Insane. He didn’t know what he’d expected, maybe that there would be fifteen chicken breeds altogether, or five.

Jersey Giant. It wasn’t his bird, but damn. They were huge. Next was something so puffy it couldn’t see properly—Silkies. Luckily, his bird didn’t look like a pom-pom. He might have left it to freeze to death if it had.

“Australorp.” He said it out loud simply to test it out. Nope. It didn’t fit, and it didn’t have the orange feathers his bird had.

“Ameraucana.” He almost dislocated his tongue trying to sort the letters out. But it had a beard, which was cool, and he read their eggs were blue. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t his bird.

Next up was a Minorca which looked… Nah, it had white cheeks and… His bird was way prettier.

Java. Who named a breed Java? He didn’t drink coffee, but was it too late for tea?

Black Copper Marans. Namir stared at the image then at his bird, then at the image again. “Are you one of these?” He turned the phone to show… her? She didn’t care. She was busy tapping Morse code against his tiles.

He studied the photo. Yeah. She was a Black Copper Maran girl. The boys had more orange feathers.

“We need a name. Mara.” He frowned at her. He’d read a book once, many years ago, about creatures who could trap you in a nightmare. They were called Maras. Maybe it was what had happened to him. He was trapped in a nightmare.

“Mara. It’s a good name, right?”

Mara tilted her head at him. Her dark eyes seeing into his soul. Then she pooped on the floor.

“Ugh. You can’t do that.” He got up and grabbed some paper tissues to clean up. “You need to tell me when you need to go, so I can let you out.”

She scratched her claws on the tiles and pecked at something invisible.

Should he leave her in the kitchen for the night? Maybe it was best she came with him to his bed. He didn’t want her to be cold.

* * * *

Jinx Kilduff kicked off his shoes and more or less crawled from the hallway to the ratty couch in the living room. The house was cold, but he didn’t want to turn up the heat due to the costs, and he didn’t have the energy to make a fire.

He’d been to see Gertrude Pechtold again. She was the leader of the community in Myrfolk. He’d reached out to her back in the fall, and offered her, what he believed, a pretty sweet deal, but she’d been hesitant.

It was all a hoax, which might be why. She wasn’t stupid. Or, it wasn’t a hoax, the job was real, but the reason why he’d offered it to the Myrfolk community wasn’t what he’d let on.

Here in the Oakmouth community, they raised beef. They had a deal with a butcher halfway to Myrfolk, and once a week, they went down there to load their trucks with boxes of meat they then delivered to a few different places.

Before, he’d had a group of men from the community doing the driving, but meat kept disappearing. Understandable. Times were hard. The winter was cold, the electricity prices were through the roof, and everyone had to eat.

But he couldn’t allow it.

He could’ve picked a different group to do the delivery. There were plenty of people in Oakmouth willing to work, and Czar, their leader, had left Jinx in charge of the meat production. He didn’t tend to the animals, but he sold the meat, organized everything to do with the butchering, and so on. He decided who got to work, and he’d given the delivery to another community.

People weren’t pleased, and he was starting to worry. He’d believed he’d be out of here by now. He hadn’t told Gertrude he was in a hurry to move, but he was in a hurry to move. He had to get out of Oakmouth, had to before something bad happened. But while Gertrude had said she wasn’t opposed to taking in another person, she hadn’t offered him a place. And she didn’t know the place needed to be for two people. He’d never told her, which might be why she always changed the topic when he hinted at moving to Myrfolk.

They had magic users in Myrfolk. Here they were shifters and vampires, but Jinx knew Gertrude had magic users. He hadn’t met any of them, and he wasn’t sure how many there were. Magic users were rare, but at least one of them was a healer, and he needed a healer. Not for himself, but with every day passing, he grew more and more worried about Ximena.

He had to get her out. Had to get her far away from here before anyone noticed. His biggest fear was that she was latent. Latent cats didn’t live long, and certainly not in Oakmouth.

Jinx hoped it was something curable, but he feared it wasn’t. Her scent was wrong, and while he didn’t believe Czar had noticed yet, Oakmouth wasn’t a community for the weak.

Most shifter children could change shape a couple of months after birth. He hadn’t known Ximena existed until Lorna had dropped her off at the gate in an infant car seat when she’d already been seven months old.

Jinx had looked at the black mop of hair, the round baby face scrunched in sleep, and his heart broke open to make room for her.

His daughter.

He’d never wanted children. This world wasn’t a place for the innocent. How could he willingly create a life when knowing what his child would be forced to endure?

But willingly or not, there she was. A gift. The meaning of his existence. The reason he had to get out.

“Daddy?”

Ximena stood in the doorway, sleep-rumpled and with her pink security blanket hugged to her chest. She was too old to have it, but whenever he’d tried to take it from her, she’d protested, and it was rare she protested anything, so he’d given in. Who would know? It was only a blanket.

“Hi, baby.” He held his arms open for her, too tired to get up. “You should be sleeping.” Arlene had texted him a couple of hours ago to say Ximena had fallen asleep, and she was leaving. She wasn’t the most reliable babysitter, but he didn’t dare ask any of the shifters. They’d notice her scent right away.

“I heard you.”

He hugged her to his chest. She often said she heard him. If she could hear him when she was asleep and he snuck in, she had to have enhanced hearing. He was a cat. He didn’t make any sounds.

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

She didn’t reply, instead, she put all her weight on him and went lax. Jinx smiled and ran a hand over her head, removing a few strands from his face before kissing her scalp. “Did you have a good day with Arlene?”

“No.”

“No? Why?” He tried looking at her, but she had her face buried against his throat.

She didn’t reply. She wasn’t much of a talker. He believed she spoke well for a four-year-old when she spoke. More than well. She knew many words and her sentences were grammatically correct, sometimes more elaborate than an adult’s, but where other children he’d met babbled, she was quiet. He wondered if it had anything to do with her… impairment.

He had to get her out of there. Had to get them both out. Gertrude was his only chance, but he didn’t dare tell her the truth. Myrfolk was different from Oakmouth in more ways than having a healer, but he didn’t think they’d take in a… differently abled child.

He had to get Gertrude to take him in, and then take whatever punishment she meted out when she realized he hadn’t been honest with her. Hopefully, she wouldn’t punish Ximena.