Eve Langlais ~ New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of romance, fantasy and more.
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Fairytale Bureau Collection (Books 1 – 3)

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Book Cover: Fairytale Bureau Collection (Books 1 - 3)
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Part of the Fairytale Bureau series:
  • Hood’s Caper
  • Cinder’s Trial
  • Belle’s Quest
  • Fairytale Bureau Collection (Books 1 – 3)

In a world where fairytales keep coming to life, there’s a bureau dedicated to helping the victims caught up in the Grimm Effect. But sometimes even those investigators fall prey to a happily ever after… 

Enjoy this collection of three books featuring previously released stories: 
  • Hood’s Caper ~ Blanche Hood managed to evade the Red-Cap curse as a teen when she didn’t fall for the huntsman or get eaten by the wolf. But looks like the curse is revving up for another try, and this time it’s out for blood. Her blood. Can she track down the serial killer wolf before it’s too late for love?
  • Cinder’s Trial ~ Cinder thought she’d beaten the Grimm Effect when she ditched the old man who kept chasing her at the ball. However, decades later, her fairy godmother pops back in for round two. No thanks. Cinder intends to marry for love and not because of a curse, but avoiding the marriage trap isn’t easy when she’s forced to act as liaison for a European prince. A good thing she’s got a Grimm Knight to keep her distracted.
  • Belle’s Quest ~ Belle is determined to be the one who ends the Grimm Effect but in a hairy twist, the evil magic fights back and turns her into the beast. Should she admit defeat and take up residence in a dreary castle where she can roar at trespassers, or see if she can end the curse by giving true love a try?
Dive into these lighthearted romances with faiytale twists that will keep you reading past your bedtime.
Published: 2025-02-20
Genres:
anthology/boxset/collection, curse romance, dark humor, magic and sorcery, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, royalty romance, Shapeshifter Romance, Supernatural Mystery, twisted fairytale, werewolf romance
Tags:
english
If you like Fairytale Bureau Collection (Books 1 - 3), you might be interested in:
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Earth’s Magic : Collection Two (Books 4- 6)

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Book Cover: Earth's Magic : Collection Two (Books 4- 6)
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Part of the Earth's Magic series:
  • Earth’s Magic : Collection One (Books 1-3)
  • Earth’s Magic : Collection Two (Books 4- 6)
  • Earth’s Daughter
  • Earth’s Lair
  • Earth’s Elf
  • Earth’s Paladin
  • Earth’s Secret
  • Earth’s Triangle

A dryad on a mission, a witch with a secret, and two hounds ready to howl for love, So much to love in this paranormal romance bundle.

The Earth’s Magic Collection Two contains previously released titles:

• Earth’s Paladin ~ The world might not be ready for Mother Earth’s slightly murderous champion. Too bad, because she’s about to fertilize gardens the old-fashioned way; with the blood of her enemies. Will love temper her need for vengeance?
• Earth’s Secret ~ This Cryptid Authority agent—and witch—has been tasked with investigating a string of arsons. To her surprise, she uncovers a link to her past and now must scramble to survive with the help of her famous—and handsome—partner.
• Earth’s Triangle  ~ These hounds have orders from their goddess to protect a human. Not the most exciting job until they meet her face to face. Adeline’s charm gets their hearts and back paws thumping, but there is a problem: Why are zombies attracted to her?

Lighthearted, paranormal fun in a world where anything can happen, and love always prevails.
Published: 2024-10-31
Genres:
anthology/boxset/collection, curse romance, dark humor, dryad romance, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, Menage/Polyamory, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, second chance romance, Shapeshifter Romance, Supernatural Mystery, werewolf romance, Witch Romance
Tags:
english
If you like Earth's Magic : Collection Two (Books 4- 6), you might be interested in:
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Belle’s Quest

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Book Cover: Belle's Quest
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Part of the Fairytale Bureau series:
  • Hood’s Caper
  • Cinder’s Trial
  • Belle’s Quest
  • Fairytale Bureau Collection (Books 1 – 3)

My life has taken a hairy twist.

I’ve studied the Grimm Effect and am prepared to be the one who finally breaks it. The others who came before me failed, but I have an advantage they didn’t. I escaped my unhappily-ever-after.

The one thing I don’t have? Jet-setting money. Good thing a prince I saved while working at the Fairytale Bureau has deep pockets. He’s offered to help me end the jinxing once and for all.

What I didn’t count on was the curse fighting back.

In an annoying twist, I am now the beast. From dusk ‘til dawn, I’m a hairy monster, and do you know what tames me when I’m tempted to eat annoying people? A certain sarcastic prince.

However, I don’t have time for romance because I’m on a quest to save myself, and the world. A quest being thwarted at every turn by the evil magic that keeps spreading.

Will I find the answer before everyone in the world is merely a character in a story?

Admit defeat and take up residence in a dreary castle where I can roar at trespassers?

Or should I take a page from a book and give true love a try?

Full List of Stores

Published: 2024-11-07
Genres:
curse romance, Fantasy Romance, magic and sorcery, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, Shapeshifter Romance, twisted fairytale
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

***MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS. Avoid if you haven't read the previous book.

Chapter 1

My first time meeting a prince didn’t go so well. I’d been sent to the airport to escort the royal flying in from Corsica, an independent island off the coast of France. I, and a team of Grimm Knights—AKA super agents for the Fairytale Bureau who brought the swords and guns to the fight against curses—waited in the baggage claim area since even our badges couldn’t get us past the security checkpoint. Blame the recent fiasco caused by a witch who was peeved an airplane cut off her broom’s flight path. She went on a rampage in the airport terminal, turning people into toads.

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Since then, security had tightened, hence why we waited for the prince, much to the Knights’ annoyance since they took their new mission of protection seriously. I didn’t really worry because I knew the prince was arriving with his own set of bodyguards. As for His Royal Highness, I didn’t know much about him other than his name, not having had time to peruse the file sent to me by my boss, Hilda. The blame for my lack of preparation rested squarely on the three little pigs who’d run me ragged the night before. I’d been tracking them to try to offer protection from the big, bad wolf determined to eat them. Given how they kept slipping away, I had to wonder if perhaps they might be better off taking care of themselves.

The night before my trek to the airport I’d been hot on their curly tails when they entered the downtown Night Market. I lost track of them in the crush of bodies gathered in front of a temporary stage where some woman in a golden cage sang for a rapt audience.

You’d think three pigs would be easy to spot with their pink skin and tubby bodies. Wrong. The slippery jerks went scooting between people’s legs, and let’s just say, when I tried to follow, there was much objection. Still, I tried to find them, and when they eluded me once again, I took my disappointment out on some pulled pork.

Savage? Yup. I was okay with it. My patience only went so far, and in my defense, the pork melted in my mouth and made my tastebuds sing.

Anyhow, after that failure, rather than lose more sleep reading a boring file, I slept in as late as I dared before heading to the airport to greet His Majesty. While the Knights watched the perimeter around the baggage claim area, I yawned. Apparently, the prince, despite having access to a private jet, chose to fly commercial. Lovely. One of those out-of-touch entitled pricks who liked to think he was a man of the people.

According to the arrivals board, the plane had landed without mishap and people were clearing customs. As passengers began to exit the glass doors, stiff-legged and weary-looking from the long flight, I kept an eye out for a dude with an armed escort.

Ping.

My phone chirped, and I glanced to see a message from Hilda.

Prince’s bodyguards being detained by security for bringing weapons through customs. I’m on the phone yelling at them right now.

I’ll bet she was. Hilda didn’t have patience for incompetence and someone too big for their britches deciding to cause a diplomatic incident would be enough to push her over the edge.

As the people emerging tapered and the luggage came down to just a few pieces, which were expensive looking and emblazoned with the Corsican royal emblem, a scruffy dude appeared and sauntered over to the conveyer.

I frowned but didn’t start moving until the guy reached down to grab one of the royal suitcases. Holy brazen, stealing right in front of me.

I didn’t stop to think or even warn. I went into action mode, sprinting the few yards separating us and tackling the guy as he gripped the handle of the luggage.

Thump. We hit the floor hard. Well, he did. I landed on top, snarling, “I don’t think so.”

The pretty man with shaggy blond hair and brilliant eyes blinked at me. “Um, hello.”

“Don’t hello me, thief,” I snarled.

His lips curved. “I assure you, I wasn’t stealing.”

“I highly doubt that suitcase belongs to you,” my riposte as a Knight finally arrived to render me aid.

Hannah, a tall svelte woman with her hair drawn back in a fat braid, hissed, “Belle, what the fuck are you doing tackling the prince?”

The prince?

My turn to blink. “This is Prince Killian?” Excuse my incredulity. The guy I had pinned to the floor wore a very worn pair of jeans with holes and a T-shirt washed so many times the image on the front had faded.

He had the nerve to grin. “That would be me. And you are?”

“Feeling pretty dumb,” I grumbled before adding. “I’m Agent Boucher.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Agent Boucher.”

“I doubt that,” I muttered as I rose from the prince, who kept an amused expression.

Hannah hauled the man to his feet and apologized, of sorts. “Excuse my colleague, Your Highness. She obviously didn’t have enough coffee this morning.”

“No harm done,” the prince magnanimously stated.

“Why are you walking around without your security detail?” I couldn’t help a suspicious note. The prince supposedly needed protection, having left Corsica with two bodyguards and been assigned Knights while he visited, and yet here he was, wandering around all la-de-da.

The prince jerked a thumb at the glass doors. “They’re still working on reclaiming the weapons the customs people confiscated.”

“And you didn’t wait for them?”

He shrugged. “I was hungry.”

My lips pursed. “They’re for your protection.”

“So my mother claims.” He grimaced. “I find them rather intrusive, especially since no one wants to kill me.”

“You’re an unmarried prince. You’re always in danger.” In this world, post-Grimm Effect, eligible royals were few. The fairytale curses being reenacted ensured they either got married, were transformed into a frog, or worse.

“I would give away my rank if I could. Alas, I am my mother’s only heir, and so I must suffer the hordes of women who want to become my wife.”

“How horrifying,” I drawled.

“It is,” he agreed. “Do you know how hard it is to weed those with genuine interest from those magically convinced they love me?”

“Poor prince,” I taunted. It appeared I couldn’t stop myself from being sassy. What could I say? Something about him set me off. It might have been his good looks, his cool, slightly amused composure, or the fact I’d fucked up by laying hands on the person I was supposed to watch out for. Hilda would be pissed, meaning I’d most likely be assigned something worse than chasing pigs.

“Your Highness, we have a vehicle waiting to take you to your hotel,” Hannah stated. “And I was told to inform you that the preparations for the ball are well in hand.”

“Ball?” I snickered. “Going to find yourself a Cinderella?” My mouth ran faster than my brain.

The remark pursed his lips. “I should hope not. I have no interest in marrying someone who thinks losing a shoe makes her the perfect wife. The ball was my mother’s idea, seeing as how I’ll be celebrating my fortieth birthday while conducting business.”

Forty and single? Impressive. Most princes barely made it out of their teens before they were locked down.

“Here come your guards,” Hannah announced as two scowling and burly fellows exited, with the bearded one barking. “Your Highness. You were told to wait with us.”

“I’m fine.” The prince waved a hand. “My backup security detail has already tackled the job.”

Was that a dig?

“Shall we go?” Hannah led the way to the vehicles parked outside, but I didn’t ride with the prince. I had my own car here, and as I followed, my phone rang.

Uh-oh, Hilda.

I answered with a cheery, “Hey, boss.”

“Don’t you hey me. Did you seriously rough up the prince?”

“Hardly roughed up.”

“You had him pinned to the floor,” her dry reply.

“In my defense, he looked like a vagrant.”

“How could you not recognize him? His picture was in the file,” she screeched.

“I didn’t have time to read it over.”

The growling went on for a few seconds before Hilda snapped, “I didn’t need this today. I’m already short-staffed as it is, and now, I need to assign someone else to the prince.”

“Why? Did he complain?” Pussy, couldn’t handle a strong woman and a few bruises.

“No, he didn’t, but for the sake of diplomatic relations, I think it’s best someone else act as liaison.”

“If you insist.” I didn’t really care. Babysitting a grown-ass man sounded boring. “What do you want me doing instead?”

“You can find those darned pigs,” she commanded before hanging up.

Oh, I’d find them all right, and if they caused any trouble, they’d be bacon.

Chapter 2

After much chasing, and a slog through some mud, I did in fact catch the pigs the day after the incident with the prince.

Despite their squealing, oinking, and farting—oh my god, the farting—I got them to understand I was trying to protect them. Once I promised the pigs all the scraps they could eat, they accompanied me to the Fairytale Bureau where someone would place them in protective custody. As for the wolf… we currently had a Knight hunting him down.

Since I wore a layer of mud head to toe, I chose to head out, but I hadn’t quite escaped the building when the prince entered with his entourage.

He looked the same as before, albeit wearing a different shirt. Still very handsome while I looked like I’d crawled from the sewer. I tried to avoid his eye and keep my head turned as I passed, but he recognized me.

“Agent Boucher. How nice to see you again.” Damn him for sounding so cheerful.

I slewed a dark gaze his way and couldn’t help saying, “I take it your tushy wasn’t bruised from our meeting yesterday.”

He smiled wide enough to show perfect pearly whites. “Not one bit. Would you like to take a peek to be sure?”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I muttered.

“Guess that means no kisses for my boo-boo.”

I arched a brow. “I wouldn’t advise it, as I’ve been known to bite.”

A deep belly laugh emerged from him, kind of contagious. Had to admire a man who could dish it and take it. “I was dismayed to hear you wouldn’t be acting as my liaison,” he stated. “And here I thought we’d gotten off to a smashing start.”

“Why, Your Highness, your file didn’t mention your penchant for masochism.”

Once more he chuckled. “Then they must have omitted quite a bit, seeing as how I am always getting into scrapes, much to my mother’s chagrin.”

“How cute you admit to being a mama’s boy. Most men have cut the apron strings by your age.”

Rather than take offense, he quipped, “What can I say? A bond between mother and son is precious.”

Did nothing get under this man’s skin? And why was I so determined to rattle him?

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you. I’m sure you have important princely things to do.”

“If by important you mean avoiding the Cinderellas clustering outside my hotel.” He finally showed a hint of a frown.

“Poor little prince has a fan club,” I cooed. “Count yourself lucky. My suitors usually have fangs.” With that remark, I left. Let him wonder what I meant. I wasn’t about to explain that it happened quite literally and I couldn’t date because of it.

See, as a young girl, my father inadvertently caused me to be cursed. He travelled quite a bit as a renowned antiquarian, which, for the people about to hunt up a dictionary, was a person who studied really old books. He had access to collections few could imagine. One in particular, owned by a reclusive gent, included a first edition of Alice in Wonderland. A favorite story of mine, although it should be noted, as a teenager, I preferred the movie, not the literary version. But my dad, in his excitement, borrowed it to show me. Just one night, but its disappearance was noticed.

The owner of said book had a beastly fit. To prevent being charged with theft, my father agreed to have me live with the gent as a companion.

Not a sex slave for the pervs who assumed wrong. My task was to read to the owner of the library. Julio, a man in his late twenties, had, almost a decade before, refused to offer succor to an old woman for a night. That old woman turned out to be a witch, and she cursed Julio. He became a beast who roared and snapped and growled, unless someone read to him.

Surprisingly enough, living with Julio didn’t prove to be too bad. I lived in a mansion with servants to cater to my needs. I ate very well. Had fine clothes. Even tutors to ensure I graduated high school with honors.

The problem arose when I turned eighteen and Julio asked me to cure his curse. By this point, I’d already become familiar with the Beauty and the Beast storyline, which was one of the few fairytales not from the original Brothers Grimm books. It didn’t start appearing until a decade after the other curses started.

Knowing the story, I had to tell poor Julio, whom I’d grown fond of, that, alas, I didn’t love him. I mean, the guy was more than a decade older than me, and quite honestly, while nice to me, he could be an ass to others.

He didn’t take the rejection well and chose to advise me that his curse didn’t require an emotional connection but a physical one with a virgin. I won’t horrify with details except to say he attempted to take me by force, while in beast form, and failed.

The heavy book I smashed him with left him stunned long enough for me to flee. When he chased me down the street, running on four paws and roaring, a car running a red light took him out. I’d have felt sadder if it hadn’t freed me from the deal he’d made with my father.

Given I’d escaped my curse, albeit under troubling circumstances, the academy that trained the Fairytale Bureau agents recruited me. I’d managed to evade the curse without side effects and was considered one of the lucky ones. Debatable, seeing as how I remained a technical virgin in my thirties because every time I got romantically involved with someone, they turned into a beast.

Every. Single. Time.

It got so that I didn’t even bother going on dates anymore. How could I when I knew what would happen? We’d get to know one another. Things would progress to where he’d lean in for a kiss, and wham. Fur, fangs, and growling.

Since love appeared out of reach, I turned to work and books—to my father’s delight until he passed a few years ago. I lived vicariously through the romances of others. Read of adventures that took heroines to faraway places in search of treasures and cures to curses. Wished I could be like them.

Alas, I didn’t have the resources to go galivanting on quests. Heck, I barely made enough to pay the mortgage and support my book addiction.

As I arrived home, mud flaking from me with every step, I eyed the run-down house I’d purchased for a song. Triple murders had a way of devaluing property. Worked for me. I needed a place with lots of rooms for my books. I entered to their musty scent. Old and new, they lined the walls from the moment you walked in. The bookcases, which I built out of simple pine that I stained, held them neatly lined in rows. Alphabetical by author. Some of them quite rare. All of them read. I didn’t hoard books just to own them. I devoured each and every page.

Tonight, though, rather than bury myself in the pages of the newest murder mystery I’d bought, I headed for the turret chamber, a rounded room on the corner of the house that had the least number of books because the walls that didn’t have windows held maps instead. A chart of the world with pins that I’d been using to mark where the first instance of each Grimm Effect story reenactment began. I’d color-coded them to differentiate the newer cases from the older, green being the oldest confirmed cases. To my surprise, once I started digging, the green pins clustered only in England. Also interesting, that British Isle had the most confirmed cases. It hadn’t started appearing in North America until a decade later. Europe happened sooner, seeing their first cursed story was within three years of the earliest cases documented.

You must be wondering why I researched this particular fact. Simple, really. I wanted to put an end to the curses. I wouldn’t be the first to try, though.

Over the decades since the stories came to life, others had studied the Grimm Effect. Each and every one had been taken out by the curse they sought to eradicate.

Professor Simms wrote papers on the Grimm Effect, hypothesizing that pollution had led to magical side effects. He died when attacked by a flock of swans.

There was an investigative news reporter, Ella something or other. She’d done several pieces outlining the Grimm Effect and how people could protect themselves. She’d been about to depart on a trip to look for the curse origin when got pushed off a rooftop terrace by a murder of crows.

There’d been other incidences of people showing too much curiosity. It led to most being leery of investigating the Grimm Effect.

Not me. I had nothing to lose. Since I couldn’t bring myself to have sex with a beast, my lonely existence stretched before me. I had to do something if I didn’t want to be alone forever. Yes, I had friends. Yes, I enjoyed my job and I loved my books, but there were times at night, alone in bed, when I really wished I had someone by my side. Someone to hold me. Someone to hug me. Someone to give me an orgasm that wasn’t finger or battery-induced.

Blame my horny desire for human touch for my driving determination to solve the Grimm Effect mystery.

Soon, I’d be heading over the big pond to visit a small town where the first case was supposedly reported. I’d been saving up, but not easily. Books tempted me around every corner.

I stood in front of the map and tapped my bottom lip. It had been interesting to note that the first curses definitely originated from the Brothers Grimm stories. Then, about a decade later, we’d begun to see new stories, as well as adaptations of the current reenactments. Then things were steady for a while, for lack of a better term, until recently. Of late, we’d been seeing more fairytales and even nursery rhymes coming to life. The Grimm Effect had expanded. But why, and how did it choose its stories?

I found it odd that it stuck to fairytales for the most part. Why not horror novels or even epic fantasy? Not to say I wanted IT by Stephen King to become reality or for the Lord of the Rings to turn part of the planet into Mordor. But it seemed strange to me the choice of stories being reenacted over and over around the world. More worrisome, we’d been seeing the curses get darker. More violent.

For example, recently, my friend Blanche Hood, caught up in the Little Red Cap story, had been targeted by a serial killer who left a trail of bodies before trying to murder her. One of the most horrifying cases I’d seen, and it turned out the huntsman was the culprit and not the wolf. We’d seen the rats eat the pied piper. People hunting and roasting the swan princes. The level of violence related to the stories had been rising. It made me wonder just how bad things would get if something wasn’t done.

Would I find the answers in England? Maybe. Maybe not. But I would try.

I popped out after a shower to grab some food. A guy leered at me on my way into the sandwich shop, and on the way out, the same fellow started sprouting fur and growling, “Pretty lady want to fuck?”

“No thanks.”

When the furry beast ignored my no, he got a taser to the nuts. It dropped him like a rock and left the man, in shreds of his clothes, whimpering on the ground. Maybe that painful jolt would be enough to keep him from transforming again.

I headed home, ate my sandwich, read a book, and, oddly enough, thought about Prince Killian when I went to bed. It might have been fun working with him. But, no, instead, Cinder got roped into acting as liaison, which surprised. As a Cinderella, she was the one person who should have been kept far away.

I spent the next few days dealing with a variety of oddities such as the bridge that suddenly fell down. Talked to witnesses who claimed they’d seen cows jumping over the moon and that their dishes and spoons were missing. The hospital dealt with a rash of burned bottoms as a bunch of boys chose to jump over candlesticks. Then there was the woman’s body found stuffed inside an oversized pumpkin shell. We had a warrant out for her husband Peter’s arrest.

The whole world was going mad, and it never became more evident than at the prince’s ball, which Hilda declared mandatory for all agents.

Or, as she said at the briefing, “It’s going to be a fucking madhouse. We’ve got hundreds of Cinderella potentials, one prince who doesn’t want to get married, and confirmation that rejection sometimes leads to storyline divergence.” Which was when a grimpher—the name for someone caught in a curse—had their story shift from one angle to another.

All agents had to attend wearing appropriate attire for a ball. In my case, a dress. Ugh. I dug one out of my closest after I moved a stack of books. Unlike Cinder, I didn’t have any mice to do my hair or a fairy godmother to glam me up. Good. I wasn’t looking to draw attention. Hopefully, I could tuck myself into a corner and read, a hope dashed as I got a taste of the chaos unfolding outside the hotel.

Hilda hadn’t exaggerated about the crowd. I couldn’t get through at the front of the hotel because of the mob of wannabe princesses wearing massive ballgowns. Cinderella fever had gripped hundreds of women who all clamored to be Prince Killian’s wife. I mean the guy was cute and nice, but still, who wanted to marry a stranger?

Once I got inside the hotel, via a tunnel that went from the hotel’s laundry into the hotel itself, I found said prince looking ill at ease in a uniform. White with gold braid, very formal and royal looking, if you liked that type. He had my good friend Cinder by his side, who appeared nervous and kept glancing at Levi, the head Knight who stood at the back of the dais set up for the occasion. The other Knights glowered around the ballroom, while the agents from the bureau chatted amongst themselves.

Me, I went looking for a quiet corner to read before the madness started. I’d no sooner cracked my book than the air went electric and, poof, a woman stood before me, looking every inch the Good Witch Glinda. Wait, wrong story. This had to be the fairy godmother.

“Wrong woman,” I stated, only briefly sparing her a glance. “The Cinderellas you’re looking for are outside.”

“I’m aware. I’m here for you.”

That caught my attention. “Why?”

“Because you are not dressed for the occasion. We can’t have that,” the fairy godmother sang.

“I’m fine.” My simple cocktail dress had served me well for a decade now. No point in wasting money on a new one when I hated formal events.

“An important day like today one needs to look her best,” she declared.

“First off, not my important day. Secondly, no thanks. I think I already look pretty good.”

“Not for what’s going to happen.”

I closed my book and stood to say, “What exactly is going to happen?”

“A wedding,” she exclaimed.

“So the prince chooses a bride. Whoopee.” What did I care? And why did I clutch my book so hard my nails dug into the cover?

“Oh, he’s not going to choose so much as need an escape. When the time comes, you’ll have to give him a sign.”

I frowned. “What are you yapping about? What sign?”

“You’ll know what to do,” she sang. “Together you’ll make things right. At least for tonight. And then, you have to come find me.”

“Find you where?”

“You already know, and we are running out of time. The ball is about to begin!” She flourished her wand and kazaam! To my disgust, I went from wearing a classic little black dress to a gown of shimmering gold. Tight in the waist, too low cut for my taste, with a skirt that swirled around my ankles. And hold a second… A hand to my upswept hair indicated I had roses for a crown.

Ugh. So girly, but I couldn’t do a thing about it. The fairy godmother poofed out of sight as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving me uncomfortable and wondering what the heck she meant with her strange comments.

Given her claim of the ball starting soon, I headed back to the main room, where everyone remained on high alert. The prince appeared as if he wanted to flee. Not far from the prince, Cinder glowed, pretty as a princess. She also kept eyeing Levi, making me wonder if the rumors of them being a couple were true.

A rumor confirmed a short time later when the Cinderellas mobbed the ballroom and my friend, rather than marry the prince to stop the madness, proposed to Levi and married him on the spot. Good for her. Or so I thought until the bachelorettes in attendance began clamoring for the prince to choose a bride. Poor sap.

For some reason, I inched closer to the horrified prince and whispered, “You look like you want to run away.”

He muttered, “I’d love to, but I don’t think I’m going to be allowed to escape without saying I do to a stranger.”

“There’s always divorce,” I replied.

“Indeed,” his lackluster reply.

In that moment, a light bulb went off and I remembered Godmother’s cryptic message. Surely, she’d not meant for me to marry the prince?

As the Knights ringed us and pushed us back, I lost my grip on my book. It fell, and before I could retrieve it, the prince went on bended knee to reach for it.

I looked at it and then the prince, who had the oddest expression on his face. Wait, was the curse making me into his Cinderella? It would solve his current problem. As for me, this might be my only chance to ever have a fiancé.

“Pick it up,” I whispered.

“But—”

“Do you want to marry one of those women?”

He shook his head.

“Then pick it up and pretend so we can get out of here.”

The prince offered me a smile of relief and handed over my book saying, “I think this is yours.”

“Thank you, dear prince.” I pasted the fakest smile on my lips as I replied.

“It is I who must thank you.” Killian rose, and I noticed how much taller than me he loomed. He grabbed my hands in his and, in a loud voice that carried, stated, “It would appear I was mistaken in my affection, confused because of how often you were in close proximity, but you, and only you, dear and fair Belle, are my one true love.”

“Oh, Killian.” To my credit, I didn’t laugh as I simpered and batted my lashes.

There was some screaming by disappointed wannabes and then dead silence. Had it worked? Would they believe I was his true love and leave the prince alone?

“If she’s really your Cinderella, then marry her, now!”

My eyes widened at the shout, and Killian stiffened.

To his credit, he tried to divert the shrill demand. “We can’t have two marriages in one day.”

The crowd didn’t agree.

“Marry him. Marry him.” A chant that grew in volume as the women who’d been jilted insisted on him going through with the farce.

The poor guy looked torn. He’d looked especially torn if the mob turned violent.

What could it hurt? People divorced all the time.

I lifted my chin. “Very well. You want to see me marry the prince, then so be it. If the lady who married Cinder and her Knight would do us the honor?”

The ceremony didn’t take long, and I couldn’t have said what happened given my state of shock.

In no time at all, I was married to the prince. But the most surprising thing of all?

The jolt of electricity when we kissed.

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Cinder’s Trial

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Book Cover: Cinder's Trial
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Part of the Fairytale Bureau series:
  • Hood’s Caper
  • Cinder’s Trial
  • Belle’s Quest
  • Fairytale Bureau Collection (Books 1 – 3)

This Cinderella is determined to smash the fairy-archy.

Silly me, I thought I’d beaten the Grimm Effect when I ditched the old man who wouldn’t stop chasing me at the ball. However, here I am, decades later, with my fairy godmother popping back in for round two.

No thanks. I intend to marry for love and not because of a curse.

Avoiding the marriage trap might be easier if I wasn’t roped into acting as a liaison for a certain European prince. A good thing he’s at least charming compared to his assigned protective Grimm Knight.

The upcoming ball for the prince’s birthday is turning into a chaotic mess, with hundreds of Cinderellas showing up determined to lose their shoe. While I’m busy trying to screen them before they come near His Royal Highness, I’m being plagued by oddities, some of which are threatening my life.

As the curse does its best to force me into playing my role, I am equally determined to fight it. The question is, will my refusal to conform ruin my chance at happiness?

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Published: 2024-09-04
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
curse romance, magic and sorcery, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, royalty romance, Supernatural Mystery, twisted fairytale
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

Many years before the events in Hood’s Caper…

 

The invitation for the masquerade ball took me by surprise. I’d not expected anything when I filled out the form for the contest being run by our local rock station, but the golden ticket, hand-delivered to me at work, indicated I’d won.

What would I wear? I couldn’t exactly afford anything chic on my minimum wage salary. My tiny attic apartment cost me most of my paycheck. A good thing my work let me eat leftovers for free or I’d be starving.

Luckily, I enjoyed thrifting. The vintage store a few blocks from my place had a lovely gown in a light rose hue marked down due to a tear and a stain. With a little help from the attic spiders, who were wizzes with thread, and the mice who’d taken up residence under my bed, we turned the shabby gown into something presentable.

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Dare I say I even looked like a princess? So long as no one glanced under the hem to see my battered ballerina flats.

Since I couldn’t get the day off work—and I still needed to pay rent—I brought my dress with me and hung it in the employee break room. It led to questions and criticism from my coworkers.

“How did you get an invite?”

“I can’t believe they’re going to let you in.”’

“It’s probably because she slept with someone.”

I ignored them all. I’d spent a good portion of my childhood listening to the taunts of my stepmom and stepsisters. I lived by the mantra that being pushed in front of cars and shoved down stairs would break my bones but words couldn’t hurt me.

You know what did hurt? The jealousy someone exhibited at the end of my shift, which turned out to be a half-hour longer than everyone else since I got assigned kitchen cleanup when we closed at nine, an hour after the ball started. I didn’t let it bother me because, after all, didn’t everyone say it was good to be fashionably late?

I finished putting away all the dishes and scrubbed the stovetops before heading to the break room to change. At least I wouldn’t have to wait for a taxi. The hotel with the massive ballroom would only be a ten-minute walk.

Only it turned out I wouldn’t be going to the ball after all.

I stared in shock at my dress, ripped from the hanger and tossed to the floor, trampled and torn. The maliciousness shouldn’t have stunned me, and yet I found myself silently sobbing, fat tears rolling down my cheeks.

So much for having something nice for once.

As I lifted the rag from the floor and balled it up for the garbage, the air suddenly felt strange. Charged even, kind of like that weird sensation you got before a storm.

Poof.

I blinked my eyes, and yet the woman with gray hair in the bouffant dress remained floating a few inches above the floor.

“Hello, Cinderella. I am your fairy godmother, here to ensure you go to the ball,” a claim punctuated by the twirl of a wand, which emitted light sparks.

My mouth rounded. “A what?” Given my mom insisted on naming me Cinderella, I’d read the story that pertained to my name. However, I didn’t recall ever hearing about any fairy godmothers. In the original Grimm books, the woodland creatures helped Cinderella. “The original Grimm Story of The Little Ash Girl didn’t have a fairy godmother,” I objected. “In that tale, the tree planted by the heroine’s mother’s grave was the one granting wishes.” A tree I didn’t have since my mom was buried in a graveyard that only allowed grass.

“Because your curse is one of the few that includes some aspects from modern adaptations,” Godmother softly chided. “Now, just accept that I’m your fairy godmother, here to make your wishes come true.”

“How?”

“Magic, of course. Now we don’t have much time. Put on your dress.”

“But it’s ruined.” I pointed out the obvious.

“Not for long. Hip, hop. The clock is ticking.”

Despite living in a world where fairytales could come true, I remained skeptical as I put on the rag I’d worked so hard on.

“Shoes, too,” she insisted.

I slid the scuffed slippers onto my feet.

“Excellent! Now hold still while I do my thing.” The Godmother waved her wand and sang, the words not any I understood but the effect proved astonishing. My ruined gown transformed, pink and poufy but also shimmering with gold to match the shoes on my feet.

The magic also coiled my hair into ringlets atop my head, and a glance in the mirror showed a light layer of makeup to accent my eyes and lips. The crowning touch, the intricate gold mask that covered half my face.

“Oh my,” I exclaimed, stunned by the transformation.

“Perfect,” declared Godmother. “Now you just need to get to the ball so you can enchant your prince.”

Her use of “enchant” bothered. I’d seen pictures of the prince hosting, and he was old. So very old. I had no interest in catching his eye. I just wanted to dance and see all the beautiful gowns and tuxedos.

“Thank you so much,” I gushed.

“You’re welcome, dear girl. Off you go.” Before I could say another word, Godmother waved her wand, and poof, I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside the grand hotel.

My entrance didn’t go unnoticed. People murmured, and even the musicians playing paused, most likely because an old man with much gold braid and medals tottered for me.

“Ah, at last, a beauty worthy of a prince.” Prince Henrick leered at me with his yellowed and gray teeth, the wrinkles on his face too numerous to count.

I could think of no polite way to refuse his demand we dance.

So I danced with the prince. Over and over. He seemed undaunted by the fact I kept moving his hands from my buttocks. Made no attempt to hide the fact he stared at my cleavage.

The evening I’d so looked forward to turned out to be not as wonderful as expected. Knowing the story, or should I say curse, I wasn’t surprised the prince proposed to me as the hour approached midnight.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” I stated, tugging my hand from his clammy grip.

“We will marry, and you will bear little princes,” he cackled.

Inwardly I shivered with revulsion, and when he leaned in to try and kiss me, I turned and fled. I ran out of the hotel and onto the sidewalk, clutching my bouffant skirt. As I fled, my heel got caught in a grate, but hearing shouts behind me, I left the shoe behind.

Once I kicked off the remaining transformed slipper, I put some distance between me and those pursuing. I sprinted all the way home and thought myself safe.

Only the prince wouldn’t accept my rejection.

A search began for the mysterious woman he’d fallen in love with.

Me.

He put out a call to all the ladies who’d attended to present themselves, stating that whoever fit into the shoe I’d left behind would become his bride.

I didn’t make an appearance at the public spectacle that had dozens of women, many who’d never even gone to the ball, trying on the golden shoe. To my relief, someone managed to wedge her foot into that golden slipper—“someone” being Marilyn, a coworker who’d never been nice to me and deserved the gropy old prince as far as I was concerned.

That should have been the end of it, only my fairy godmother had the nerve to visit me a few days later wearing a frown.

“Cinderella, what’s this I hear about you rejecting the prince?”

I arched a brow. “Can you blame me? He’s old enough to be my great-grandfather.”

My observation pursed Godmother’s lips. “The Grimm Effect doesn’t take age into account when pairing people.”

“Well, it should, or maybe it should let people fall in love on their own,” I huffed.

“Be that as it may, you appear safe from Prince Henrick. However, I’m afraid something must still be done with you.”

I frowned. “Meaning what?”

“My failure to give you a happily ever has agitated the curse, and it’s pressuring me to do something about you.”

My eyes widened. “Wait, are you here to kill me?”

Godmother’s eyes widened. “Goodness, no, dear girl. However, you and I won’t be done until I make your heart sing. Alas, I’m not aware of any eligible princes. Henrick was the only current, unmarried one. There is presently a worldwide shortage of eligible royalty.”

“I’d rather not be forced into marriage to a stranger.” I spoke the truth.

“Perhaps we can circumvent that aspect of your curse. After all, more than one thing can make you happy. Any suggestions, dear girl?”

I hesitated before saying, “I would have liked to expand my education after high school. I just can’t afford it.”

The suggestion pursed Godmother’s lips. “Generating money is the one thing I can’t do. Make carriages from pumpkins and other melons, yes. Transform rags into dresses, also doable, but cash…” She shook her head.

My shoulders slumped. I should have known better than to get my hopes up. Since when did good things happen to me? Look at how the ball turned out.

A snap of fingers drew my gaze to Godmother, who beamed. “I think I have just the thing for you. Tell me, have you heard about the new Fairytale Bureau?”

While it had been established only a few years before, I did know of it. They were supposed to help people caught up in the Grimm Effect.

“I’m familiar with them. Why?”

“What if I could get you into their academy?”

“I can’t afford it.” Like any other college, the tuition didn’t come cheap.

“It wouldn’t cost you a thing, and if you pass, it’s a guaranteed job that will pay much better than what you’re doing now.”

An education and a career? “In that case, yes, please.”

And so with a little magical help, I became a Fairytale agent, foiled the curse that wanted to marry me to a prince, and, years later, finally met the man who made my heart pitter-patter.

What a shame I also disliked him.

Chapter 1

I sang as I worked in my kitchen, prepping some veggies for the salads I’d take in my lunches. Chicken grilled in a pan with butter and garlic gave me some protein, and fruit I’d already cubed and put into containers, a sweet finish. My little helpers scurried about giving me a paw, the troupe of mice—who’d been my constant companions since my teens—chirping in harmony with my song.

Some might question my allowing rodents to touch my food. To them I said nothing. I wasn’t the confrontational type. Let them have their opinion. My mice were family and no dirtier than anyone else. Possibly even cleaner than some people I’d met in my life.

A peek at the window showed more of my friends, the robins, hoping for some treats. I threw up the sash, the screen in it long gone, and dumped a handful of seed in front of them and got some happy chirps in reply.

Those familiar with the Cinderella curse would understand my affinity for animals and the fact they were drawn to me. Always had been, even before my unfortunate encounter with the prince. When I jilted the old royal, I’d worried I’d lose my woodland friends. However, despite beating my curse, my gift and friends remained.

Once I finished my meals for the week and stowed them in the fridge, I pulled out some cheese, already cut into chunks, and the mice cheered—which for the curious emerged as a higher-pitched chirp.

As I fed them and thanked them by name—Rosy, Dora, Lester, Orville, Petunia, and Fred—the air got a strange electric feeling.

Then poof!

A woman of mature years, her silver hair bound in a bun, her face aged and yet smooth, appeared in my kitchen, wearing a billowy gown and holding a wand.

My fairy godmother, whom I’d not seen since I beat my curse.

“Oh no, not you again.” Not exactly polite, but I couldn’t stop the complaint from slipping out.

“It has been a while,” Godmother agreed.

“Not long enough,” I muttered. I’d matured since then from a young girl of eighteen to one in her thirties.

My expression must have shown my displeasure, because Godmother huffed, “Most people would be happy to have a fairy godmother whose task is to make your wishes come true.”

At her claim, I frowned and shook my head. “I already got my wish. I graduated from the Fairytale Academy with honors and have a great job with the bureau.”

“But you’re still single.”

“I’m aware, but that doesn’t mean I want or need a prince.” Give me a normal man, one not bound to me by a curse.

To my surprise, Godmother smiled. “In that case, I’ve come to the right place.”

“Excuse me?” I blinked at her odd reply.

“I want someone who is willing to reject the prince.”

“I’m confused.”

“I realize this might sound strange, but I’m here to help you escape your curse, permanently. But it won’t be easy. The Grimm Effect has been more virulent of late.”

“I’m aware.” The escalation began a few months ago and I’d been one of the first to notice at the bureau—AKA the Fairytale Bureau, in charge of minimizing difficulties that arose as the Grimm Effect forced people to follow its stories. Many of those who’d managed to evade their Grimm curse had been finding themselves entangled in a new version, one darker than before—darker being kinder than saying bloody. A desperate edge had begun appearing as people, in the throes of magical compulsion, went to greater, more violent extremes to satisfy the terms of their curse.

Take my friend and colleague, Blanche Hood. She’d been embroiled in a serial murder mystery that resulted in her having to kill the huntsman, and now she lived happily with the wolf.

“It would seem the Grimm Effect isn’t done with you,” Godmother announced.

I shook my head. “But I’m not interested in completing my story. Hence you’re wasting your time. Surely there’s some other Ash Girl who’d welcome your aid?”

“Not any like you. And trust me, I’m not happy about my role. Like many people in this world, I am bound by the Grimm Effect and forced to do its bidding.” Godmother’s lips turned down.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.”

Godmother nodded. “There was a time when I thought by complying with the stories, I could perhaps put an end to it. Alas, the magic powering the Grimm Effect has only gotten stronger. But there is good news. Some of the tales have been eradicated and those caught in them freed.”

“Eradicated how?” I asked with a frown.

“I’m not sure. At first, I thought it a fluke, that the magic petered out for those particular tales. However, it appears that some have managed to counter their misfortune to the point it cancels the story entirely. For example, we recently had a Red Cap who somehow managed to wipe out that storyline entirely.”

“So it’s true,” I murmured. “I’d noticed that the current Red Cap cases had pretty much vanished but thought perhaps we’d just not been very good at detecting new ones.”

“It and a few others are no longer of concern, but of more importance, it means the Grimm Effect can be beaten!” Godmother’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Which is great, but you said you don’t know how.”

Her lips turned down. “I wish I had a simple answer. I can only assume that those involved in those particular cases did something so completely out of the norm that the magic couldn’t handle it.”

“I rejected the prince, but that didn’t stop the Cinderella curse,” I pointed out.

“Because that’s obviously not the key to ceasing that particular tale.”

“Any suggestions?” Because I really didn’t want to have to fend off princes the rest of my life, which technically should be easy as long as I didn’t attend any balls.

“I don’t have any ideas, yet, but given the magic sent me here to force you back into that particular storyline, I’m thinking we have a chance to figure it out.”

I arched a brow. “We?”

“I’d like to help you.”

“Help me how, exactly?”

“That’s the problem. No idea. I’m afraid we’ll have to wing it, dear girl. But maybe together we can find a way to beat your curse.”

“I don’t know what you think you can do. I’m not even sure why you’re here. I haven’t been invited to any balls, and I’m not aware of any visiting princes.”

Knock. Knock.

I swiveled to eye my door, mostly because people rarely knocked. My apartment, a massive, converted attic in a triplex, had too many stairs for most to brave.

The mice chittered, and my pet iguana, Izzy, padded to the door and stuck his tongue under the bottom edge before making a noise. Those who didn’t have my gift would have heard a hiss. Me, I understood I had a delivery person waiting outside. Odd since I’d not ordered anything.

“Are you going to answer?” Godmother asked.

A part of me didn’t want to. I feared what lay on the other side. Unlike Belle, another friend and colleague, and Blanche, I lacked courage. I avoided conflict. Often said yes to things I didn’t want to just to appear agreeable.

Hence why I opened the door to see a man in uniform, not the kind used by the postal service or even any of the package delivery companies. The man at my door wore navy blue trimmed in silver with black knee-high boots and crisp, white gloves.

“Miss Cinderella Jones?” he queried.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

He held out a large envelope of white, embossed in silver and sealed in dark blue wax.

My stomach plummeted.

“This is for you.” He held it out, and I didn’t grab it.

“What is it? Who’s it from?” I asked instead.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Killian the First, is formally inviting you to his fortieth birthday ball.”

“No thank you.” I politely refused.

“I’m sorry, miss. I think you misunderstand. This invitation is an honor.”

“No, I understand perfectly and am simply not interested. Have a nice day.” I shut the door and leaned against it as if the courier would force his way in and make me take the invitation.

He didn’t. Instead, he slid it under my door so it could mock me.

My fairy godmother remained in my kitchen, sitting on a stool, feeding cheese to the mice, who didn’t care it came from a stranger.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked.

“No, because I’m not going.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m not,” I insisted.

“You know the curse won’t let you off that easily.”

Maybe not, but it was worth a try.

Chapter 2

Despite having the mice dispose of the invitation, it reappeared the following morning, sitting on my kitchen counter, mocking me.

Still no.

I didn’t know who this Prince Killian was, but he’d have to settle for a different Cinderella. A thought that reminded me of what happened the last time I’d rejected a prince. Old Henrick and my bitchy ex-co-worker Marilyn married, but she didn’t live happily ever after. From what I’d gleaned from the news reports, Henrick discovered her lie and murdered her by stabbing her with the heel of the shoe.

A horrifying thing to happen and I’d spent years riddled with guilt over it. It took Belle repeatedly telling me, “Play stupid games, win a fatal prize,” to help me overcome my sense of responsibility. It wasn’t my fault Marilyn lied, thus leading to her demise. Still… I felt bad.

I plucked the invitation—while wearing gloves to avoid skin contact—and took it to my kitchen sink, where I shoved it down the garburator hole and flipped the switch, grinding it to a pulp. Then I left for work.

Upon entering the bureau, I greeted the very pregnant Luanne, who was due to birth her yet another son any day now. Poor woman. While actually in love with her husband, they were under The Twelve Brothers curse. Meaning, if Luanne had the prerequisite dozen boys, followed by a girl child, all her sons would die. The plan was to get her tubes tied before she reached that number. She insisted she’d stop at ten to be safe, but I had my doubts. Luanne loved having babies.

Personally, the idea of birthing that many children horrified. I wanted one, maybe two max, if I ever met the right person—which, as the years passed, got less and less likely. It wasn’t that I was picky, but I attracted the wrong sort. Men who leered and thought me a pushover. Males who wanted to treat me as a fragile damsel, good for looking pretty and keeping house. None recognized that, despite my affable nature, I did have a strong sense of worth and was intelligent enough to know what I wanted.

I wanted love, true love, and respect. Apparently, too much to ask for.

Upon arriving at my desk, I noticed the invitation to the ball sitting atop my keyboard.

My lips pinched. Bloody magic trying to force me to its will.

Too bad. I still wasn’t opening it. By lifting my keyboard, I dumped it into the waste bin beside my desk. With it out of the way, I went to work. The Grimm Effect had been in overtime of late, as we’d been seeing a surge in cases.

Pigs, swans, rats, and a bevy of creatures had been spotted in our city causing trouble. We had some Rumpelstiltskin wannabes making bargains for babies. Rapunzels looking for princes. Fiddlers fiddling and sly foxes scheming. We’d even had to ban apples since they kept putting people into magical comas.

In the early years, it used to be that only the original Grimm stories and some adaptations were re-enacted. But no one could deny anymore that the repertoire of curses had expanded to include more stories.

So many stories that at times I wondered why we even bothered.

My gaze went to the corner of the envelope peeking from my trash bin. Given most of the field agents were currently handling cases, and I had no new data to work with yet, I found myself doing a search on Prince Killian. Ruler of Corsica, a small European island that separated from France in the early 1900s, he was the only heir to his mother’s throne.

To my surprise, the image on file showed he wasn’t hideous. On the contrary, his golden hair went nicely with his olive skin tone and brilliant green eyes. A fit prince, he played polo, swam, jogged. Or at least the paparazzi had posted pics of him doing those various physical activities. They also had him in uniform, inspecting his army.

Someone snuck up on me to remark, “Oh good, you’re already studying Prince Killian.”

Surprise had me whipping around in my seat to exclaim, “I wasn’t studying him.”

“You should be since he’s your next assignment,” Hilda, my boss, stated in that no-nonsense tone she liked to use with her staff.

“Excuse me?”

“Prince Killian is arriving today and will be conducting some meetings with government officials to hammer out some treaties between our countries. As well, he will be the guest of honor at a ball being thrown for his fortieth birthday at the Classica Hotel. To ensure his protection while on U.S. soil, we’ve deployed the Grimm Knights.”

“Alright.” I nodded. The Grimm Knights were Grimphers—people caught by the Grimm curse—who’d been turned into heroes and now thrived on saving the world while working for the bureau. “Do you need me to do some reconnaissance?”

“No. I’m assigning you to act as the liaison between the prince and the bureau.”

“You can’t be serious,” I huffed. “He’s a bachelor royal.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you aware I’ve gotten a very insistent invitation to his ball?” I pointed to the garbage can, where the edge of the envelope peeked.

“Well, of course you are invited. How else would you be able to assist him?”

“Assist him doing what?” I squeaked.

“Making sure none of the attending Cinderellas snares him in a trap,” Hilda explained with a slight roll of her eyes.

“Wait, he doesn’t want to get married?” That would be a first. Most princes loved the adulation and attention of prospective brides.

Hilda smiled. “Like a certain employee of mine, he’s determined to escape the curse. However, that won’t be easy. For one, the ball was his mother’s idea. Apparently, she wants some heirs.”

“Wait, she wants him to follow the story?” How appalling. You’d think his own mother would want him to choose the woman he’d spend his life with.

“Oh yes, Queen Melania is quite determined to see him wed. And she might get her wish. According to the most recent reports, the number of Cinderellas suddenly showing up in our city has been increasing daily. The curse is transforming them left and right. The office that handles legal name changes can’t keep up.”

I blinked. “Exactly how many Cinderellas are we talking about?”

“At last count, the curse has invited one hundred and thirty-six.”

My jaw dropped. “That many? That’s insane. There aren’t even that many bachelor princes in the world.” Princes didn’t stay single for long these days, given they were in short supply.

“Hence why the prince requested aid.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Exactly how do you expect me to somehow keep more than a hundred hopeful ladies from trying to trap him?”

“Not easily, which is why the Grimm Knights will be assisting.”

“And will they be killing the Cinderellas that get too frisky?” The Knights had a reputation, especially their oversized, dour leader, Levi.

“Their orders are to detain and-or remove problematic hopefuls.”

I waved a hand. “Why is the ball being held here? Shouldn’t this prince be celebrating his birthday at home?”

“Unfortunately, given the time-sensitive nature of some of the goods the treaties will be covering, it had to be now. And, as mentioned, his mother saw an opportunity she didn’t want to miss.”

“Fine. However, can’t someone else act as liaison? You know the curse has been reactivating toward people who’d already evaded it, and apparently, I might be next.” I pointed to the trash bin. “I’ve gotten rid of that invite several times already, but it keeps popping back up.”

Hilda glanced briefly at the bin before looking back at me with a regretful expression. “About the whole reactivation thing, there’ve been a few video meetings with the higher-ups in the bureau about that matter. The consensus by some of the scientists studying it is that those experiencing a resurgence didn’t actually beat their curse so much as cause it to go dormant until the right situation presented itself.”

“Doesn’t that make it even more risky to use me as his liaison? I don’t want to have to reject him like I did Prince Henrick.” Who ended up in front of a firing squad because, despite being a prince, murdering one’s wife and throwing her corpse from a parapet remained illegal.

“You needn’t worry about Prince Killian. Like you, he’s very determined to not succumb to the Grimm Effect trap.”

My lips pursed. “Thought by many a person who fell victim. I really would prefer it if you sent Belle or Blanche. Even better, what about Rory and Tom?” As straight men, they wouldn’t be tempted by the male prince.

“Rory and Tom are dealing with a family of bears squatting in the west end. Blanche is a touch too abrasive for someone this important. As for Belle, she met the prince when he got off the plane, and let’s just say, it didn’t go well.” Hilda’s lips pursed.

“What did she do?”

“Mistook him for a thief when he grabbed his suitcase from the luggage carousel. She tackled him to the ground.”

“She arrested the prince?” I couldn’t help an incredulous note.

“In her defense, he didn’t look very royal in his jeans and rockband T-shirt.”

I almost grinned at the thought of the prince being taken down by Belle. “I’m surprised she got close enough, given he’s being protected by the Knights.”

“The Knights didn’t expect a threat from Belle. Luckily, the incident amused the prince. However, I still thought it best to reassign her.”

I sighed. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Then, because maybe it would help, I murmured, “My fairy godmother visited me last night.”

Hilda’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”

“Exactly. So you can see why I might be leery about accepting this task.”

“Or you could look at this as a chance to put your story to bed for another decade or two.”

My boss wouldn’t be swayed, and as she left me to stare at my screen, I wondered what I could do to ensure this prince never looked at me twice.

Maybe if I didn’t shower and showed up sweaty? A little too gross.

I could dress in ugly, shapeless clothes and find something atrocious to wear for the ball. I would make sure I didn’t wear slippers but tightly laced boots. I’d refuse to dance with him. I’d use my words and say no.

“Excuse me, are you Agent Jones?” a deep voice asked.

I said, “Yes,” before I turned around to see the very pretty prince standing by my desk.

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Hood’s Caper

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Book Cover: Hood's Caper
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Part of the Fairytale Bureau series:
  • Hood’s Caper
  • Cinder’s Trial
  • Belle’s Quest
  • Fairytale Bureau Collection (Books 1 – 3)

In a world where fairytales keep coming to life, there’s a bureau dedicated to helping the victims caught up in the Grimm Effect. But sometimes even those investigators fall prey to a happily ever after…

The big, bad wolf is about to go down.

Through sheer determination—and a whole lot of stubbornness—I, Blanche Hood, managed to evade the Red-Cap curse. Unlike my mom, I didn’t fall for the huntsman or get eaten by the wolf, but I did gain a purpose. I became an agent for the Fairytale Bureau. My job? Countering the ugly side of the Grimm Effect.

My latest case involves a string of murders by a wolf, but I keep getting distracted by my neighbor. I will resist his growly voice. I will not notice the way his muscles bulge. I don’t have time for romance because I need to focus on my job, especially since the perpetrator is taunting me.

The killer is asking for a showdown, and he’s going to get it. He won’t be able to resist when I don my red hood to act as bait.

Things don’t quite go as planned. Turns out the wolf was under my nose this entire time.

By the time I discover the truth, it’s too late. Too late to lament the fact I was played. Too late to regret what could have been, and when I foolishly walk into a trap, it will take a miracle to save me. But everyone knows the Brothers Grimm stories don’t always have happily-ever-afters.

If only love truly could break the curse.

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Published: 2024-07-04
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
curse romance, forbidden love, magic and sorcery, Paranormal Romance, Shapeshifter Romance, Supernatural Mystery, twisted fairytale, werewolf romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Chapter 1

The frog spat water, a big squirt that hit my leather jacket and dripped harmlessly but still annoyed.

I gritted my teeth. “Look here, you little green puke, you cannot stay in this fountain.”

Croak. The frog disagreed.

“We’ve had too many complaints.” Like, literally a dozen this morning alone about this amphibious jerk harassing all the women walking by, flicking his tongue at them, getting between their feet to peek up their skirts.

Ribbit.

“I don’t care if you’re cursed. You cannot try and tongue kiss everyone to try to reverse it. Besides, it won’t work.” Despite decades of living with the Grimm Effect, some folks still hadn’t read the original stories, which were more horror than fairytale. “Come here, right this instant.” I used my sternest voice and pointed to the fountain ledge.

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Rather than obey, the frog chose to leap away from me—sproing, sproing—right in front of a car.

Apparently, he’d not played Frogger before his transformation because he didn’t manage to avoid the sedan speeding past.

Splat.

The frog got flattened—literally squished into a puddle of green goo—which then expanded and expanded until a man lay naked on the pavement groaning, “Argh, I think I’m broken.”

I headed for him and planted my hands on my hips as I huffed, “Next time, read a damned book. The frog wasn’t cured by a kiss but by the princess getting peeved and tossing his ass against a wall.”

“I need a doctor,” he complained.

“And pants.” Transformation spells were the worst when broken, as the person returned disoriented and naked. I put a call in to dispatch. “Frog problem resolved but the Grimpher”—the name given to a person caught up in the Grimm Effect—"requires medical assistance.”

“On it,” stated Darren, our guy manning the office phone line.

“What’s going to happen to me?” whined the guy lying on the pavement.

“Nothing. Lucky for you, while annoying, you didn’t harm anyone during the course of the curse, and now that it’s broken, you can go back to your life. That is, once you get those bones set and do some rehab.”

“But what about my princess? I was supposed to get a princess.” He had the nerve to pout.

“Only the prince gets a princess in the book. And you, sir, are no prince.”

With that, I left. Another mission accomplished. Although I would admit to being miffed that I didn’t get to smack the frog myself. He’d tried to lick me on the lips with that nasty tongue of his when I’d first arrived. Almost lost it in the process. More annoying, this was the third frog I’d dealt with in the last month. I really hoped a true frog prince would find his damned princess and put that particular fairytale curse to bed, because that really was the only way to stop the cycle for a bit. See, since the Grimm Effect—also known as Fairytale Apocalypse and the Grimm Fuckeroo—through some kind of magic scientists couldn’t explain, fairytales had been infecting people. One day, a girl walks to the store, dangling her basket, and the next thing, she’s being stalked by a wolf and would have gotten eaten but for the handsome huntsman. Ask me how I know. It happened to my mother, and what do you know, the Little Red Cap curse was genetic. It passed down to me.

In high school, Dylan, a guy with wolfish intent, tried to corner me on my way home. A well-meaning kid named Nolan tried to step in and be my hero. Did I mention Nolan liked to hunt and wear plaid? Spotting the curse from a mile away, I kneed Dylan in the balls, broke his nose, and told him if he ever came near me again, I’d skin him for his fur. Then I told Nolan to take a hike. This Red Riding Hood didn’t need a hero.

Breaking the fairytale mold, that was me, hence why the Fairytale Bureau hired me as part of their investigation and prevention unit. Those of us who bucked the trend made the best agents because we weren’t afraid to stop a story dead in its tracks.

The bureau had a prime spot downtown, and I parked my motorcycle right in front on the sidewalk because a sign said no parking or stopping on the street. Would I get a ticket? Most likely not. Peter, the parking bylaw officer for this sector, had a crush on me. Contrary to what the boss said, I could play nice if necessary. I’d been known to smile for the guy at the sandwich shop so he’d load my sub with more meat.

I swung off my steel steed and removed my helmet, shaking out flame-red hair. All natural to my annoyance. Don’t get me wrong. The color suited me, and I did love its vibrancy, but I hated how people acted when they saw it. Because they A) asked me if it came from a bottle, B) accused me of lying when I said it didn’t, and C) snickered and said I must have a temper. I did and usually showed it at that point.

My briefcase, which the bureau insisted agents carry around, took only a second to unstrap from the rear fender. As to what it contained… A few items that could come in handy when in the field, such as a jar for capturing evil spirits—don’t ask me how it worked. They just gave it to me with instructions to unscrew the lid in the presence of ghostly entities, of which I’d thankfully not yet met any. It also held a vial of holy water, which honestly didn’t work on much, but it made some people feel better. There was a mirror for deflecting spells and evil stares. A silver dagger for stabbing things trying to kill me. Gold coins for bribing. Gems for the same reason—the irony being, in the post-Grimm-Effect world, those things lost all value except as bargains with monsters and tricksters. Oh, and my favorite to soothe savage beasts, the miniature harp I could play a single song on. “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” At least I didn’t have to sing, or I’d have been mauled for sure. My voice tended toward the huskier side. Blame the cigarettes I occasionally smoked, mostly to drive my mom wild.

With my briefcase case swinging from my hand, I strode inside the bureau, whistling. The boss wouldn’t be too pissed with me this time. The frog would survive despite his injuries, I’d broken the spell, and, best of all, hadn’t destroyed any public property.

Yet.

The day wasn’t done.

As I walked in, Luanne glanced at me from behind the reception desk. “Hey, Hood.”

They didn’t call me that because I wore a stupid red cape—I didn’t own a cloak, or anything red for that matter. However, I had the misfortune of being named Blanche Hood, courtesy of my granddad, Marcus Hood, an actual woodsman before the curse made it a thing.

“What’s new and exciting?” I asked, pausing to chat.

Luanne was one of the few in our office who’d not defeated her curse. She’d been caught, but in a good, not bad way. She was currently married and popping out kids. A lot of kids, thanks to her fairytale, which was based on “The Twelve Brothers.” For the moment, she’d birthed seven boys, and the plan was she’d get her tubes tied before she hit twelve, because the thirteenth child, if a girl, would result in the death of her sons. Did I mention the fact Grimm stories tended to be dark and very murderous?

Luanne leaned forward with an excited gleam in her eyes. “What’s new? I’m surprised you didn’t hear. We have a serial killer on the loose.”

“Really? Since when?”

“Since this morning. Someone discovered a bunch of bodies in an old shack in the woods. Word is they were torn to pieces by a wild animal.”

My brows raised. “Sounds like it might be a case for the bureau.”

“Most likely,” Luanne agreed. “I heard from Sally upstairs that Hilda was on the phone with the police chief.”

“Then I guess I’d better get up there if I want to get assigned to the case.” Unlike some, I didn’t shirk jobs. I found satisfaction in solving cases and breaking curses. Not to mention, a serial killer sounded way more interesting than smashing another frog or cutting yet another wannabe-Rapunzel’s hair. Funny how a simple snip was all it took to break that curse, which had the unfortunate side effect of turning the women into agoraphobics. The way they carried on after their trim, you’d think I cut off a limb. Apparently I’d ruined their chance at true love. Never mind the fact that, again, the world did not have enough princes for all these hopeful damsels. I never understood how some wanted the torture of being stuck inside, waiting to see if they’d be lucky enough to snare one of the rare royals caught in the same cursed storyline.

The Rapunzel one rarely ended well. Even decades later a fairytale that needed royalty wouldn’t settle for a commoner. Although that might change. Rumor had it a few monarchies were offering to knight and give titles to those willing to pay big bucks. Would the curse recognize that they’d been anointed and not born? Guess we’d find out.

“If you find out any juicy details, do spill,” Luanne said as I went on my way.

I ignored the elevator for the stairs. I didn’t trust the box strung on the cable. It would be too easy for a fairytale curse to decide I needed rescuing. No thanks.

I took the steps two at a time and arrived on the third floor, only slightly huffing. Who needed a gym membership when I got all the exercise I needed for free? First floor held interview rooms, as well as a staging area for larger operations. Second floor was where we kept those who had to be detained, as well as our lockup for magical artifacts until they could be neutralized. Third floor held the main office, which bustled as agents—who happened to be Grimphers who’d beaten their curse—worked at various tasks.

You had Sally, who monitored for budding curses by watching social media for keywords. Tyrone, who kept track of former freed Grimphers to make sure they didn’t fall right back into another story. Belle, Mahoney, and Judd were field agents like me, while Cinder in the corner handled any of the legal stuff that cropped up, like a homeowner trying to sue when I accidentally blew a hole in her roof getting rid of the goblins infesting her place.

At the far end of the chaos, the director’s office. As I strode for it, Belle hissed, “I wouldn’t go in there.” Belle, like me, had also managed to foil the curse afflicting her. In her case, the beast proved unredeemable, and when she kept rejecting him, he tried to break into her house, which didn’t end well for him. The case was a slam-dunk self-defense one, and she could now live without fear of getting stuck with a monster.

“I am totally going in because I hear there’s a juicy crime scene that needs someone from our office.”

“You might want to skip this one because, from the sounds of it, it might be a wolf,” she divulged.

My brow arched. “Which is exactly my specialty.” I’d spent my life studying them, even wrote my college thesis on wolves, so who better than me?

“I just don’t know if you should be getting near any wolves.”

I snorted. “I already told my wolf and the huntsman to take a hike.” Despite Nolan being cute and well-meaning, I knew better than to sleep with him and give the curse anything to work with.

“You say that, and yet rumor has it the Grimm Effect is possibly evolving and is now trying to trick people who’ve managed to escape into a second shot.”

I uttered a disparaging noise. “It can try all it wants. Not only will I send any wolf packing but anyone wearing plaid too.” My dating profile on the app Not Looking for a Happily Ever After specifically stated no one in the forestry or wildlife industry. I wasn’t about to end up suddenly bound in a magical curse that would fool me into thinking I was happy. I’d seen the results. Girls who’d been kissed awake out of a coma regretting the stranger they’d hooked up with, or the Snow Whites, pregnant and abandoned because they tended to be seduced by guys who liked the idea of a virgin in need of saving. So many didn’t understand that, after the curse ran its course, the happily ever after part rarely lasted. On the contrary, I’d found most Grimm-induced relationships finished in violence, much like the original tales.

Was that to say everyone ended up miserable? No. I mean Luanne adored her husband. And my cousin beat the evil-stepmother curse and chose to love her stepkids rather than having them abandoned in the woods. But my mom… She’d let herself be seduced by the huntsman when he rescued her from the wolf, but he was a cad who left her pregnant and alone.

Now don’t think I didn’t believe in love, because I did. My grandmother loved my granddad, and he was pretty awesome until a tree fell on him in the woods. And before you ask, if a tree falls on you in a forest, you do scream, but even if heard, it doesn’t help when your whole body is crushed.

Belle sighed. “I’m glad you’re so confidant. I swear I’ve been on tenterhooks this past month waiting for a beast to appear.”

I frowned. “You think your curse is active again?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t shake a feeling something’s about to happen.”

“You should try a distraction. You want first crack at this serial killer case?”

“No thanks.” Belle grimaced.

Surprising since Belle had been bitching about the fact she kept getting the most boring cases. Like her most recent one where she helped a Grimpher spin gold so she wouldn’t have to give away her baby to a guy named Rupert Stilt. His real name. I checked.

“You sure? Because if you need this case, it’s yours.”

“No way. I’ve got my vacation coming up.”

“Ah yes, camping in the woods.” I made a face. “Doesn’t sound relaxing to me.”

“I enjoy getting close to nature.”

“Better you than me.” And I meant it. My idea of relaxing had a pack of smokes, bottle of tequila, some good tunes, and a video game where I got to blow up zombies.

“Hood! My office. Now,” Hilda bellowed, and I grinned.

“Looks like I am up. Sweet.”

Despite what Belle cautioned, I was afraid of neither wolf nor curse. I’d beaten it once, and if it decided to come after me for round two, I’d shelve it again.

Chapter 2

The briefing with Hilda didn’t take long. She didn’t yet have a file for me to read because the case was too fresh. What I received was an order to get my ass down to Regent Park and join the police as they catalogued the site where they’d found a bunch of bodies.

When I’d asked, “Any suspects?” Hilda’s lips pinched. “Looks like an animal did it. Possibly a wolf. Is that a problem?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good because I need my best on the job. I’ll expect a report before morning. You’ll ignore your other pending cases until this one is handled.”

Awesome news, seeing as how the cold cases I had would have kept me chained to my desk, calling up people and asking the same questions over and over. Boring!

Upon leaving the bureau, I hopped on my steel steed and scooted off, making good time. Regent Park proved easy to find with its armada of police cars and flashing lights. I wondered how many victims we were talking to elicit such a response. I showed my badge to the rookie manning the do-not-cross tape.

The rookie pointed. “The crime scene is in the midst of the woods, about a hundred yards that way.”

I eyed the forest, thick and dense, an almost exact clone of the original Black Forest in Germany. Very old according to the people who studied it, which proved interesting, seeing as it had only been established a decade ago when the new suburb went in. But the Grimm Effect didn’t care about things like natural growth. Whatever powered the curses created what it needed.

Some people had theorized that something must have been unearthed for this to have happened. That we’d unleashed some evil upon the world. I agreed. What no one knew was how to find it and make it stop. Hell, it took more than two decades of chaos before the bureau was even established to try to keep the stories and their ill effects in check.

I hiked into the forest, the outside noise quickly muffled as soon as I’d made it a few paces past the edge. The size of the trees proved impressive, the boles too wide to hug, covered in a gray-green moss. The branches were gnarled like some of the trunks.

Little light filtered through, just enough for me to see. The path taken by the cops proved easy to follow, given the trampled foliage and a dropped evidence bag, but it was the smell of puke that let me know I neared the crime scene.

I emerged into a clearing that should have been sunny given the blue skies outside the forest, but somehow thick clouds hovered overhead. Police bustled around in the weed-infested yard that surrounded the falling-down hut. Some took pictures, and others plucked random items to seal in plastic bags. While the crime itself might be fairytale related, the bulk of the investigation—AKA analysis of evidence on-site—would be done by the cops on the off chance it turned out to be just a regular ol’ psycho and not someone acting out a scene from a Grimm story.

A slender man in a suit stood talking to the police chief with a small fluffy dog tucked under his arm. It seemed rather incongruous given his size and appearance—tall, thick of shoulder, square-jawed, blond hair cut short. The suit glanced at me as I approached, and I was struck by his vivid blue eyes. Pretty boy. I wondered what he was doing out here in the woods.

Chief Patterson, whom I’d worked with before, noticed me and waved. “Hood, glad you could make it before we let our witness go.”

I sauntered close, hands in my pockets, and drawled, “Came as fast as I could, Chief.”

The police chief gestured. “This is Mr. Walden. He was the one who called in to let us know about the bodies.”

I eyed him up and down. “You don’t look the type to be wandering around in a cursed forest.” His leather loafers were more meant for pavement.

The handsome man shrugged. “I’d not planned to go hiking. Blame my furball. Rambo saw a bunny and slipped his collar to chase it into the woods. I followed and stumbled across this hut, which had my dog losing his mind. Usually, I would have just grabbed Rambo and left, but given he wouldn’t stop growling and yipping, I thought I should see why and made the mistake of opening the door.” He grimaced. “Kind of wished I hadn’t.”

“What did you see, Mr. Walden?” I asked, wanting to get his first impression while it remained fresh. The more time passed, the more witness details tended to change.

“The stench hit me before my eyes could figure out what I was looking at. I’ve never smelled anything so horrid.” His lips twisted. “Then I saw the reason why.”

Chief Patterson interrupted. “Tell her about the suspect.”

“You saw who did it?” my sharp query.

“Maybe?” Walden shrugged. “Like I told the officers, I can’t be sure what I saw. It happened so quick. While I stared in shock at the pile of bodies, motion caught my eye. By the time I glanced, I’d have sworn I saw the tail end of a wolf leaving through the back window.”

“How do you know it was a wolf?”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “It could have been a large dog. Whatever it was, it had gray and black fur, a long tail, and a good-sized body.”

“But you didn’t see it actually killing anyone or chewing on parts?”

Walden shook his head. “No, and I’d rather not.”

Understandable. “Do you live around here, Mr. Walden?”

He nodded. “Yes, I moved in a few months ago, about a mile from here. I’ve walked by this place dozens of times but never had an issue. And before you ask, I’ve never seen a wolf before. Just a few bunnies, which is how I ended up here.”

The man sounded sincere and a little shaken. Understandable given what he’d stumbled across. “I assume you gave the officers your contact info in case we have more questions?”

“Yes. Although I’m not sure what else I can add.”

“You might be surprised at the details you can remember later.” Especially if questioned after making him drink some Candor Tea. Don’t ever do that while drinking and playing Truth or Dare. I’d had a friend get dumped on the spot when the topic of best sex came up and she said her ex used to make her come multiple times at once. Me, I admitted that I never wanted to fall in love. The truth to this day.

“In that case, here’s my card… Ms. Hood?” He said it questioningly.

“Actually, it’s Agent Hood with the Fairytale Bureau, investigative department.”

“Nice to meet you, Agent Hood. Now if I’m done here, could I go home? I’d like to toss back a few whiskeys and try to forget what I saw and smelled today.”

“You’re free to go, Mr. Walden.” Patterson waved him off.

I watched him walk away before tuning in to what Patterson was saying. “…your impression.”

I clued in real quick. “You want me to go in there?” My nose wrinkled. It should be known I wasn’t squeamish. I was the girl who would take a live worm and stab it on a fishing hook. Who could hunt a turkey in the fall, pluck it, gut it, and brine it for cooking. But exploring a massacre that stank? Not high on my list. Regardless, a picture would never do this travesty justice, not to mention images didn’t give me a chance to walk the crime scene and truly get a feel for what might have happened.

“Got a mask?” My kit lacked the necessary equipment, since I didn’t normally investigate scenes with decaying bodies, but I knew better than to walk into a place making experienced cops puke without something to block the smell. Not to mention, I didn’t want to taste it when I breathed.

Patterson snapped his fingers, and one of his plebes scurried over with a shoulder bag.

“Equip Agent Hood so she can go inside.” Equipping meant more than a face covering to help with the stench. There was also the menthol compound that made my eyes water when applied under my nostrils. Then there was everything that would ensure I didn’t contaminate the scene: booties to go over my combat boots and gloves for my hands. As if I planned to touch anything.

I slid past the partially ajar door and stood just within for a second. Mr. Walden must have had a strong stomach to have been able to withstand the odorous carnage. The potent menthol rub didn’t quite mask it. Odd how I’d not smelled it outside, given the cracks in the siding. I made a note to have Sally return and check for spells.

Next, the massacre itself. I couldn’t have said how many bodies were piled inside. They’d been stacked every which way. Not all in one piece either.

A body at the front lacked an arm and one leg below the knee. A stray arm lay a few feet from the pile but didn’t appear to match. The wounds on the bodies appeared ragged and savage. As if torn apart by a wild animal.

Or a wolf.

I edged closer and crouched down before stating, more as an observation than anything, “Is it me, or is there no biting or chew marks?”

The guy in a full bodysuit taking pictures paused to say, “Didn’t need to chomp them to kill.”

“But why kill them if not to eat them?” I pointed out.

“Because whatever did this is a killer.”

The easy answer but I knew better. I’d studied wolves. Yes, they did kill to protect the pack and defend themselves. But most times when they hunted it was to feed, not just for the sake of killing. However, if this were part of a Grimm story, then it could be plausible. The wolf in “The Seven Young Kids” did eat the children without provocation. In “Little Red Cap,” which some called “Red Riding Hood,” he was bad as well. The wolves in all the stories were, and I’d know. I’d made it part of my college thesis to document them all.

Some might say that perhaps a regular rabid wolf had done this. I’d disagree. A normal wolf would have killed them and left them at the site of the kill, not dragged them to hide in a hut.

I did a circuit of the small shack, which was long abandoned if I went by the dust and grime. I spotted a broken chair and lopsided table. The bed was just a frame. There were no personal items. No clothing, pictures, or even knickknacks. Just a spooky hut in a spooky forest that most likely just appeared one day.

A window caught my attention, as it was the only one that had its shutters open. It had to be the one Mr. Walden claimed to have seen the wolf—or large dog—escaping from. Interesting how not a single strand of hair got caught on the sill. No claw marks either. Not impossible, of course. A large-sized canine could have simply leaped and not had to pull itself over the ledge. An open window explained how it got in and out, but if it were the killer, how had it gotten the bodies in here if the door was closed?

Another oddity struck me. I flipped around to eye the room with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” asked the photographer.

“Where’s the flies?” Decomposing meat should have been covered with the swarming fuckers.

The guy shrugged. “This whole forest doesn’t have a normal ecosystem, so is it really that surprising?”

It led to me making another mental note to have Sally do a spell-check, not just on the lack-of-smell situation—because an open window should have aired out the reek for at least a few yards around—and the lack of usual decay. Maggots, flies, even local wildlife should have been having a heyday with this rotted feast.

With nothing to see, since I couldn’t exactly touch the bodies, I exited to see Patterson talking to someone, who then moved off at a brisk pace.

“So?” he asked.

“Definitely a murder scene,” my deadpan reply.

“Any ideas on who or what we’re looking for?”

“Mr. Walden seemed to think a wolf or a dog.”

“Bah. We both know a dog wouldn’t have piled them up nice and tidy. Wolf either.”

“A werewolf might have.” The Grimm Effect had changed one aspect of the story in that the wolf in “Little Red Cap” was literally a man who became a wolf. AKA a werewolf.

“Werewolves are usually smarter,” he opined.

True. They didn’t want to get shot. “I’d say anything willing to massacre people on that scale lacks a few brain cells.” I paused before saying, “Do you have any suspects?”

“Not yet. Too soon. Once we sift some of the evidence, maybe we’ll find some traces of DNA.”

Which would help, as everyone these days had to donate to the registry. It became necessary when the curse sometimes changed people physically to the point they couldn’t be recognized. Upon birth, nurses now took blood for the regular tests and the DNA bank.

“I’ll see if the office has any wolves or other known folks with great big claws on file in the area,” I mentioned.

“You think it’s someone local?” Patterson asked.

“Someone not from around here wouldn’t have known about this hut and most likely would have left the bodies scattered. This seems more like the killer felt this was a safe spot for them. I doubt too many people go for casual strolls in these woods.”

Patterson shook his head. “Even my own guys didn’t want to come in here. Said it was haunted.”

“I assume you’ll have some of your task force going door to door asking if people saw anything?”

“Already got the rookies on it. I’ll have the report sent to your office. If you find something, be sure to send it over,” Patterson stated.

“Sure thing, Chief,” I said, lying through my teeth. We only passed on pertinent info for non-Grimm crimes. Other than that, we tended to handle the cases ourselves. Not everyone had the guts to smash a frog, behead a monster, or hold down a girl to cut her hair. I did.

Because the alternative was letting the curse win, and I didn’t like to lose.

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Earth’s Paladin

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Book Cover: Earth's Paladin
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Part of the Earth's Magic series:
  • Earth’s Magic : Collection One (Books 1-3)
  • Earth’s Magic : Collection Two (Books 4- 6)
  • Earth’s Daughter
  • Earth’s Lair
  • Earth’s Elf
  • Earth’s Paladin
  • Earth’s Secret
  • Earth’s Triangle

The world might not be ready for Mother Earth’s slightly murderous champion. Too bad because she’s about to fertilize gardens the old-fashioned way - with the blood of her enemies.

A long-ago curse left Daphne trapped inside a tree for centuries. When she’s finally freed, she’s eager to resume her duty as Earth’s paladin, the Mother’s champion, a stave against all who commit evil. There are those who have trespassed against nature, and it’s up to Daphne to ensure their rot won’t spread.

Usually she fights alone, but in this new world she requires a guide. Even an unwilling werewolf with a god complex.

Baptiste committed an inexcusable act and the werewolf is adamant he doesn’t deserve kindness or forgiveness. Daphne doesn’t grant him either. The abrasive dryad won’t let him wallow and insists he accompany her as she goes on a quest.

A dangerous one.

Maybe he’ll get the punishment he so rightly deserves so he can resist the intriguing Daphne. He’d rather lick his own balls than admit he cares for her.

When peril strikes, the wolfman will do anything to save her, even if it means his life.

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Published: 2024-03-14
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
curse romance, dark humor, dryad romance, god romance, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, Paranormal Romance, Shapeshifter Romance, werewolf romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

WARNING! This book takes place after the events in the Earth's Nexus Series so if you haven't read it, be aware of spoilers ahead.

Prologue

Decades before the events that took place in Earth’s Nexus and Earth’s Magic, just outside of town, in a forest that’s been around longer than anyone can remember...

 

“Annie!” Mindy bellowed for her best friend whose idea it had been to come to the forest at night. A spooky forest replete with creepy noises and moving shadows that made her wish she’d slashed the tire on her bike so she could have bailed and not gone along.

“What?”

The sudden reply from behind Mindy had her uttering a screech that probably woke every sleeping animal in a several-mile radius. She whirled and glared at Annie. “Don’t scare me!”

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Her best friend, wearing red overalls and a shirt plastered in yellow rubber ducks, grinned showing off her new braces. “If I was going to scare you, I would have stayed hidden, rattling branches and making the occasional grunting sound.”

“Not funny.” Mindy pouted. “You know I hate being outside after dark.” Blame her vivid imagination.

“Don’t be a pussy,” Annie retorted. “We need to be out here at this hour if we’re going to pick a blooming moonflower.”

“There were some in Mrs. Kilpatrick’s garden.”

“You want us to steal?” Annie slapped a hand to her chest. “I am shocked! Shocked I tell you. And proud.” She grinned mischievously. “I really am a bad influence.”

She was, which was why Mindy had adored her BFF since kindergarten. Who wouldn’t love a girl brave enough to come to school wearing red galoshes, green shorts, and a t-shirt that read, Pie Eating Champ? Annie hadn’t personally earned that title, but not for a lack of trying.

“Wish my mom would let me plant a garden,” Mindy grouched. “But no. The whole yard is a giant patio now, with no plants because of her allergies.” The unfairness of it! As a witch with an affinity towards the earth and all things growing, it was ironic her mother couldn’t handle pollen.

“Sorry the goats mowed down the one at my place.” Annie offered an apology. She lived on a farm and had acres of places for stuff to grow. Alas, she also coexisted with animals who ate all those things.

“How much farther do we need to go?” Mindy asked. The headlamp she wore still shone bright, but she’d been binge-watching horror movies of late. She knew it could go out at any time, and once it did… They’d probably die horribly. Strung up in a tree with their intestines yanked. Dragged into a burrow to feed horrible monster babies. Spun into a cocoon for a spider snack.

“I don’t know exactly how far. When I was here last week looking for Figus—” the horse that decided to go wandering—“I found them growing by the base of this enormous tree!” She held out her arms wide.

“There’s a lot of big trees,” Mindy pointed out. Her Earth based magic connected her to all living foliage, and though she loved them—each and every one—that love didn’t mean they weren’t spooky at night.

“You know, you could try asking your green, leafy friends for directions.”

At the reminder, Mindy could have slapped herself. “Duh. I guess so.” She placed her palm on the nearest trunk and closed her eyes to concentrate. Hello, Ash. It’s Mindy. I don’t suppose you know where I can find some moonflowers? I hear there’s a patch by a really big tree.

The reply came in the rubbing of branches and the creak of bark shifting.

Mindy frowned. “That’s odd.”

“What is?”

“Ash said we shouldn’t go near the flowers because they’re by a certain tree.”

“What’s wrong with the tree?”

“Supposedly it’s bad.” Her nose wrinkled.

“As in evil?” Annie clapped her hands. “Epic.”

“More likely it meant it’s rotted, and Ash is worried it will fall on us.”

Annie snorted. “Fall on us how? There isn’t even a lick of wind tonight. We’ll be fine. Do you know where it is?”

“It didn’t say. But I have an idea.” Mindy crouched and placed her hand to the ground. An old tree would most likely have roots that had spread far and wide. Maybe she could trace one back. Easy in concept, but it turned out this forest had a mess of roots. Too many for her to sort.

She leaned back and blew out a breath. “It’s not working.”

“You barely tried,” Annie remarked.

“Because it’s impossible. Like that time your cat got hold of your mom’s yarn. Remember the tangle?” It zigzagged all around the house.

“Guess we’re pooched.” Annie sighed in dejection.

“Hold on, let me try something else.” Mindy dug her fingers into the soil and did her meditation thing where she breathed in and out, nice and slow. With lots of help from witch forums and books from the library, Mindy had been learning how to access her power and commune with her goddess. Her mind emptied and the soil warmed as she reached out to Mother Earth.

She felt a tingle and murmured, “Hello, goddess.”

Magic flooded into her body, letting her know she’d connected.

“Sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to find an old tree with some moonflowers. Do you know where it is?”

This way, daughter. The Mother spoke inside her head. A startled Mindy fell on her butt.

“Dude!” Annie’s favorite new word. “What in the clumsy is going on?”

“Um, I think my goddess spoke to me.” A first.

“Really? Lucky duck. Wish I had powers,” Annie grumbled.

Mindy popped to her feet to give her a hug. “You do have a power. Super BFF. Always prepared and ready to help when there’s a crisis, whether it be for math homework or a smelly boy.”

“You’d do the same.” Annie scoffed.

“We both know I would have never thought to bring holy water and a stake.” Mindy indicated the backpack Annie carried.

“Always be prepared. I’ve got rope, a knife, and matches too. I’d hate for us to get dropped in a pit with the undead and not have a way out.”

Her forward-thinking awed. Never mind the undead didn’t actually exist. If it ever did happen, Annie would be ready.

“The goddess told me to go that way.” Mindy pointed and without question, Annie struck off, fearless and determined.

Wishing she were home baking cookies, Mindy followed. She didn’t know if her goddess guided them or they simply got lucky, but they entered a clearing with an epically large and gnarly tree. Even from where she stood, she could see it ailed via her headlamp. Many of its branches were barren. Those with leaves showed sick spots.

Annie stood at its base and huffed. “Wow. Look at it. It’s got to be like a thousand years old.”

“Close. More like a few centuries, which is surprising. It doesn’t look healthy.” Mindy’s lips pursed. Something about the tree repulsed. An ache started in her head.

“Moonflowers!” Annie’s attention shifted as she pointed.

Indeed, the lovely blooms had opened and emitted a gentle fragrance. “Let’s grab them and go. I’m craving ice cream.” Mindy wanted out of here. Something about the tree didn’t feel right.

“Ooh, chocolate ice cream and pickles.” Annie smacked her lips.

Mindy didn’t gag. She was used to her friend’s odd food choices.

She crouched and before she trimmed the blooms asked permission from each plant. All but one agreed to let her have the flower. She tucked them in her bag and stood, noticing Annie stood with her ear pressed to the bark.

“What’s up?” Mindy asked as she approached her friend.

“Can you hear that?” Annie murmured.

“Hear what.”

“The voice.”

Mindy cocked her head and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Weirdest thing. I’d swear it came from the tree.” Annie turned round eyes on her. “Do you think it’s a dryad?”

“Dryads don’t live in these parts.” They preferred warmer climates that didn’t put them in hibernation.

“Says you. I think it’s possible. I mean, look at that hole.” She pointed to the dark crevice in the bole of the tree. “Great little hidey hole for a dryad.”

“More like a woodpecker went too hard. A shame because the opening is allowing water to enter which is causing it to rot from the inside out.” Inner decay explained the dead branches. The tree was slowly dying and in pain. If she looked past her revulsion, she could feel its distress. Maybe she could ease its suffering.

Mindy reached out and put her hand on the tree.

End it.

Burn it.

Chop it.

Kill it.

The screams in Mindy’s mind had her gasping and reeling.

“What’s wrong?” Annie grabbed hold and steadied her.

“There’s something in that tree,” Mindy exclaimed.

“For real?” Annie’s expression brightened.

Free me!

The sudden yell widened Mindy’s eyes.

Annie’s too. “Did you…?”

Mindy nodded.

FREE!

ME!

When the branches started swaying and the ground rippled underfoot, they didn’t stick around. They raced out of those woods, hopped on their bikes, and pedaled hard for home.

They never went back to those haunted woods again.

And the tree continued to suffer and rot, until a woman named Ruby came along and finally put it out of its misery.

Chapter One

Decades later…

 

Woe is me.

Baptiste trudged head down through the forest, shivering in his ragged clothes as the first snowflakes began to fall. Winter had arrived and he had no shelter—which was as it should be. He didn’t deserve even a barebones doghouse. He’d committed a grievous crime and deserved to be punished.

But would his previous friends do him a favor and tie him to a cross for lashings?

No.

Would they stake him to the ground by a fire ant mound, drizzle him with honey, and leave him to scream?

Again, no.

He had terrible friends who kept looking for him and shouting they loved him, cared for him, and wanted to help him.

Assholes.

You should have been an actor because you are nailing the whole mopey Eeyore routine. That comment came from his inner beast, a piece of the wolf god, Garou, that inhabited his body and always had a smart-ass remark for everything.

“Fuck off,” he muttered.

You get better results when you fuck on.

Baptiste tuned out Garou and went back to his lament. What did a man have to do to get some well-deserved discipline? Why would no one put him out of his misery?

Speaking of misery, he shivered with cold.

A fire would be nice, Garou remarked.

He didn’t deserve to be warm.

Then think about me, his beast growled.

“You don’t deserve it either,” he muttered. “We’re both guilty.” Guilty of murder.

How much longer are you going to whine about it?

“Until I die.”

Rather not. And Garou meant it. Garou had been foiling Baptiste’s attempts to take his own life, pushing past his usual control to make sure he didn’t step in front of a train or off the edge of a cliff.

Damned bossy beast.

Gonna get bossier if you don’t do something about the cold. Don’t make me take over again.

The last time Garou had shifted and taken control, Baptiste woke naked in a dumpster, covered in pasta sauce. He got chastised by the goblins living in it because they didn’t want to share.

“Fine. You want fire, I’ll give you a fucking fire.”

Baptiste pulled a lighter from his pocket and headed for the splintered stump of a large tree. The base of it, with its inside hollowed from rot, made a great place to dump the dry branches he snapped from the fallen trunk. Once he had a pile, he lit it. Fire shot up from the stump, the warmth easing the trembling in his limbs. He held out his hands to the blaze and sighed. If only he didn’t feel guilty at enjoying such a simple pleasure. The woman he’d killed would never feel anything ever again.

Here we go on the pity-me merry-go-round.

Once upon a time, Baptiste was a good guy. He worked as the muscle for the Cryptid Authority, assigned to a division known as the Special Monsters Unit—SMU for short. He’d been friends with his coworkers to the point they shared most meals and hung out when the workday was done. A good son, he visited his mom a few times a week. Fuck, how he missed her spicy chickpea, potato, and faux bacon crumble casserole. He missed his mom’s hugs even more. He knew he could show up now, dirty and pathetic, and she’d drag him inside, instantly forgiving.

Like your mom. We should visit.

Even his Pack—werewolves like him—would have taken him back. He was their Garou, a rarity with his kind, ranked higher than an Alpha because he was thought to be imbued with the spirit of their wolf god.

We are blessed.

More like cursed. It had been his wolfman shape that had torn his fiancée apart. He might not have loved Diandra—their marriage had been arranged—but he’d liked her. She didn’t deserve what happened.

She wasn’t the one. Garou had been clear on that from the beginning.

“Neither was Ruby.” The woman Garou had fixated on. A redhead with a power to cancel magic, she’d come to work for SMU. His first meeting with her, he’d thought she was okay. By the second, he was instantly smitten.

Bad magic. Should have never eaten that donut.

Someone had placed an intense love spell on his honey cruller. It made him shirk his obligation, chase after Ruby, and, in the end, it made him snap. Poor Diandra died because of it.

Unlike others, he wouldn’t blame the curse he’d been under. He should have had better control. What was the point of being the avatar of a god if he was susceptible to malicious spells?

Gonna learn to play the violin if you keep whining.

Garou felt no guilt. No remorse. And he was annoying as fuck.

Love you, too, asshole.

Baptiste sat on the ground and rested his back against the fallen trunk of the tree. He missed his big, comfy bed. Missed his apartment. His shower. Food. Foraging in the woods just didn’t satisfy.

Berries and nuts are for prey. I want meat.

His beast side was all carnivore in direct contrast to the man who’d gone vegetarian a while ago. It pissed off his wolf side something fierce.

“I’ll find us something in the morning,” Baptiste promised.

Your liver is looking awfully tasty.

“How many times have I said that isn’t funny?” He should have never watched that movie, Venom. Ever since, Garou had been reciting some of his favorite parts and being a general pain in his ass.

Full moon is soon. Good thing. We’re getting weak.

The reminder brought a grimace. On the full moon, he would shift. He’d have no choice. And if it was like previous times, he’d wake to his belly full of whatever Garou hunted, the blood left on his lips and tongue tasting more delicious than it should.

Meat is life!

“Killing is wrong,” he muttered.

Pussy. Speaking of which, been a while since we munched on any.

“Whoa. Way inappropriate.”

A wolf has needs.

“I’m not in the mood.”

I swear, I will mount a dog next full moon. Maybe that cute mastiff who lives behind that pizza place.

“Don’t you dare hump anything!”

I don’t take orders from you.

“Why me?” Baptiste groaned.

Because you are blessed.

Funny, because it didn’t feel that way, a thought that followed him into a restless sleep.

He woke at dawn, stiff and cold, the fire down to just embers. Time to get moving. With winter coming, food would be getting scarce. Soon a campfire wouldn’t be enough as the deep chill moved in. Then what?

I have a task for you. The feminine voice in his head wasn’t Garou but his inner beast answered, Fuck yeah.

Baptiste shook his head. “Can we not get excited about disembodied voices?” As if he needed more evidence he slowly lost his mind. He rose and glanced around. He saw no one but was reminded of the rumors that this section of the forest was haunted.

As he stomped off, Garou whined. Why must you ruin all my fun?

Because fun was for people who didn’t murder their fiancées.

 

***

 

As the man and beast wandered away, he missed the sharp wind that shifted the embers in the trunk. The ash stirred and rose, clouding the inside of the charred remains of the tree. When it settled, a very large kernel could be seen. The seed, the size of a beanbag chair, rocked, its motions violent enough it cracked. The sides split apart, revealing a bent form that untangled and rose, the shape very womanly. Her hair, long and white. As she stretched and sighed, in a scratchy whisper like that of a branch rubbing a branch she said, “At last. I’m free.”

Chapter Two

As Daphne stretched for the first time in more than a century, she heard the Earth Mother’s voice.

Welcome back, my champion.

“About time,” was her grumbled reply. Her limbs and joints popped as she rotated them, trying to work out their stiffness.

There were complications.

“You mean you lacked the right person to break my curse.” A curse that was broken weeks ago, and yet Daphne had to wait until someone came along and finally lit the fire that ripened her seed.

The flakes of falling snow chilled her warm skin. She glared at the sky. Couldn’t she have been reborn in warmer weather? Winter was a time of hibernation and she’d already slept too long.

The dying coals in the trunk beckoned, but that would involve getting close to her prison. She’d already spent too much of her life in that spot. She couldn’t wait to leave this wretched place.

You’ll need to dress yourself if you don’t want to draw notice, the Earth Mother advised.

Daphne cocked her head before speaking aloud, her voice rusty from disuse. “Where can I find clothing?” And a weapon. Not that it had helped her last time. Caught by surprise, she never had a chance to stab anyone.

The Mother sent her directions via the soil touching the soles of her feet. Daphne pivoted to follow, only to pause and frown. “There is a strangeness in the air.” A feeling of power that she was not familiar with.

The Monster King has returned and claimed this land.

“Do you need me to kill him?” Daphne asked. In the past, before her untimely imprisonment, she’d been the Earth Mother’s paladin, tasked with handling threats.

No. I approve of his return. However, given this is his domain, and you are my champion, you will have to relocate if you wish to serve me still. I will understand, though, if you’d like to switch your allegiance. I’m sure the king would find you a position suited to your skills.

“What happened wasn’t your fault.”

The Earth Mother had always been good to her. When a grievous injury had Daphne on death’s door, the Mother placed her into a seed. It was only supposed to last a few weeks while she healed. Alas, the same witch that injured her cast a curse that kept Daphne trapped until now. Pity the witch was long dead. Not all species enjoyed extended lifespans like dryads.

Outfit yourself, then speak to me again. I have a mission for you.

With the Mother’s guidance, Daphne began to walk and quickly discovered she followed tracks in the newly fallen snow. Big footsteps dented the fresh snow and, given the falling flakes hadn’t filled them yet, indicated the wearer of the boots shouldn’t be far ahead. Good, because her hair might be long, but it barely covered her chilly flesh. She’d hate to go into hibernation so soon after her lengthy, forced sleep.

Within minutes, she came in sight of a bulky figure standing on the edge of the woods, staring off into the distance. As she came close, he spoke in a low gruff tone.

“Who are you? Why are you following me?”

“Give me your clothes.”

He chuckled as he turned, and then gaped before blurting, “You’re naked.”

“And you’re not.” She held out her hand. “Give.”

“Is this a trick?” He eyed her with suspicion.

“You talk too much.” She launched herself at him, but he moved fast for a male his size. His sidestep led to her landing hard, hitting the ground, but rolling back to her feet. She partially crouched and planned her next attack.

A mighty frown creased his brow. “Are you insane? You do see I’m like two to three times your size.”

“It’s not about the size but the skill.” She might be a little stiff and out of practice, but he had something she wanted. She pounced again. This time he caught her midair.

“Bad whatever the fuck you are.”

She clapped her hands over his ears, and he bellowed as he dropped her.

“Geezus. You want my coat, take my fucking coat,” he groused.

“Was that so hard?” she replied as he shrugged it off.

He glared. “You’re lucky I’m a nice guy.”

“No, you’re lucky, because I’m not a nice woman, and had you kept refusing, I would have taken it from your cold, lifeless body.”

He blinked in the midst of holding out his coat.

She snatched and had enough manners to say, “Thank you.”

But did he reply with, “You’re welcome?” Nope. He just stared. Apparently, some things never changed, starting with males who couldn’t keep their gazes to themselves.

It took the Mother murmuring, Don’t hurt him, for her to leave his eyes intact.

For now.

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Jack O’ Lion

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Book Cover: Jack O' Lion
Find a StoreAmazon/KindleKoboGooglePlayApple BooksBarnes and Noble
Part of the A Lion's Pride series:
  • When an Alpha Purrs
  • When a Beta Roars
  • When an Omega Snaps
  • A Tiger’s Bride
  • When a Lioness Snarls
  • When a Lioness Pounces
  • When a Lioness Growls
  • When a Lioness Hunts
  • When a Tigon Weds
  • When a Liger Mates
  • Taming a Bear
  • Lion’s Quest
  • A Lion’s Mate
  • Deck the Mane
  • Jack O’ Lion
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Part of the A Lion's Pride series:
  • When an Alpha Purrs
  • When a Beta Roars
  • When an Omega Snaps
  • A Tiger’s Bride
  • When a Lioness Snarls
  • When a Lioness Pounces
  • When a Lioness Growls
  • When a Lioness Hunts
  • When a Tigon Weds
  • When a Liger Mates
  • Taming a Bear
  • Lion’s Quest
  • A Lion’s Mate
  • Deck the Mane
  • Jack O’ Lion
Show More
Show Less

A cranky lion gets a second chance at love.



Trick or rawr?

A young, drunken Jack plays a prank on the town’s witch only to get caught. One curse later and he’s stuck in the house he tricked, literally, unable to leave.

Woe is the lion.

Decades later, he’s still a prisoner and a cranky one. His attitude isn’t improved when a freak accident forces him to rely on a nurse while he heals.

Harper doesn’t believe in magic, so when she’s asked to help out a recluse, she’s determined to get to the root of his agoraphobia. Only it turns out he’s not lying. Jack really is under a spell and this curious cat can’t help but poke at it.

Is love the trick to break the curse?

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Published: 2023-10-03
Cover Artists:
Yocla Designs
Genres:
curse romance, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, Shapeshifter Romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Chapter One

Being called into the lion king’s office didn’t rattle Harper one bit. She was acquainted with Arik, a tough but fair pride leader. The golden child had grown into an impressive leader, one now married with heirs, and ridiculously successful. Some would argue he’d inherited his wealth, but the truth? He took an average business and turned it into an empire.

All that to say, she had mad respect for the king, who insisted people call him Arik unless in format settings. She wondered what he wanted with her.

As a travel nurse, she didn’t spend much time in the Pride condo complex. Her small bachelor pad was more a spot to keep her extra stuff than a home. The carpet was pristine, the fridge like new since it rarely held food. The closet was mostly bare since the few clothes she had she usually brought with her.

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Upon arriving at her apartment, she’d eyed her empty cupboards and decided she’d live on takeout while she stayed. Currently between jobs, she’d chosen to take a few weeks off since her cousin insisted on having a baby shower—despite the fact this would be her third kid.

Marriage and babies were not things Harper particularly cared for. At almost forty, she had no interest in settling down and popping out cubs. She liked the freedom to go where she wanted when she wanted. Not to mention, most men bored her. The truly alpha ones were already taken. Most of the others were intimidated and cowed into a beta state around her. And then there were the ones who wanted to make little versions of themselves.

Blech. She’d never had the maternal instinct. Her idea of perfect children were the ones she got to see do cute things for a few hours and then went home with their parents. It didn’t make her cold, just not interested. She felt the same way about pets.

Being alone didn’t bother Harper. She liked to sprawl across her bed, hated sharing food, and got along perfectly well with her vibrator. She vacationed when she wanted and didn’t have to worry about anyone else imposing on her or making her do things like snorkel or hike. She worked on her feet in her job and her idea of a vacation involved only doing things that took no effort.

Entering the king’s office, she offered a slight curtsy and a smile for the man standing in the middle of the room with three golden-haired children currently using him as a jungle gym. A blonde girl in a pink romper finished climbing his arm to sit on his shoulders, chirping, “I win!” A boy with tufted locks and a dinosaur patterned shirt climbed King Arik’s leg, huffing, “No fair,” while the littlest one remained cradled in Arik’s arm, grabbing for his blond beard.

“Hey, Harper.” Arik offered a casual greeting. “Thank you for coming. Have a seat.” He stiffly walked to his desk, the child clinging to his leg giggling in delight as he got carried along. Arik sat in his chair, baby tucked on one half of his lap, the child on his shoulder sliding down to occupy the other. As for the leg monkey? Under the desk making engine noises.

“You need something from me, your majesty?” Unlike the crew that called themselves biatches, she’d always had a healthy respect for authority.

“Bah. Don’t you start with that title crap. Er, stuff.” He corrected himself too late. The girl in his lap giggled as she chanted “Crap! Crap! Crap!” But Arik didn’t get flustered or chuckle like some fathers, he growled, “Bad word,” and the tyke quieted.

“Was there something I could help you with?” Harper queried, really hoping he wouldn’t ask her for childcare. She preferred to stick to adults, not because she hated kids, but parents could be a nightmare.

“I know you were planning to take a few weeks off, but I have a situation that’s arisen with a cousin of mine. He broke an arm and a leg trying to fix his roof in a storm.”

“Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

“In his defense, said roof was leaking, and he’d hoped to throw a quick patch on it. A torrential downpour whooshed him off. He’d have been worse if he’d not landed in a bush. Needless to say, he’s in a rough spot.  Not that he’ll admit it. Only reason I even found out about the accident is because Jack’s mother contacted me.”

“He lives with his mother?” And yes, she sounded judgmental.

“No, his mother lives here, actually, but visits him often. As a matter of fact, she’s the only one allowed to visit. Jack prefers to be alone.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“His lack of contact with people has rendered him somewhat ornery,” Arik warned softly.

“I’m not daunted by rude remarks.” To be hurt, she’d have to care about what another person thought.

“That’s not the strangest part of Jack’s situation, though. My cousin suffers from a peculiar condition.”

She arched a brow. “Oh?”

The king actually fidgeted. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Try,” was her dry reply.

The king glanced away before muttering, “He’s cursed.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, Jack is cursed. I’m not sure of the exact details because he won’t talk to anyone. According to his mother, a Halloween prank he pulled as a college kid went wrong and now he can’t leave his property.”

“Agoraphobia isn’t a curse and can be managed with treatment.”

“If only it were that simple. In Jack’s case, if he leaves his property, he shifts into his lion.”

Her mouth rounded. That was unusual. “Are we sure it’s not psychosomatic?”

Arik shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to be. My understanding is Jack’s mother had him try all kinds of treatments, however, the moment Jack steps foot past the boundary of his home, instant furry transformation. With one exception.”

“Which is?”

“Halloween. For some reason, soon as midnight hits, he can leave in his human form but at the stroke of midnight, the curse returns.”

She paused to eye her king. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“And how long has he had this condition?”

“He’s in his forties now and it happened when he was in college, so a good twenty years, give or take.”

A long time to be suffering from what surely had to be a mental issue and not a curse. As if Harper would believe in such a thing. Magic and witches, ha!

She asked the more pertinent questions next. “Did someone competent set his arm and leg?”

“Yes. Our mobile doc paid him a visit. Offered him the choice of recovering at a zoo she had connections with and him spending those weeks being pampered as a lion, or at home in casts with care. He chose the latter and now it’s posing a challenge since we’re having difficulty finding someone to assist him.”

“Surprising given how many nurses we have in the system.” Most people preferred to work local. Not Harper.

“It’s not been for a lack of trying. In the past few days we’ve gone through several aides, and word has gotten around that Jack is an ornery patient.”

Harper didn’t point out that, as king, Arik could just order a nurse to attend to the grumpy Jack. At the same time, she understood it would take the right kind of personality to handle it. A man like that required a firm hand and a staunch attitude that could handle bristling comments. She’d dealt with his type before. As a travelling nurse—one paid well by the various prides and other shifter groups—she provided discreet care that took into account that an animal in pain would lash out—and sometimes bite. She had the scars to prove it. But she’d also made herself a reputation when it came to excellent results with her patients.

“For how long?” she asked.

“Until at least one of the casts comes off?” A hopeful query.

A healthy shifter would only need two, three weeks tops. She nodded. “Sure. I’ll help out with your cousin.”

The relief on his face couldn’t have been clearer. “I’ll ensure you’re adequately compensated. I realize this was supposed to be vacation time for you.”

She waved a hand. “Bah. I would have spent most of it avoiding my cousin Darcy. She’s well into her pregnancy but that hasn’t stopped her from threatening to drag me in for a makeover.” Because apparently letting her hair go naturally silver bothered them, as did her no-nonsense shoes, straight cut bob, and blunt nails.

Considering the company she was in, Harper didn’t add that she would also prefer to avoid getting roped into babysitting Darcy’s sticky little lion monsters.

“When can you start?”

“Today is fine.”

“You are a life saver, Harper.”

“Who is caring for him right now?”

His nose wrinkled. “No one. He chased off Becca yesterday.”

“Then I’d best get right to work.”

The address Arik gave her took Harper to a spot outside out the city, past fields with corn drying into yellowed stalks and the occasional cluster of cows. The small town had that cutesy feel with a single main street currently decorated for the upcoming Halloween.

Her chauffeur, the overly large omega for the pride, Leo, didn’t say much. Probably because he’d gotten used to his wife doing most of the talking. Rumor was he preferred it that way. He’d been known to sit back with a beer in hand, wife in his lap, looking like the cat that ate the turkey.

Leo had always been mellow, even more so now, despite the pair of baby seats in the back. He’d brought his twins, blond tufted boys both chubby cheeked and snoring. He’d simply said, “Meena’s gotta take twins number one to their swim lessons, twins two are with their aunt Teena and uncle Dmitri, and twins three needed a nap.”

Even just thinking of that many sets of twins tired Harper.

“What can you tell me about my patient?” she queried.

Leo took his time answering. “Not much. Never actually met the guy. He doesn’t like folk coming round.”

“Arik says this Jack fellow thinks he is cursed.”

Leo nodded. “Yup.”

“And you believe it?”

He shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

Not if it opposed science. Some might think it odd someone like Harper, who could shift shapes so easily, would take science over magic. But she believed in tangibles. The shift happened on a genetic, molecular level. A man who thought he couldn’t leave the house? That was all in his head, and she’d prove it. Wouldn’t Arik be pleased when she freed his cousin from his mental block.

Arrogant to think she could cure him after so long? Not really. Harper had every faith in her abilities as a healer.

“We’re here,” Leo announced.

The house they pulled up in front of took her aback. For some reason, she’d expected a rundown shack given the owner was a shut-in. However, the siding appeared freshly painted, the roof, despite the repair it supposedly needed, didn’t seem that old. The lawn could have used a trim, but the shrubs and the rest of the greenery had nicely kept shapes. All in all, a lovely, well-maintained property.

Leo pulled her bags from the trunk, but when he would have carried them to the door, she shook her head. “I’ve got this. You should head back before the babies wake, screaming for milk.”

He glanced at the SUV. “Good point. And good luck.”

As if she needed any. Taking care of grouchy shifters was her specialty.

She gave a brisk knock at the door, which went unanswered. A jiggle of the handle showed it locked. She banged harder and shouted, “Nurse Harper here. Are you going to let me in or not?” According to Arik, Jack had a wheelchair he could use to get around with his one good hand. So not completely invalid.

He could have been sleeping. Or perhaps he’d fallen and couldn’t get up. Maybe he was in the shower, or just couldn’t hear her.

The sensation of being watched let her know he just plain ignored her.

Very well then. Time for this Jack to find out why Harper had gotten the nickname of Nurse Ratched.

Because she never let up.

Chapter Two

Jack sulked in his wheelchair as he ignored the woman knocking. Stupid meddling Pride. He’d told the king he didn’t want any help. Thought he’d made that clear when he sent the girl packing the day before. He’d wager his mother had a hand in this. She’d been hovering again this morning.

Sure, he could have let her cook him breakfast—he did so love his daily eggs, bacon, and toast—but it wouldn’t kill him to eat cold cereal for the annoying weeks it took to heal his damned arm and leg.

Of all the stupid things to happen to him. The stupid derecho that went through the previous week must have done damage to the roof that he’d not noticed. The dripping had been steady enough he’d decided not to wait until the storm ended to cover the leak. After all, he’d been up on that roof numerous times. So what if it was raining?

He would have been fine if he’d not lost his footing. He slid off the roof and, unlike the cat that startled him, didn’t land on his feet.

The worst hadn’t been having to drag himself back inside his house with his one good arm inside while gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg. The true horror of the situation was having to call his mother. The shame of having to ask for help. And then the coddling. Ugh. Would the nightmare never end?

The knocking at the door ceased. A discreet peek out the window showed the front porch empty. Good.

Last thing he needed was another annoying person trying to smother him. If he wanted coddling, he’d—

“There you are. I guess you didn’t hear me knocking.”

The sudden statement almost tore a scream from him. It definitely drew a glare as he whirled his wheelchair around to see the woman from his porch standing in his living room.

“How did you get inside?” he snapped.

“You really shouldn’t leave your windows unlocked.”

He frowned. The only window he’d left ajar was in his bedroom on the second floor. “You’re trespassing.”

“We both know that’s a lie. I’m here by order of our king.”

“I told Arik I didn’t need a nurse.”

“He disagrees. So if you have a problem with it, by all means, take it up with his majesty. I’m sure he’d love to hear you question his orders.” She offered him an almost feral smile and yet it suited her.

He took stock of her appearance. Older than the last few nurses sent by the Pride, she was around his age he’d guess, forties. Maybe a bit younger, or even older. Hard to tell with the silver threaded hair but rather smooth features. Her figure was trim but shapely in her slacks and blouse over which she wore a cardigan.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

“You have an arm and a leg in casts.”

“I can get around just fine. I don’t know why everyone insists on babying me.”

“Maybe because you’re whining like a child.” Another tart reply.

The rebuke widened his eyes. “Am not.”

“Says the man who juvenilely ignored my knocking.”

“Wasn’t in the mood for visitors.” His low rebuttal.

“Is that why you sent Becca running home to the Pride in tears? Not nice.”

“She wouldn’t stop talking.”

“Annoying, I’ll agree, however, you could have tried telling her to zip her lips. Or worn headphones.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell someone to shut up. This is my house, and I didn’t want her here. I’m glad she left.”

“Are you sure she was the problem? You’re quite the chatterbox.” Her lips pinched. “Maybe I’ll be the one wearing a headset.”

“I don’t yatter nonstop.” He didn’t hide his indignation. The very idea.

“I find that hard to believe. You look like the type to mutter under his breath.”

He bit his lip before he actually did mutter about annoying know-it-alls. “Get out. I don’t need your smart-ass remarks or your help.”

“Yes, I can see that.” She glanced at his clothes.

The shirt, ripped up one side, was slightly rank seeing as how he’d not been able to maneuver too well with just the one arm, so he’d just chosen to not change. His sweaty nightmares made that evident. Yes, he stank, but he’d not expected company.

And why was he feeling defensive? He growled, “Go away.”

“I will when you can make me.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Give it a try.”

“I am not laying hands on you so you can accuse me of abuse.”

“As if you could hurt me. I’ve wrestled bigger and meaner,” she boasted.

He doubted that. She was petite in comparison to him. “Woman, stop being so frustrating.”

She played a tiny violin.

He gaped. “What the fuck kind of bedside manner is that?”

“The kind reserved for crotchety men who won’t listen. Do as I say, and we’ll get along fine.”

Jack scowled, but she ignored his mighty displeasure and headed for the front door, opening it long enough to drag in two bags he hadn’t noticed.

She eyed him. “Where’s your bedroom?”

He pointed to his left.

She glanced past him to the massive sectional with a blanket half strewn across. “That’s not a proper bed.”

“For obvious reasons, I’m avoiding stairs.” He tapped the top of his thigh with the cast that started below his knee.

“How lazy are you?” She shook her head. “Tonight, you sleep on a mattress. But first,” she wrinkled her nose, “a bath.”

“Are you sure you’re qualified, because even my dumb ass knows you can’t get a cast wet,” he pointed out. Everyone knew that.

She rolled her eyes. “Have you never heard of a sponge bath?”

“You are not wiping me down like an old person.” Especially since his dick gave a little wiggle that said, why not?

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d handled your own basic hygiene.”

“Broken arm, remember?” He shifted the sling.

“You have a good hand still, all you need to give yourself a wipe,” she chided.

She had a point. In his defense, he wanted a shower. To him, slopping around a wet cloth seemed of little use. “Maybe I don’t mind the smell.” Truth be told, he’d been avoiding it by spraying himself with air freshener, not that he told her.

She tilted her head left and right. “Where’s the nearest washroom?”

“There’s a half bath under the stairs.”

“Sounds small. That won’t do. Let’s go find the kitchen.” She didn’t give him any choice. She grabbed the handles on his wheelchair and drove him, taking the corner in the hall a tad fast and narrowly missing the newel post. She didn’t even pause for the swinging door to the kitchen. A good thing he projected his good foot and kicked it open.

She abruptly parked him in the middle of the black and white tile, not original but a close match when he’d chosen to restore it. He’d had plenty of time to renovate given his curse.

“Now, where’s a cloth?” Rather than ask, she rummaged in the nearest drawer.

“To the left of the sink.” And then because it occurred to him, he’d let a stranger boss him around, he growled, “Exactly who are you?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “My name is Harper, but I also apparently answer to bitch, cunt, fucking cow, and my personal favorite, cock sucking whore.” She laid out the expletives and then turned away to wet the cloth she’d found while he blinked in shock.

He didn’t know if he was more disturbed she’d spoken those words aloud, or that people had actually used them on her.

“Have you been a nurse for long?”

She snorted. “Is this a way of asking my age?”

“No!”

She laughed. “I’m forty-threeI went into college for nursing right after high school. I did a few years at the hospital before deciding I’d rather travel and do private gigs. I get to see new places and it pays better.”

“Must be nice,” he muttered.

She heard. “It is.”

He’d been stuck here since the curse. Yes, he did occasionally stretch his legs, but given he turned into a lion the moment he set foot off the property, it didn’t make for interesting excursions. He missed going to restaurants, the movies, even bowling, which he sucked at and hated because of the smelly shoes.

During their talk, she’d filled a bowl with water and wrung the cloth she’d found.

“You can’t seriously be about to wash me here,” he complained.

“Why not? There’s no one around.”

“Because I don’t want you to.” His plea fell on deaf ears.

She headed for him with the bowl smelling of dish detergent and the dreaded cloth. He reached for it, but she held it out of reach.

“I’ll do it.”

“If you were going to do it you wouldn’t reek of three-day-old smelly cheese. Your scruffy beard has crumbs!” she stated with indignation as if personally affronted.

He rubbed at the tufts of hair. He went through stints where he shaved to the skin. Then depression would hit, and he’d think, why bother? It wasn’t as if he had anyone to impress.

The cloth slapped him wetly in the face and while he did his best to twist and duck, Nurse Harpy remained firmly determined to scrub at him. She pulled it away for a rinse while he protested.

“Enough. I get your point.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Now leave me alone.”

“Nope. You smell and since I refuse to subject my nose to that kind of abuse, I will deal with it.” She eyed his shirt, which he’d torn so he could maneuver it over the broken arm that hung in a sling. She grabbed hold and ripped it free.

“Hey! I happened to like that shirt.” Not really, hence why he’d adjusted it in the first place.

“Were you this whiny as a child?” she asked as she more gently removed his sling before whacking the cloth to his chest for a moist glide.

He held on to his irritation to help him ignore the fact she touched him. It had been a while since that had happened. He got few guests. Harold and Peter used to come in the beginning until the guilt got to be too great. They realized it could have easily been them trapped.

Hard to meet girls stuck at home. At least the internet helped. He made online connections. Learned that jerking off with someone on the other side of a camera could help him not want to drown himself in the bathtub.

To his surprise, some women wanted to meet him in person, despite the fact he pretended to be one of those people afraid to leave the house. They didn’t last. Eventually, they annoyed him, or they got tired of the fact he truly wouldn’t leave the house. Given the result never changed, he’d not bothered to meet anyone in the last few years and truly kept to himself.

Stupid curse.

The cloth wound lower and lower, and he kept his legs pinched tight, trapping a dick that proved all too happy to have Nurse Harpy stroking him in a very clinical manner. She kept her lips pursed, her gaze on her task. Definitely not getting off seeing him half naked. He doubted he’d have the same kind of control if the roles were reversed.

The washing remained above the waistband for the moment as she handled his pits, his unbroken arm, his back, and his neck. She ran fingers through the hair on his head and tsked. “This is too greasy for dry shampoo.” Without asking, she tilted his chair and wheeled him to the counter. “You’ll have to stand for a few minutes and stick your head in the sink.”

“And if I say no?”

“Do you really want to see who wins that battle?” was her sweet riposte.

Not really, because he had a feeling it might be emasculating. He got up and put all his weight on his good leg while leaning the heel of the one in its cast at an angle for balance but no pressure—not for a few more days at least, according to the doctor. With his good hand braced on the counter, he tilted his head as directed. He had to admit, it did feel good to have the warm water sluicing his scalp. Her fingers might be brisk in their lathering massage, but he still relaxed. She rinsed him before slapping a dry towel on his head.

“Hold that for a moment,” she ordered.

He didn’t think, but grabbed the towel with his good hand, leaving him defenseless for the attack on his pants.

“What are you doing, woman?” he yelped as she gave his track pants a yank.

Her tart reply? “You forgot to wash your nether regions.”

Before he could slap her away or hop out of reach, she’d dropped his drawers and his dick sprang out, prouder than a Fourth of July flagpole.

COLLAPSE
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Turns out he’s not half bad, though, which is why I am trying to find a way to break the curse before he turns into a monster forever.

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