Table Of ContentEPISODE 1
MONTANA
Azure
Azure Lucas stepped out of the station somewhere in Montana to await her connecting train to
Oregon. The train station was a flat tarmac of hopelessness and cars that stunk of oil. Or maybe that
was just her mood. She had accepted that visiting Oregon was to be her penance for endangering her
sister a few months earlier, but that didn’t make her happy about it. Azure didn’t really think that some
werewolf’s dream of a Supernatural Super PAC was going to come to anything. In her experience,
trying to rope any of the Supernatural others into doing anything to make changes in the world was
next to impossible. It wasn’t that she didn’t want this summit of the Supernatural to be a beautiful
meeting of the minds and potentially world-changing—she just didn’t think it was going to happen. At
barely thirty, Azure found it a little bit sad that she was so jaded, but having the second sight and
common sense made her the least romantic person she’d ever met.
The second sight—that ever-present sixth sense that would periodically grant her glimpses of the
future, insight into the people around her, and a chance to change destiny—was like a semi-permanent
itch in the back of her brain. And like any other itch, she was only somewhat in control of it.
Sometimes, she could call it to heel, and it would answer her questions, and sometimes… sometimes
it shoved information into her skull or, even worse, dropped out entirely, usually when she needed it
most. And currently, when she asked the magic eight ball in her head about the summit, it said: very
doubtful.
Azure sighed and rubbed the spot behind her ear that sometimes relieved the pressure. The second
sight wasn’t always her friend. She’d listened to it a few months ago about a protest against a logging
company. She’d seen that there was an opportunity to change things, but there was just one catch:
she’d needed her sister Scarlet to tip the balance from could change the world to would change the
world. But Scarlet showing up meant danger for Scarlet. Azure had known that, and she’d gone ahead
anyway.
And she’d won. The trees had been saved. Hearts had changed. And Scarlet had been OK. Mostly.
Except that Scarlet’s weakened state after the protest had left her and her wolf boyfriend vulnerable
to being attacked by warlocks.
Every time she thought about Liam Grayson, Azure had to stretch her head to the left and right in an
attempt to make her jaw unclench. Scarlet was over the moon about him. Azure was trying to withhold
judgment, but she failed to see how everyone could be OK with Scarlet moving in with a guy she’d
barely been dating a few months. Not to mention that Liam had been Scarlet’s boss. How was that
OK? Azure predicted that it would end in disaster, and then she was sure to be called away from
something important to help Scarlet move out. The second sight didn’t show that at all, but Azure’s
common sense definitely did.
Admittedly, Liam did appear to be trying very hard to be helpful by setting up this meeting with
one of the oldest wolf packs on the continent. Wolf packs were notoriously private, but everyone had
heard of Albert DeSandre and the Portland pack, and the fact that they were taking this extraordinary
step should have been exciting. But the second sight was giving the meeting a hard thumbs down, and
because of that, Azure was having a hard time working up enthusiasm for the trip.
Most of the other passengers headed across the street to a family restaurant that might have been an
Applebee’s at some point but now was independently owned. The new owners had strung a banner
over the old sign location that read Family Food—as if that was a restaurant name.
She looked across the blacktop to a cluster of stores and shops that surrounded the train station—
her other options were a grocery store that looked filthy and a pool hall with a string of motorcycles
parked in front of it.
Magic eight-ball head wanted her to go to the pool hall, common sense thought that seemed like a
bad plan, but second sight did not care. She looked back at the Family Food place and debated
ignoring the second sight. She always had a choice.
With a sigh, Azure hoisted her one piece of luggage—a durable black backpack—higher on her
shoulders and headed for the bar. The second sight was her gift, her calling, and her burden. She tried
her best to do it justice, but sometimes she just wished she could have a night off. The massive
bouncer at the door raised his eyebrows, but she stared him down and went inside.
The bar was everything she’d expected from outside. Which she found strangely soothing. She
liked all the pot-bellied old men shooting pool dressed in more leather than a gay pride parade. She
probably wouldn’t like them if they started talking to her, but the second sight said that wouldn’t be a
problem. There were a fair number of younger guys in the room too, but the mood was mellow. The
smell of French fries wafted out of the kitchen and pool balls clacked against each other under
hanging pendants that spotlighted the tables and left everything else in the gloom. She looked around
and decided that second sight was on top of things.
She parked herself up at the bar and smiled at the bartender.
“Hey,” he said. “What can I get you?”
“What’s good?”
“Well, we’ve got a local pale ale on tap and an elk taco plate that people seem to like.”
“Elk tacos and beer,” said Azure. “I’m in.”
“Coming up,” said the bartender.
The elk tacos turned out to be what she needed. Not to mention the beans and rice that she was
pretty sure had been made with about eight pounds of butter. She was on her second beer and third
taco when a text popped through from Scarlet.
A ? I ?
RE YOUSTILL ON THE TRAIN S IT AWFUL
J M . W . E , .
UST MADE IT TO ONTANA AITING ON ATRANSFER TO MYNEXT TRAIN LKTACOS THOUGH
She took a picture of the remaining taco and sent it.
Azure didn’t want to admit it, but her family had been right. Azure had risked Scarlet’s life at the
protest. Their grandmother Diana had emphasized that point with a raised eyebrow and a look. Their
brother Ochre had taken her out for a beer and said it quietly and a little bit sadly in a way that made
Azure writhe with hot twists of guilt. It didn’t matter that Azure had thought that she could protect her
sister by building a foolproof spell that had turned out to be not so infallible because, as usual,
Scarlet had refused to stay within the boundaries. And it didn’t matter that the cause had been just or
that Scarlet would have helped anyway. The point was that Azure had skipped the step where she
asked Scarlet for help, permission, and consent. Azure had focused on the future and forgotten that
there was a whole lot of present between here and there. The second sight was always accurate, but it
didn’t always spell out the consequences.
Y ! L O ! I’ . C
UM ET ME KNOW THE SECOND YOU GET TO REGON M SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS AN YOU LIVE STREAM
’ ?
WHILE YOU RE THERE
Reluctantly, Azure smiled. As always, Scarlet’s enthusiasm was infectious.
P . U .
ROBABLYNOT NLESS YOUWANT THEM TO EAT MYPHONE
T . S L ’ - .
HEYMIGHT NOT KNOW WHAT APHONE IS OME OF IAM S PACKSEEM KIND OF TECHNO PHOBIC
Azure took a sip of the beer and sighed. The worst part was that Scarlet wasn’t even mad at her.
Because Scarlet didn’t hold grudges and thought the cause was as worthwhile as Azure did. Azure
wanted to be like that, but she found that every time Scarlet bounced off to some grand new adventure
that she gritted her teeth and waited for it to implode. Scarlet always got to leap first and look never,
counting on Azure to catch her and clean up the mess. Azure sometimes wondered if she’d developed
second sight to protect her little sister out of an evolutionary necessity. Only this time, it hadn’t been
Azure—it had been Liam protecting Scarlet. That thought burned too.
Someone pushed up to the bar, squishing in between her and the couple next to her, slamming large
hands down on the bar top. She glanced over at him. He was tall and ripped—biceps stretching out
his gray Henley that was pushed up to the elbows—with a dark brown beard and tattoos covering his
forearms. He was carrying a black motorcycle jacket that he threw onto the bar, ignoring the annoyed
glares of the couple as they moved their drinks further down the bar.
“Emilio!” he barked at the bartender.
“Yeah, Rafe, I see you!” the bartender yelled back. “Give me a sec!”
She guessed his name was Rafe, which was unusual but interesting.
Azure looked more closely at the tattoo on the arm closest to her and frowned. There was a
symbol buried in a wave that looked suspiciously like a Fae rune for protection. She realized that she
had been staring for longer than was polite and also that he had noticed. She looked into his eyes and
found herself caught by their color, which was green with darker striations like celadon glazing on
pottery.
“Nice tattoo,” she said, looking for something that didn’t make her sound like an idiot.
“Sweetheart,” Rafe said, looking down at her. “I wish I had the time, I really do, but I don’t.”
“Oh, OK,” said Azure, rolling her eyes and restraining herself from adding the word asshole to the
end of her sentence.
She had just turned back to her last taco when her second sight kicked in hard. She swung her
barstool around, grabbed Rafe by the shirt collar, and yanked him toward her just as a black eight ball
zipped through the air where his head had been, smashing three bottles of booze and burying itself in
the mirror behind the bar.
Rafe was now wedged between her thighs, his face inches from hers.
“You know, when you’re right, you’re right,” he said. “I should make the time.”
Then he kissed her.
EPISODE 2
MONTANA
Rafe
He’d noticed her the second he’d walked up to the bar. Rangy and gorgeous, with miles of black
hair and long legs to go with a pair of tall black boots and to-die-for summer sky blue eyes, the girl
was worth a whole week of anyone’s time. Unfortunately, if he was going to beat the coal train before
it pulled out of the station and blocked the freeway on-ramp for the next half-hour, all he had was ten
minutes. And that was not nearly enough to do a tenth of what he wanted.
He yelled impatiently at Emilio. The lone wolf was a good guy, and Rafe usually liked stopping at
Emilio’s bar when he was roaming in this direction. But tonight, his entire mood was colored by the
fact that Rafe was on a mission for his father—a father who shouldn’t have any claim on him at all.
The fact that he had to leave a beauty like the girl at the bar alone only drew an underline on his
mood.
“Nice tattoo,” she said. Like that was a good pick-up line. Of course, with that face and that ass,
she didn’t have to be creative.
“Sweetheart,” he replied, “I wish I had the time, I really do, but I don’t.” He meant it as a
compliment because he genuinely wished he did, but she didn’t take it that way.
“Oh, OK.” If she rolled her eyes any harder, they would have fallen out of her head. She turned
back to her plate, and he got the feeling he’d completely misread her interest. Maybe she had actually
just been looking at his tattoo? He glanced down at his arm. Getting ink to stay on a shifter who could
heal from cuts in seconds took a spell-wielding tattooist, a magic needle, and a high-pain tolerance.
Ordinarily, he appreciated compliments on his tattoos, but now it felt like a second-place prize, and
he felt like a dumbass. He raised his hand to wave and yell at Emilio again, but the girl suddenly spun
back in his direction, grabbed him by the collar, and nearly hauled him off his feet.
It wasn’t that he was unaware of the ball whistling through the air inches from his head or the
shattering glass on the other side of the bar. It was just that he was much more aware of those
sapphire baby blues boring into his. He couldn’t remember what he said—it was probably something
smartass because that was his default setting—all he remembered thinking was that when presented
with an opportunity, it was best just to go for it.
So he kissed her.
For a moment, the universe consisted entirely of her lips. Soft, warm, slightly parted, and God, she
tasted good. For an eternity, nothing else mattered.
Then she slapped him. Hard. The world spun, along with his face.
“Consent required, asshole!”
Right. He knew that.
“Rafe!” yelled Emilio.
“But she’s really hot!” Rafe yelled back and then realized that Emilio wasn’t screaming about the
lip-lock. “Fuck!”
He grabbed the girl’s plate and threw it at the guy attacking Emilio.
“My taco!” she yelled.
“Priorities!” he yelled back, leaping over the bar. As he grabbed the guy by his black leather vest,
Rafe realized that the orange patch on the back read Warlock, and Rafe felt his teeth lengthen. He
picked up the Warlock and threw him back across the bar.
“You’ve got to take it,” gasped Emilio. “You’ve got to take it and get the hell out of here.”
Rafe felt the old upwelling of frustration. Somehow, decades after leaving the pack, his father was
still dicking him over with this bullshit mission.
“Take wh—”
Rafe’s question was cut off as two Warlocks charged him, shoving him along the bar. He grabbed
at whatever he could find and started smashing at them. Bottles and glasses went flying. He would
have expected Emilio to help, but he had his own problems. Warlocks were swarming the damn
place. The second guy grabbed Rafe by the arm as the first guy pulled out a knife.
Rafe felt his neck thicken and hair start to raise in hackles along his back. He was trying not to
wolf out here in front of all these humans, but there was no way he was going to fucking get shanked
by a goddamn Warlock. His claws were breaking the skin when the girl came out of nowhere and
cracked a pool cue across the head of the closest Warlock. The cue broke on impact, sending wood
splinters flying. The first Warlock sagged to the floor—out for the count—and her hair whirled
around like she was a siren straight from a fairy tale as she kicked the second one. She was badass
and gorgeous. He ought to take her with him when he left.
The second Warlock staggered back but lunged forward, clearly angry and intent on going after the
girl. Rafe grabbed him by the throat and threw him into the men’s room before glancing back at the
siren.
“Don’t go anywhere, sweetheart. This will only take a minute.”
He dove through the bathroom door and reached for the Warlock, who had fallen into a stall. The
Warlock grabbed the lid off the toilet tank and swung it at him.
Rafe blocked it with his arm, but the Warlock added extra oomph with a whammy of magic behind
it—something black and sticky that made Rafe stumble backward and crash into the urinal. A black
cloud formed over the Warlock’s head. In the last ten years, the annoying as fuck Warlock Motorcycle
Club had gone from being a handful of pricks with a dabbling interest in the occult and magic to a
small army. He’d tangled with a few, but this was the first time he’d seen a rank-and-file club member
use full dark warlock magic. Not that the bastard looked in control of it. The man was sweating by the
gallon and looked like he was barely hanging on. The magic cloud struck out at Rafe, and he dodged,
but it shattered the urinal, sending piss everywhere. The cloud swung toward him, and Rafe snarled.
Who the fuck did they think they were dealing with?
He gathered his power up into a ball, tightened his fist, and growled out the activating word.
“Destrozar,” he growled. He shoved out his fist—the black cloud met it and then exploded in a buzz
of blurring shrapnel. The Warlock screamed and collapsed. Unconscious or dead, Rafe didn’t care.
Well, that wasn’t true. Of the two, he preferred the latter, but that was Emilio’s problem.
He pushed back through the bathroom door and saw the bar was now in a full battle. Emilio and
the kitchen crew had formed a wedge and were driving forward. Out on the floor, the patrons were
fending for themselves. He saw the girl was using both halves of her pool cue on a Warlock. She was
seriously the hottest thing he’d seen in at least eighty years. The Warlocks in the restaurant, patches
blazing, hadn’t moved to magical attacks yet, but he could see that they were about to start losing, and
he thought they’d probably try that when they did.
“Rafe!” yelled Emilio, coming toward him. He was carrying a gray water bottle in one hand.
Rafe grabbed up his jacket off the bar and went to meet Emilio—it was time to go. The bottle had
some sort of cartoonish logo on the side. It looked like the kind of thing that the yoga bitches carried.
“Here!” yelled Emilio, shoving it at him. “Take it. Get the fuck out of here. You’ve got to get it to
Albert!”
“This? This is what I’m getting?” demanded Rafe.
“Just go!” yelled Emilio. He spun around, grabbed up a bar stool, and swung it back toward the
fray.
Rafe stared at the metal canister—some polite type at the bottom declared it to be a Hydro Flask.
That was a dumb name. The thing looked about as magical as a teapot. In fact, he would have felt less
stupid if it had been a teapot. This thing made it look like he was trying to be trendy. What the fuck
had his father gotten him into?
A beer bottle whizzed by his head and shattered against the wall. Rafe wrapped the flask in his
jacket, tucked them both under his arm, and then he ran for the door. A tackle from a Warlock threw
him sideways and onto a pool table. He grabbed up a ball and bashed the Warlock in the head. Rafe
staggered forward again. In front of him, he saw the girl go down, as two Warlocks jumped her,
pulling her down by the backpack that she was stupidly wearing in the middle of a bar fight.
“Fuck this shit,” Rafe growled, tucking his jacket and the bottle under one arm.
He stomped forward, reached down, and pulled a man off of her, then the second, flinging them
someplace. He kicked the next person he saw and then realized that the fastest way out was through
the front window. The girl had scrambled to her feet but wasn’t immediately looking his way. He
gathered up his power again.
“Destrozar,” he muttered and punched the window. The entire wall shattered. Rafe grabbed the
girl and shoved her through the hole, climbing out after her.
He jogged to his bike and shoved the water bottle into the saddlebag. It was only then that he
realized that the girl was still behind him. His evening was looking up.
“Put it on,” he ordered, shoving the motorcycle jacket at her. He could take the cold of mid-March
in Montana at the hundred-twenty miles an hour that he was planning on going, but he didn’t think she
could. She pulled off her backpack and put the jacket on.
“What are we doing?” she asked. Her hair was in disarray. That only made her look hotter. He
wanted to mess up her hair while she was naked.
“We’re leaving,” he said, getting on the bike and flipping the key on the ignition.
“I’m not leaving with you,” she said. “That is not the plan.”
“On or off, sweetheart,” he said, revving the engine. She looked back at the fight inside the bar and
then across the parking lot to the train station. Three more Warlocks were heading in their direction.
“Fuck, I hate you so much right now,” she said, pulling on her backpack and climbing on the back
of the bike.
Rafe tried not to grin as he felt her legs nestle around him. She might hate him right now, but she
was on his bike.
