Can they find the magic in a practical union?West is on the run from his werewolf pack, but if he cannot renew his magical defenses, he won’t get far. What he needs is a mage….
Julian is part of a wealthy and ancient family, and one day, his legacy will include his mother’s vast library of spell books—and the knowledge he needs to correct his past mistakes. But his inheritance comes with a stipulation: he has to be married before he can collect. What he needs is a husband….
West and Julian can help each other, and at first they don’t want anything further. But as they dodge meddling cousins, jealous rivals, and an insidious drug, it becomes clear that their lives are entwined in ways they never imagined—and they’re in greater danger than they thought possible.
Buy links: Dreamspinner | Amazon
Cat gives this one 3 Meows...
West is on the run from his pack. He is far enough away he thinks he is safe then one day he finds carnage in his woods and begins to worry. He is still in touch with his longtime friend and texts her for the name of a mage. She gives him Julian Calcohoun a prominent if not strange Mage.
Julian has been morning is mothers death and a huge mistake he made. Her will is coded and his lawyers are working hard to decode it. When they do he finds out he must get bonded and it must be real. He and his betrothed have to be together for at least six months before he can inherit. In the meantime, he needs her spell book and the only way is through the inheritance.
I like a good shifter story and even better when its mages involved. This story had a great premise. The two base plots.West hiding from his pack and Julian wanting to undo a mistake are very good. The two meeting and the relationship development there also good. I liked both characters, especially Julian since he is different and not your average hero. I like a bit of a butthole once in a while and he is that type of character. Self-assured, privileged, thinks he is better than everyone but redeemable. He was my favorite character.
The world building, however, lets me down. I felt like I picked up in the middle of a series and should have known some important facts. I would have liked more of West's past and why he left.Also Julian's world as well. such as what happened to his mom. There are mentions of Metas, MAA and some sort of law for the Meta that I never quite figured out what was. the dangerous incidents were exciting but kinda downplayed. Then there was Joe. The man that saved West and hid him. I wanted more about him. Maybe he will get a book of his own But all in all, it's a really good read and I enjoyed the book.
If you like Mage's, magic, shifters, a touch of mystery and a slow building romance this is for you.
Excerpt...
WEST TOSSED the sack of trash into the dumpster behind the diner, flashing his fangs at an interested raccoon and making it scamper into the evening. Little menaces were getting bold, creeping about in the stretching days of spring, hoping for scraps. If Joe saw any of them, he’d start talking about poison again. West doubted his ability to sway the hothead a second time.
He let the dumpster lid swing closed and wiped his hands on his jeans, sighing as his back cracked when he stretched. Six months of working at Joe’s Diner had tested his fitness. As much as he enjoyed the diner, the end of his shifts seemed to get further away every time. At least he’d finished one more, since the trash had been his final task and he was free to go home.
“Felt that in my bones, son! Long day?”
West grimaced through one last stretch and turned to find Double Double Eggs Benedict, an older woman with immaculate nails, watching him.
“Said I felt that one in my bones,” she repeated.
West smiled, though it felt pale. “Long day is right. Just easing out the kinks.”
“Don’t stay out too long. It’s a full moon tonight, and that brings the weird from the woodwork!”
“No need to worry. The moon isn’t full yet,” West said, aiming to reassure her.
“Is that right?” Double Double raised her eyebrows, curious gaze turning distracted as a man in a suit came to join her. They left without saying anything more, though they both glanced over their shoulders at West before getting in their car.
“See you next time,” West said belatedly. He shook his head and wiped his hands on his jeans again, nervous. Should he not have mentioned the moon? Were moon phases something non-lycans knew? West couldn’t help but know. The tides moved under his skin like blood.
Dammit. He had said something weird. Again. With an irritated huff, West stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, starting on the long walk home. Six months at the diner—ten months since leaving the pack—and nearly every day he learned more about life among humans. Stupid stuff. Small stuff. Like being careful not to mention he walked home even when it snowed out, as it had all through the past winter, because lycans ran hot and weren’t susceptible to the usual seasonal colds. Like trying not to smile too wide and show his canines.
Not knowing the phases of the moon.
Weather was fine to discuss, Joe had said. West should stick to the weather.
For all he hated raccoons, Joe had been good to West. A shifter originally from out East, he’d found West sitting in the diner’s parking lot, staring at his hands. October had recently settled in, and West had come to a dead stop on his long route south, seeing a sloppily carved pumpkin in the window of the diner off the highway. He’d remembered trying to carve wolves into pumpkins with Dana. Every year they tried, though, for all his skill with a knife, they’d never come closer than a misshapen squiggle or two. He’d been wondering if his hands might finally learn to make the shapes and Dana would never know, when Joe had sat beside him. Lit a cigarette. Asked if West was passing through.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” West had said. “Thinking about pumpkins.”
Joe’s cigarette had smelled rich and spicy, almost disguising his seaweed-scent. He’d breathed out a cloud and ashed the cigarette. “I got six fucking pumpkins taking space in my fucking kitchen right now. You any good with a knife, pup?”
“No place for a man in the kitchen, my father says.”
“Don’t give a fuck about your father. Asked about knives.”
West kept looking at his hands. They’d been covered with blood the night he left the pack. Less messy than pumpkin innards. Easier to wash off.
He’d glanced at Joe. “Yeah. I’m good with knives.”
The next day he’d started in Joe’s kitchen. They hadn’t spoken about the “interview” since, but sometimes Joe looked at West like he wanted to ask. West kept his head down and cleaned when that happened. He didn’t think about “pup” until he’d been working in the kitchen a month. Too late, then, to ask.
Anyway, there was always something to clean in the kitchen.
In return for his kindness, West tried to pay Joe back by not drawing attention, not letting him down. He kept a mental list of acceptable small talk, regulars at the diner, and the best way to prepare vegetables. Little things, like faces and usual orders, and small details of their lives dropped like crumbs as regulars chatted at the counter. West enjoyed it, though it seemed a strange way of living, letting people know your insides without being sure of their agenda.
His father wouldn’t have approved.
West was learning his father was kind of a jerk.
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He let the dumpster lid swing closed and wiped his hands on his jeans, sighing as his back cracked when he stretched. Six months of working at Joe’s Diner had tested his fitness. As much as he enjoyed the diner, the end of his shifts seemed to get further away every time. At least he’d finished one more, since the trash had been his final task and he was free to go home.
“Felt that in my bones, son! Long day?”
West grimaced through one last stretch and turned to find Double Double Eggs Benedict, an older woman with immaculate nails, watching him.
“Said I felt that one in my bones,” she repeated.
West smiled, though it felt pale. “Long day is right. Just easing out the kinks.”
“Don’t stay out too long. It’s a full moon tonight, and that brings the weird from the woodwork!”
“No need to worry. The moon isn’t full yet,” West said, aiming to reassure her.
“Is that right?” Double Double raised her eyebrows, curious gaze turning distracted as a man in a suit came to join her. They left without saying anything more, though they both glanced over their shoulders at West before getting in their car.
“See you next time,” West said belatedly. He shook his head and wiped his hands on his jeans again, nervous. Should he not have mentioned the moon? Were moon phases something non-lycans knew? West couldn’t help but know. The tides moved under his skin like blood.
Dammit. He had said something weird. Again. With an irritated huff, West stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, starting on the long walk home. Six months at the diner—ten months since leaving the pack—and nearly every day he learned more about life among humans. Stupid stuff. Small stuff. Like being careful not to mention he walked home even when it snowed out, as it had all through the past winter, because lycans ran hot and weren’t susceptible to the usual seasonal colds. Like trying not to smile too wide and show his canines.
Not knowing the phases of the moon.
Weather was fine to discuss, Joe had said. West should stick to the weather.
For all he hated raccoons, Joe had been good to West. A shifter originally from out East, he’d found West sitting in the diner’s parking lot, staring at his hands. October had recently settled in, and West had come to a dead stop on his long route south, seeing a sloppily carved pumpkin in the window of the diner off the highway. He’d remembered trying to carve wolves into pumpkins with Dana. Every year they tried, though, for all his skill with a knife, they’d never come closer than a misshapen squiggle or two. He’d been wondering if his hands might finally learn to make the shapes and Dana would never know, when Joe had sat beside him. Lit a cigarette. Asked if West was passing through.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” West had said. “Thinking about pumpkins.”
Joe’s cigarette had smelled rich and spicy, almost disguising his seaweed-scent. He’d breathed out a cloud and ashed the cigarette. “I got six fucking pumpkins taking space in my fucking kitchen right now. You any good with a knife, pup?”
“No place for a man in the kitchen, my father says.”
“Don’t give a fuck about your father. Asked about knives.”
West kept looking at his hands. They’d been covered with blood the night he left the pack. Less messy than pumpkin innards. Easier to wash off.
He’d glanced at Joe. “Yeah. I’m good with knives.”
The next day he’d started in Joe’s kitchen. They hadn’t spoken about the “interview” since, but sometimes Joe looked at West like he wanted to ask. West kept his head down and cleaned when that happened. He didn’t think about “pup” until he’d been working in the kitchen a month. Too late, then, to ask.
Anyway, there was always something to clean in the kitchen.
In return for his kindness, West tried to pay Joe back by not drawing attention, not letting him down. He kept a mental list of acceptable small talk, regulars at the diner, and the best way to prepare vegetables. Little things, like faces and usual orders, and small details of their lives dropped like crumbs as regulars chatted at the counter. West enjoyed it, though it seemed a strange way of living, letting people know your insides without being sure of their agenda.
His father wouldn’t have approved.
West was learning his father was kind of a jerk.
Parker Foye writes speculative-flavored romance under the QUILTBAG umbrella and believes in happily ever after, although sometimes their characters make achieving this difficult.
An education in Classics has nurtured a love of literature, swords, monsters, and beautiful people doing stupid things while wearing only scraps of leather. Classics also made Parker good with dead languages but terrible with geography and politics after 300CE. (Parker is rubbish at pub quizzes.)
Parker is usually plotting either a story or a new experience, and has most recently tackled the ukulele, sword-fighting, and husky mushing; Parker hopes to eventually figure out how to combine the three—and add kissing bits—without anyone getting injured in the process.
Currently based in north-east UK, Parker travels on a regular basis via planes, trains, and an ever-growing library. Parker is much shorter and less British in person.
Thanks for the honest review, Cat. I like mages but also need some good world building. - Purple Reader,
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Thank you for the review. i have to say when I saw mage I was excited to give this a read.
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