Three of Hearts Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Lillian Lark

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Editor: Kellie Montgomery

  Proofreader: Rosa Sharon, My Brother’s Editor

  To my amazing husband, the Smut Coven, and the Relief Society.

  This wouldn’t have happened without you.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Excerpt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Content Warning

  ✽✽✽

  Dear Reader,

  Three of Hearts has a content warning for accidental pregnancy.

  Be kind to yourselves,

  L. Lark

  ✽✽✽

  Excerpt

  A voice screams into my ear as I fall. My eyes want to open but the lids are so heavy. I finally react, trying to stop this descent, but my gestures are slow, useless. The voice still screams when I crash.

  Blinding pain and the smell of blood alternates with moments of darkness. I want to give up, whimper into the darkness like an injured animal, but I can’t allow myself to let go.

  A different voice breaks in then, smooth, cool water on hot steel. My vision blurs but my ears work even if my mind reels in agony. I’m being asked questions. I try to move but the grind of bone on bone makes me scream. My throat burns with a nauseous warning.

  The helplessness of the situation sparks a rage in me, and I lash out. I am no victim. My talons catch something fleshy. I try to make my eyes focus. My sight returns and I freeze.

  Death hovers over me, a darkly angelic face, undoubtedly here to take me from this plane. I am no victim, but who am I to fight Death? It’s too late, I’ve already struck something I can’t win against.

  Deep slashes mar the perfection of Death’s visage. The wounds across his face begin to bleed but Death smiles down at me even as the blood drips. Can Death bleed?

  I would have assumed an otherworldly being would look stern or serene. A removed expression. But this smile brims with delight.

  “A fighter! Very good.” Death’s happy look changes as the tinny voice in my ear makes itself known to us. Death’s brows knit; another man is shouting to me from the device I had put in my ear earlier. The sound fascinates the being before me and Death plucks the device from my ear carefully.

  Confusion chokes me and the surroundings of metal and concrete won’t stop spinning. The relief is overwhelming when the darkness claims me.

  Chapter 1

  Zephyrine

  The distant buzzing sound is the first warning that I’m about to have my space invaded. I ignore the sound and keep working until I forget about it. Finally, I scroll through my code one more time before uploading the patch.

  I sigh in satisfaction and fall back in my ergonomic chair. Another problem solved. I spin, letting myself soak in my surroundings for the first time in a couple of hours.

  I’d taken particular pleasure in designing my home office. I work remotely, so it’s important to have a good split between my workspace and my living space. Unlike the rest of my home, which is decked out with Moroccan-style rooms and lush colors, my office is all cool neutral tones and plants. The Zen space welcomes no distractions, hence my cell phone in a bowl by the door.

  The second warning that my world is about to be disrupted is the ring of the doorbell. I freeze, looking at the now silent phone across the room. The two-warning system is a signature of few people in my life, and all of them happen to be related to me.

  The front door flies open with a crash that shakes the frame of a calming pond photo on the wall. I close my eyes in the resignation that no more work will be possible for the rest of the day.

  “Zephy!” Sophia’s voice rings throughout the house. “I sent the warning message you require!”

  I walk over and pick up my phone, which blinks with the text from Sophia. A lot of good it had done. I breathe out, actively trying to tamp down my frustration. Noises coming from the main area and kitchen signal that Sophia is making herself at home.

  I love my family dearly, we are a tight-knit group, but we see each other all the time and sometimes I need time and space to actually get my work done. The fact that none of us keep traditional work hours means that my sister interrupting my day is not as uncommon of an occurrence as I want it to be. I can choose my own hours but would rather get all my tasks done at once. Something that can’t happen when someone invades my sanctuary.

  “Zeph?” Sophia sounds less sure of herself. If only she had less confidence before using her key.

  “I’m coming, just in my office.”

  My leggings and drapey shirt were nice enough for a random family visit. I step out of the office, meaning to meet Sophia in the kitchen, but my sister is already taking my hand and walking me toward the stairs. Suspicion begins to raise the hair on my arms.

  My sister’s unique green eyes sparkle with mischievous glee. Sophia had always been described as “the pretty one” of the family. None of us are ugly and we all have a similar look: dark hair and olive skin tone that has humans asking where we are “from.” But Sophia stuns.

  While our sister, Amara, and I have brown eyes, Sophia inherited Dad’s eyes. Those combined with the dark brows and thick eyelashes we all share, and smooth hair we did not, and Sophia has a look that could grace magazine covers. Much to my younger sister’s dismay.

  She would lament while growing up that, “Amara is the tough one, you’re the smart one, and what the hell do I get? I’m pretty. People know that doesn’t last forever, right?” To be fair, it lasts longer than other kinds of mortals. Our kind is one that is considered long-lived.

  I suspect that being classified by her beauty has given Sophia a complex of chasing risky behavior. It’s much better to be known as the one in the family that races motorbikes than to be the “pretty one.” I can’t fault her for wanting to be known for more than her looks. People tend to be obnoxious about those. I’ve coined a different title for Sophia in my head, though she undoubtedly knows about it. Sophia is “the troublemaker.”

  Seeing Sophia in such a state of excitement has all my senses firing warnings down my spine. The last time I’d seen that look on her face, she had succeeded in getting some hard-to-come-by information from an especially dangerous situation. Sophia had received the only ban in history from that “caters-to-all” bathhouse.

  Getting intel is Sophia’s business model. It pays well too.

  “What do you want?” I blurt out the question and feel terrible when Sophia’s excitement wavers. I sigh, “How about I try again and ask what did you do?”

  Sophia’s face looks sad, but I can see her mouth twitching, so I’m not fooled. Sophia likes being known for her adventures. “I come to visit my sister and you ask me that? Like
I’d only show up to ask you for a favor? After I put some ridiculously expensive whiskey pecan ice cream in your freezer?”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Now I’m definitely asking what you want.”

  Ice cream is a well-known bribe of mine. I like to get different luxury flavors. My family has no qualms about using my weakness against me. Sophia pushes me up the stairs.

  “Let’s go look at your closet.”

  I smack her hands away, but she keeps pushing.

  “Sophia!” I stand my ground, giving her a direct look that I’ve been told resembles our mother’s. A more intimidating person I have yet to meet.

  “I might need a small favor.”

  Obviously. I put up a modicum of pushback. “I’m working,”

  Sophia snorts at that because I really do have the best job flexibility. “Pleeeease Zeph, my business is at risk! It will be super easy!”

  I doubt that. If the task was easy, Sophia wouldn’t be here.

  “More details, less pleading; what do you mean your business is at risk?”

  Sophia doesn’t answer and instead gives me a push. Turning feels like acquiescence but if I’m being honest with myself, I already know I am going to do whatever Sophia needs. I just don’t want to let her know that yet. The bond of sisterhood is eternal so that we can eternally drive each other crazy.

  We walk past the three guest bedrooms before getting to the master bedroom. Just enough rooms for whatever future plans I want. When I decide what I want. I had bought the house after selling some software and my requirements were that it be far enough away from my family home that I could breathe and that it had enough room for possibilities.

  My bedroom is clean enough that I’m not embarrassed. Sophia throws herself over my plush comforter before bounding over to my closet. My sister is nothing if not energetic. She begins going through my clothes with purpose and dread rises.

  “I thought you were going to ask me to do something I’m good at, like with a computer.” My voice sounds whiny.

  If this requires an outfit, I can only imagine what this favor will entail. I’d rather spend my night eating ice cream than swindling a mark, or whatever Sophia is going to ask for.

  “This guy is putting me out of business.” My sister is more serious now, yanking each hung item decisively. The sharp motion is evidence of how much this topic distresses her.

  “How?”

  Sophia is very good at what she does. Our parents had originally been anxious when Sophia described her business, but with time it had become clear that my sister loves dealing in gossip and intel of all kinds. It has even tempered her recklessness.

  Sophia’s business is relatively new, so she’s had some issues with getting clientele. But for someone to be able to put her out of business? Impossible.

  “This guy is good, like really good. I lost two clients to him when I refused their turn-around times. What they were asking for is dangerous and should be handled with caution. Instead, they were like, ‘well Reynolds can do it.’” Sophia suddenly looks like she’s going to cry but she hardens her face and pulls a stretchy halter top from my closet.

  It’s been years since I’ve seen my sister so unguarded. A vicious need to protect her rises past the tide of dread. “What’s the plan?”

  Sophia clears her throat and holds the halter top in front of me, eyeing it. “Well, I talked to Alice and she’s going to take him down.”

  That is vague and troubling. It’s also something that Sophia shouldn’t need my help for. These sorts of activities are more up her alley than mine.

  Alice is a witch I would not want to mess with. She and Sophia have been friends for years. They fit together in a way that I’d find enviable if I wanted to be that close to another person. They’re so similar that it’s hard to say when one stops and the other begins.

  “That seems… ethically dubious.” I choose my words carefully. Morals aren’t Sophia’s strong suit. Sophia shrugs, unconcerned, and I let her continue because I’m still missing at what part she needs me to do her a favor.

  “Alice just needs a favor first. I do a favor for her; she does a favor for me. You see… she’s got a bounty right now who has a weak spot for our kind.” Ah, this was it.

  “And you can’t be the bait?” I ask.

  “This target already knows me. We haven’t been formally introduced or anything, but I’ve seen him around.”

  I nod; she means that he has probably tried to catch her attention and she shut it down. Sophia can hardly act the part of the simpering female when this guy already knows her as the ball buster. I, on the other hand, don’t go out adventuring nearly as much and don’t have a reputation with other paranormal beings.

  “You aren’t asking for Amara’s help?”

  I try not to smile at Sophia’s distressed head shake. As if the Fates had determined that our traits must balance each other out, our oldest sister is as morally stringent as Sophia is lax. They do not blend.

  Amara would have helped Sophia if Sophia had asked. If Sophia doesn’t know that … I mentally shrug. Better for Amara to sit this one out. She’d have had more issues with this plan than I do.

  “Who is the target?” I ask, to make sure. Extended family may refer to me as “the smart one,” but really, I’m cautious. Or a coward, as Sophia might tease me with. I like things to go slow. I appreciate the quiet life. Our family is loud enough without me adding to the noise.

  “His name is Wyatt Henderson. Says he’s a witch, probably a warlock, but he owns that paranormal bar in the city that’s the top level of a fancy hotel. The bar was just covered in Spelled Out Monthly. What is it called? Oh yeah, Olympus.” Sophia scoffs and my lips twitch.

  Some beings love to cling to old things. Myths, traditions, it doesn’t matter if any of it is based in truth or not. I’ll get to find out for myself whether it’s the nostalgia that affects Henderson or the marketability of it to the client base. Lucky me.

  I suspect that with this bounty’s fascination with my kind, it’s nostalgia.

  Gregory

  The sooner this is done, the better.

  My inner wolf has been antsy since I got to this location. It’s an uncomfortable sensation, my skin itching from alertness and my mind sticks on every noise and motion. The sounds of people on the city sidewalk are barely muffled by the van and irritation sinks my already low mood lower.

  The animal and I have been in a state of conflict for months. I won’t give it what it wants because it won’t give me any promises.

  I roll my neck and shoulders; the tight muscles give a twinge. The day already feels like a long one and it hasn’t even hit noon yet. Granted, when you wake up at 4 a.m. to start cinnamon rolls, noon feels close to the end of the day.

  I glance over as Alice messes with some electronics on the narrow desk. The van we’re in the back of is decked out for all kinds of surveillance unneeded for this job and it takes an enormous amount of self-control not to ask her where she got it. Chances are high that I don’t want to know.

  Alice is a fixer. You need something and she’ll set you up.

  “Hey, Grumpy Gus, pass me that wax pencil, would you?” Alice’s tone is sharp. Business as usual for the witch.

  I clench my jaw at her address but pass the pencil that she gestured to from the things scattered on the desk.

  Alice narrows her eyes. “I don’t get what your bad mood is for. You told me you were looking for ways to get some extra cash and now you’re acting like I pulled you along by the hairs of your chinny chin chin.”

  I smooth my hand down my short beard and huff a little as Alice makes tiny symbols on the earpieces in front of her. The small devices will be used for communication during the job. A safety measure for a job that Alice has repeatedly described as being very safe.

  There’s obviously more risk in this situation than Alice wants to be open about. I do need the money though.

  “Sorry Alice, I just have a lot on my mind.”

  Lik
e a certain dark-haired investor who, with the extra funds from this job, I will be one step further away from ever having to talk to again. The thought of it makes my chest hurt, but everything makes my chest hurt lately. This thought is merely one more cut on top of all the others I’ve inflicted on myself.

  “Like when to start on the next batch of bagels? Or is it serious? I know, you’re trying to think of the perfect spice mixture for the batch of cinnamon rolls you’re going to make to thank me for this wonderful opportunity.” Alice points the wax pencil at me.

  My lips tug. I try not to smile at the short, curvy witch. I like Alice, always have.

  “Yeah, that’s it. I’m thinking I’m going to add clove to the next batch.”

  Alice’s eyes roll back in delight before sighing. “To be fair, Dale did warn me that you’d been in a chronic bad mood for weeks before I offered you this job.”

  My eyebrows raise. “Is that so?”

  My fey assistant has avoided Alice like the plague since the time she hexed him with a stutter for two weeks for asking if she was really going to eat her whole order herself. He deserved the punishment. That Dale braved Alice’s presence to warn her about my mood speaks volumes about my behavior. I grit my teeth.

  “But I figured it was worth the risk. I’d appreciate it if you could keep a clear head for the job. As much as I adore whatever spice you put in those delicious creations, I’ve been planning this job forever. Getting everything just so. The perfect muscle—” She gestures to me. “The right equipment, and finally the perfect bait.”

  That last one surprises me. “Bait? I thought you said this was a simple bounty grab.”

  “It is and it isn’t. The important part for you,” Alice pokes my chest with her index finger, “is to make sure nothing happens to the bait. There are certain beings that I don’t need on my back, and Sophia’s family—” Alice shudders. The name doesn’t sound familiar.