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  Chalcey just missed spraying Francesca with her mouthful of hot chocolate. Whoa. She sure hadn’t seen that one coming. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and gulped another mouthful. A sugar-rush was definitely required to handle this situation with any sort of aplomb.

  Francesca blotted up the mess with another lace hanky. “Centuries ago, Wulf was cursed and imprisoned in a piece of wulfenite crystal by the Crystal Guardian.”

  Hel-lo. Déjà freaking vu. Had her mother somehow invaded her mind and shared her dreams?

  Francesca interpreted Chalcey’s reaction as disbelief. She compressed her lips and puffed out a delicate sigh. “It’s true,” she said, smoothing her dress down her thighs.

  “Sure it is,” Chalcey said, imbuing her tone with a large dollop of skepticism. Not because she was being confrontational, but because right now, she just needed someone—anyone—to clue her in on what the fuck was going on, and needling her mother was sure to do the trick.

  “I don’t suppose you’d just take my advice and stay away from him?”

  Chalcey shook her head. “Nope.”

  “I suppose you want to know everything so you can make an informed decision.”

  “You got it. Now spill.”

  Was that an eye-roll? Nah. She must have been imagining it. Francesca didn’t do eye-rolls.

  “Before I explain, I need to ask you another personal question. How many times have you had intercourse with Wulf?” She stared at Chalcey with über-intentness, as though her daughter’s entire fate teetered precariously upon the answer.

  Apprehension burrowed into the pit of her stomach and hatched into great big butterflies. “That’s pretty personal, even for you,” she managed to say in a very normal voice, even though her mouth had gone dry. “I don’t make a habit of discussing my sex-life.” And especially not with my mother.

  Francesca had the grace to look slightly abashed by the probing question—so abashed and flushed with embarrassment that Chalcey felt sorry for her and relented. “Sheesh! Once, okay? We’ve had sex once.”

  Her mother exhaled long and loud, sagging back in her chair, so obviously relieved by the answer that worry bit at Chalcey’s mind. “Why do you seem so darn thrilled to hear that?”

  “Because then there’s a chance you’re not irrevocably bound to Wulf yet.” Francesca sipped her chocolate. She didn’t seem in any hurry to elaborate and put Chalcey out of her misery.

  Chalcey waited.

  And waited some more.

  And fumed.

  And finally lost it. “Will you just tell me what the bloody hell is going on?”

  To her shock, Francesca obliged. “Wulf’s a Styrian warrior from an alien world. Their priests opened a portal to our world and sent Wulf and his men here to steal women for breeding purposes. An old man with a supernatural affinity for crystals cast a spell to imprison them all in their namesake crystals. That old man became the Guardian of the Crystals, condemned to watch over them all until each warrior finds a woman who might be able to redeem him for his crimes. This might come as a surprise to you, but you’ve been chosen to redeem Wulf.”

  It was all Chalcey could do to stay in her chair, rather than stagger to her feet and dig out her last bottle of tequila with a view to numbing her shock with alcohol.

  Spells and curses? Maybe. Okay, yeah. She’d seen Pieter imprisoning men in crystals—well, a vision of him doing that, but a damned vivid, totally convincing one that was almost impossible to deny. And she’d pretty much convinced herself that Wulf had emerged from the crystal Pieter had given her, too.

  But portals to other worlds? Cast by priests? No way. No freaking way.

  “Let’s put aside the possibility of other worlds even existing for a moment,” she said, and hoped that sentiment didn’t immediately brand her a nut-job. “Let me get this straight. Wulf and his men came to our world to steal women.” Okay, she’d seen them do it—kind of—but she wanted confirmation. From a real person.

  Francesca didn’t bother to mince words. “Yes. It’s documented throughout history. Women frequently went missing in those times but of course the disappearances were mostly attributed to misadventure. But there’s a discernable pattern to the disappearances if you know what to look for.”

  Oookay then. Her mother almost sounded like she knew what she was talking about. Almost. “And the reason these warriors needed to steal women in the first place is?”

  “All the females native to their own world had died out. Even when the Styrian males mated with our women, only male babies were born. They stole women to replenish their population, so their race wouldn’t become extinct.”

  Ah. That part did make sense—not the bit about only male babies being born, because that was weird for sure, but the bit about Wulf’s people needing women for their race to survive. “You think this kidnapping of women is still going on to this day? Is that why you’re so worried about me? Because you think Wulf is going to force me to go back to his world with him?”

  “Not exactly,” Francesca said. “I suspect that after the Crystal Guardian imprisoned Wulf and a number of his men, their priests found another world to pillage.”

  Chalcey had almost reached her limit for suspending disbelief. She sipped her chocolate and tried not to give into the desire to laugh hysterically. “Boy, I never would have guessed that Pieter was this helluva powerful magician who’d get his jollies by invading my dreams and showing me the past.”

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Francesca jerk like she’d been zapped with an electric current. She kept talking, wondering what else her mother might inadvertently reveal. “The old guy really had me fooled with his ‘let me show you my pretty crystals’ act. I wonder why he chose me? I mean, like I want to relive what he did to Wulf and his men. It’s horrible enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my life. I’m not exactly an angel, but I don’t think I’ve done anything bad enough to deserve that.”

  Francesca wasn’t even attempting to hide her shock. She stared at Chalcey, her eyes hugely dilated. “You know the Crystal Guardian’s name. A-and you’ve dreamed of him.”

  “Yep. Him and Wulf. And more than a dream, too. More of an experience, if you get what I mean. It was so vivid it was like I was there. Heck, why else do you think I’m sitting here listening to this? It’s not because you’ve helped clean up and made me a mug of chocolate. Normally our conversation would go the same way it always does when you go on about auras and suchlike. I’d tell you it was rubbish. You’d argue with me and try to convince me otherwise. I’d refuse to listen, and you’d flounce off home and I wouldn’t hear from you for another six months or so.”

  The instant the words were out, Chalcey snapped her mouth closed, ashamed by her tirade. She could tell by the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes that she’d hurt her. Deeply. Francesca was trying to help. She hadn’t deserved Chalcey’s scorn. Her gaze slid away from her mother’s, and they both retired to their metaphorical corners to lick their not-so-metaphorical wounds. Emotional baggage was a bitch of monumental proportions.

  “I’m sorry,” Chalcey said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Francesca waved away her apology. “You only told the bald truth.”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t make it better though, does it?”

  “No. Not really.”

  Even though it was hard to hold tight to emotional baggage when chocolate and marshmallows were involved, Chalcey could feel a tightness behind her eyes that heralded the onset of a killer stress headache. She needed to wrap this up before it hit her full force and she couldn’t think straight. “So tell me what you know about Crystal Guardian. Pieter. Or Pietersite, if we’re going to get technical with true-names and such.”

  Francesca sucked in a deep breath and let it out very slowly—the kind of gesture people make when they have bad news to impart. Chalcey’s apprehension increased exponentially.

  “You’re correct that Pieter’s true name is Pietersite,” Francesca
said. “He’s named for a crystal, as I’m sure you’re aware. And there’s no doubt he is a powerful sorcerer. But not even his affinity with crystals could save him from the backlash of his curse. The spell he wrought bound him to the men he imprisoned. Until each warrior atones for his sins and has a chance to bond with a woman who could redeem him and potentially be his true mate, Pieter is condemned to remain their guardian.”

  Pieter’s spell filled Chalcey’s mind and the words spilled from her lips. “Verily the crystal for which thee be named/ Shalt form the prison in which thee be bound /To atone the sins for which thee be blamed/ ‘Til thee be blessed and thy true love be found.”

  Francesca made a choking sound, as though her throat had tightened around words she wanted to speak.

  But Chalcey hadn’t finished. “Kyanite, Shattuckite, Danburite, Malachite, Okenite—”

  “Stop!” The color drained from her mother’s face until her blue eyes resembled shining sapphire baubles nestled in sheet-white. “No more, please. Chalcey, do you have any alcohol handy? I-I really could do with a drink.”

  “Just a minute.” There was something she hadn’t quite grasped yet. Something too important to allow herself to be distracted by the lure of alcohol. “What do you mean when you say there’s a chance that I’m not ‘irrevocably bound’ to Wulf yet? What exactly does ‘irrevocably bound’ mean, anyway? And, more importantly, how does it happen?”

  Chalcey could see from the tiny frown between her mother’s brows that Francesca was debating whether or not to come clean. She was about to come down hard on her mother and insist, when Francesca spoke. “Since arriving here, Wulf has forged a bond with you and only you. He feels physical pain if he’s not near you. And each time you are sexually intimate, the bond between you only grows stronger. But for now it can still be broken. It is not yet irrevocable.”

  “Oookay.” That sure explained Wulf’s weird comments about hurting if he was away from her. “So how exactly does the irrevocable bit happen?”

  “For the bond to be irrevocable and the Testing—” Francesca pronounced “testing” like it deserved a capital T “—to be scheduled, within one month, or twenty-eight days to be precise, you must exchange true names and have sex with him three times. Then, if you both pass the Testing you will be Wulf’s life-mate.”

  Chalcey thought back to when she’d passed out. And to Wulf collapsing on top of her. Uh oh. Seemed more than likely the exchanging true names bit was a done deal. “What’s this Testing deal?”

  “It differs. I know of one Testing that took the form of a physical test provoked by outside influences. And two which seemed a more internal process, a test of will or depth of feelings, if you like.”

  Chalcey’s jaw sagged. She placed her mug carefully on the table before she dropped it. “You’ve found three other Crystal Warriors? Who are they? Where are they now?”

  “You and Wulf are my main concern at the moment. When you’re safe from him, there’ll be plenty of time to discuss everything else.” Her gaze skittered away.

  She was hiding something.

  Later, then. As she said, there was plenty of time. But Chalcey still had questions that needed answering. Important questions—life-changing, even. “What’s with the whole having sex three times thing? Is three a magic number or something?”

  Francesca shrugged, somehow making the weary gesture elegant. “Apparently.”

  Chalcey blew out a pained breath which did nothing to ease the panicked tightness in her chest. “What happens if I don’t do the wild thing two more times with Wulf, or I fail this Testing?”

  “If the bond doesn’t fully activate for whatever reason, or if you don’t pass the Testing, Wulf will be bound to his crystal again. And this time, Pieter will be able to destroy it and Wulf both. Which he will, of course. Why wouldn’t he? One less Crystal Warrior for him to guard.”

  Chalcey gasped for enough breath to fill her lungs. Her mother’s words were like a kick in the gut. Francesca was talking about a man’s life—Wulf’s life!—and she’d tossed off the comment like she was discussing the unfortunate demise of a pet goldfish. “You’re kidding me,” she said. Hoping against hope that her mother was yanking her chain. And suspecting that she wasn’t.

  Francesca worried at her lower lip with her teeth.

  There was something crucial she hadn’t revealed. The stakes were high—Francesca wouldn’t have flown out to see her on a mere whim. Chalcey instinctively knew if she let on how she really felt about Wulf, how she didn’t believe his punishment fit his crime, Francesca would fob her off with platitudes, and she’d be back where she started. Fighting her lust for Wulf. And ignorant of the consequences if she gave in to it.

  She decided to put Francesca’s mind at rest, play it light and casual. “No worries then. I’m completely safe. The chances of me becoming life-mated to Wulf are zilch.”

  “Are you sure?” Francesca’s gaze raked Chalcey’s face, searching for the truth.

  “Oh, come on. This is the real world. There’s got to be a logical explanation for all this. Binding two people magically through sex? It’s like some warped fairy tale!” Please let it be a fairy tale. Please? Because, dammit, Wulf had gotten under her skin. She didn’t want him to suffer any more. She definitely didn’t want him to die, either. But that didn’t mean she wanted to be mated to him and have some spell hanging over her head for the rest of her life.

  “You have no idea how much I wish it was just a fantasy. But it isn’t.”

  Chalcey clutched at one last hope—that her mother wouldn’t be able to prove any of this. Then she could shrug this entire conversation off, delude herself that her weird dreams and encounters with ancient old magicians and alien Crystal Warriors had never taken place. Pretend she’d never met Wulf, never kissed him, never had sex with him. Pretend she could go back to her pathetic little life, unscathed by her encounter with him. “Even you admit that this could all be conjecture. How do you know it’s true, Francesca? You, personally, I mean.”

  Francesca’s poise shattered. She seemed to shrink in upon herself and age before Chalcey’s shocked gaze. Her face became drawn, etched with suffering, as though she was reliving some terrible tragedy. Chalcey wanted to look away, give her some privacy to get herself together. But she couldn’t.

  “Because Pieter once chose me to be bound to a Crystal Warrior,” Francesca said. “Just like he’s chosen you.”

  Shit. She hadn’t seen that coming, either.

  “I sensed you were in danger,” Francesca said. “I knew something was wrong. That’s why I had to come—to see for myself that you were okay. And when I saw Wulf, I knew I was too late. He’d already beguiled you.”

  Her mother’s words had pinned Chalcey to the spot, as though she’d morphed into some exotic butterfly sacrificed to satisfy a collector’s whim. The kitchenette’s creamy-toned walls, a color she’d specifically chosen for its light, spacious feel, abruptly closed in on her. This changed everything she believed about her mother, everything she thought she knew. What Francesca had told her…. It freaking well rewrote history.

  She struggled with the welter of emotions ebbing and surging through her woefully unprepared mind, and felt compelled to do something. Anything. She scrambled to her feet in a flurry of movement which rocked the table and sent her cheap, lightweight chair skittering across the floorboards.

  “Chalcey?” Her mother’s voice shook.

  Francesca was trying to hold it all in, to hang on to her composure, but she was devastated. Chalcey could see it in her eyes, in the way she held herself—all quivering muscles, as though she would collapse in a boneless heap on the floor if she let go.

  Chalcey went to her mother and hugged her, offering comfort she no longer knew quite how to give. Francesca clutched her like a lifeline. Her body shook. Then she gathered the shreds of her control and went still.

  Her mother’s unnatural stillness was a sure sign that she no longer welcomed the embrace but Chalcey couldn
’t remember the last time she’d willingly hugged her mother. She lingered a moment before disentangling herself. “I’ll get that drink you wanted,” she said. “God knows, I could do with one myself right now.”

  She fished out the key to the liquor cupboard from its hiding place inside the empty laxative container. Hey, it made a good hiding place. Not even her roommates from her old apartment had figured it out. Mind you, she’d always believed that if Francesca’s husband, Edgar, ever came to stay, she’d be forced to find another hiding place. Edgar always looked constipated.

  Brandishing a bottle at Francesca, she said, “This is 80 proof Casa Noble Tequila. It’s one hundred percent blue agave Reposado—my favorite. Well, only because I can’t afford the Añejo.” She plunked the bottle on the table with a calculated flourish.

  She’d developed a penchant for tequila while dating a young Mexican guy back in her teens. Like so many middleclass Americans, she’d thought that the only way to drink tequila was the lick, sip, suck method. She was summarily branded an ignorant heathen, and informed only tourists wanting to make spectacles of themselves drink tequila like that. Live and learn.

  “And if you’re going to partake of a good Reposado, you have to have the correct glassware, a traditional two-ounce glass called a caballito. So of course I’ve bought a set of those, too.” Chalcey knew she was rambling, regurgitating all this nonsensical stuff to stave off a huge case of emotional fallout. In this case, rambling was far preferable. But she was fast running out of ramble. Heaving a sigh, she resumed her seat at the table.

  Francesca quirked an eyebrow into a perfect arch. “Are you intending to drown your sorrows or mine?”

  “Both.” She poured the pale liquor into her mother’s glass, filling it almost to the rim.

  Francesca took a hesitant sip, swallowed and gasped, fanning her face to catch her breath. “Phwoar! This is really good!”

  “You sound surprised. It is good. It may not be the best but it’s still pricey. And it’s my last bottle. I won’t be able to splash out on any more for a while.”