Chapter One

Demetria

"That blasted mockingbird," Demetria groaned into her pillow.

Demetria hadn't been asleep long when the devil bird decided to land in the tree outside her window for her morning serenade. Sleep had escaped her for the past week, and she was in desperate need of a straight eight hours. It'd been torture needing the shuteye, but not being able to force herself to do it.

After the last several weeks, she deserved some damn sleep. Deep down she knew why she couldn’t shut her eyes for long … because he wasn't there. Kerry Donovan. Her hottie werewolf mate. The one that she knew could put her to sleep.

Groaning, she kicked her legs wildly in her bed, scaring her Siamese cat off the edge.

Why had the gods been so cruel? She was kind. She'd been a good witch. What mirror had she broken in a past life? Her body ached to be with Kerry, every fiber of her being wanted it, needed it, but she knew better.

Especially since, she'd had that hovering feeling of someone watching her. The invisible eyes that seemed to hide in plain sight crawled over her skin like spiders. She'd escaped avoiding his favor for over a decade. When she agreed she 'owed him one,' she thought he'd need to borrow some magic or a cake pan. Not her soul.

She was young and didn't know any better at the time. She should have known. He'd come out of nowhere when the coven of witches threatened to burn her at the stake for stealing herbs from their garden.

Demetria had, but she didn't realize it was their herbs. They were dark witches, and so was Ike—apparently. He'd popped up like unwanted bird poop on your window—out of nowhere, offering Demetria a way out.

Years later, she realized when reading one of her books that the favor wasn't just a favor. It was her soul. The past five years she'd walked on eggshells, guarding herself from the outside world, and only mingling with her family and her ex-husband, which was a completely different story in itself. She knew not to get involved with him, but she was lonely and wanted to give love a chance.

That didn't work out. Demetria was many things, but the relationship type wasn't one of them.

The fact she sounded like a washed-up 80s movie wasn't wasted on her.

Hence the reason she woke up alone rather than next to, on top of, or below Kerry Donovan. She couldn’t drag him into the midst of her life, and have Ike come and take her away. He'd already lost one mate, she wasn't cruel enough to be his second.

She jerked the covers off her feet, and walked toward her kitchen. The smell of coffee warmed her soul from her timed coffee pot. She planned to reach out to Claire, her niece, later in the day to plan a lunch date.

She'd spent so much time with her over the last month that she missed her. Even if half of it was battling a lyc an king that wanted to impregnate her werewolf-lycan hybrid niece and form some kind of super army. It'd been fun nonetheless.

"Weirdo," she mumbled as she poured her coffee mug to the brim. She walked along toward the silence of the living room, hearing the stupid bird continuing his song now outside of her living room window.

"If I believed in guns I would shoot you," she mumbled to herself, propping her feet onto a worn ottoman next to her couch. Her cat, Kitty, jumped onto the arm of her chair and stared at her. "What good are you if you won’t kill a bird?" she asked, scratching below his chin.

He meowed loudly in her ear, and jumped down to walk toward the front mat. She eyed him as he rubbed against the door in an attempt to get outside. "Okay," she said, standing up with her coffee, she walked toward the front door, and opened it wide.

The smell of pine, and fall wafted inside, sending a chill up her legs.

"Geesh, Kitty, get outside," she said, giving him a small tap with her foot.

He hopped out, and down the steps toward the woods next to her house. The singsong tweet of the mockingbird caught her attention from the railing of her porch, and Demetria glanced over to see it wasn't a mocking bird.

It was a lyrebird, and the sight of this particular one, sent chills down her spine. They were excellent at mimicking sounds around them.

From other birds, car alarms, and even people. They were native to Australia and Tasmania—not the southern United States, but Demetria knew where this one come from, because she'd seen it before.

In the bird's mouth was a white envelope.

"I promise, Ike. Please help me. Help me, Ike," the bird mimicked.

The mug in Demetria's hand shattered onto the porch, shards of porcelain flew around her bare feet. With shaky hands, she tiptoed over the sharp edges, and grasped the envelope in the bird's beak.

Demetria's hair stood on end at the symbol on the outside of the envelope. The mark of death. Demetria unfolded the letter, and inside was a simple sentence.

I'm here for my favor, Dove.

Fear snaked its way around her neck, and squeezed tightly. She wanted to scream, to cry, to beg, but she knew it would do no good.

She had no one that could help her against Ike, but she had to try, didn't she?

She backed away from the bird, who stared at her with beady eyes, as it began to mimic Ike's laugh. Demetria would never forget it. It was singsong like, and it matched his handsome appearance.

Ike was well over two hundred years old, but taking someone's soul gave you their youth. Demetria needed to make sure he didn't get hers. She slammed the door behind her, covering her mouth with her palm.

Silent tears raced down her face. She needed to go talk to Claire. Maybe her mate's pack could help since she'd helped them. They'd know how to get in touch with the witch—Cynthia—they saved from the lycan's dungeon.

It was her only option.

Demetria raced toward her room, pulling out her shoes. It was early enough that Claire wasn't in class yet, so she grabbed her keys and ran out her front door. The bird was gone, but the smell of magic lingered in the air.

Ike was near. Demetria backed out of her driveway and sped toward Claire's apartment building, praying that she made it there before he found her.

***

Demetria's hands were shaking when she parked her car in the parking space and ran up the breezeway stairs to the second floor.

She pounded on the door roughly.

"Just a second."

Claire opened the door and Demetria saw the look of shock there.

"What's the matter—,"

"I need to talk to you," Demetria said, shoving her way inside.

Claire examined her head to toe, most likely wondering why she wasn't dressed, or presentable.

Claire lifted her palms in a stay calm manner. "What's the matter? Slow down?"

She slicked back her hands over her hair and sighed. "There is a reason I can't act on my mating bond with Kerry, and believe it or not, it's not because I don't like him. I like 'em, Claire. I like 'em so much."

Claire gave her an unimpressed look and sat back down on the couch.

"Continue," she said nonchalantly.

"This is serious," she said sharply, while taking a seat beside her. "I'm in really deep."

Claire sat down her mug. "It can't be worse than what I've been through. Tell me. We will figure it out."

"Years ago I got myself in trouble with a coven of witches, and made a deal with a warlock to get out of it."

"A coven of witches? What kind of deal?"

"That I would owe him one day. I was young, and didn't realize that extent of a deal with a bad warlock, or that owing him meant more than a favor?"

She pulled out the letter from her pocket, and handed it to Claire who looked confused. She read over the letter, and glanced up. "Why do you think this means he needs more than a favor? Am I missing something?"

With shaky hands, Demetria turned over the page for her. "It's the mark of death, Claire. He is coming to collect on my debt. And I'm the debt."

"Oh my goodness," Claire said softly before standing up. "Come on. I'll text Axel. We'll meet him in the courtyard before class to tell him what's going on."

Claire walked toward her bedroom to get ready, but stopped and glanced over her shoulder at Demetria. "Have you told Kerry?"

Demetria's stomach dropped to her ass. "No. I can't. It'll break his heart."

Claire frowned. "He deserves to know, Aunt D."

"He deserve more than I can give him … period."