Wolf Moon Rising (Beaux Rêve Coven 3)

She gave him a vague smile and walked quickly from the room, through the pews, and out the door. The sight that greeted her had her frowning. Something was up. All of her sisters stood beside Logan.

And then she sniffed. There was an acrid, smoky scent. Fire. Her gaze went to forest beyond the town. A plume of black smoke rose high into the air.

Behind her, she heard a gasp. She turned. Father Guidry stood staring at the plume of smoke. “No, no, no…” he muttered under his breath.

She glanced again at her sisters, whose expressions were set.

Bryn stepped toward her. “Come with me.”

She shook her head. “What’s going on, Bryn?”

Her sister witch shook her head. “Nothing you need to concern yourself about.”

And then she knew. “No!” she shouted. “The oak?”

“Not here,” Bryn said, her tone even.

The priest rushed past her, faster that she would have thought possible for his age, and he was heading toward the dock beside the bridge.

She rushed down the steps then sidestepped Logan who tried to stand in her way. With a wave of her hand, she pushed him with the force of her thought, out of the way and hurried after the priest, lifting her skirt to run.

She caught up with him just as he untied a pirogue from the dock and stepped inside. She stepped in after him and took a seat.

His gaze met hers. His mouth tightened.

Footsteps clomped down the dock, but she didn’t look back. “Go!”

He started the engine, which drowned out the voices calling her name, and the boat entered the canal.

She didn’t wonder about his concern. A fire in the forest would explain it, although not the fact he hadn’t bothered to raise an alarm before he left.

Minutes later, he ran the boat into the bank, and they stepped out, not bothering to take the time to do more than loop the rope around a fallen log. Together they rushed into the forest.

The closer to the ancient oak they drew, the more certain she was of what was happening—and that her sisters had known. They were burning the tree. Closing the portal. By the time she reached the clearing, she could barely breath she’d run so fast. When she broke into the sacred space, Father Guidry pulled on her arm. “It’s too late,” he said and then wrapped his arms around her middle to hold her back.

Sigurd, Ethan, and several of the demons stood in a wide circle, watching the flames lick upward, consuming the branches of the great, old oak.

Tears filled her eyes at the loss, not only of the only doorway she’d found, but for the spirit of the old tree.

“It’s too late,” the priest muttered. “What have they done?”

His words broke through her misery. Suspicion settled like a hard knot in her belly. She pushed away his arms to face him. “Why do you care about an old oak tree?”

“Yes, Father,” Bryn said, entering the clearing. “Why do you care?”

Her sisters surrounded them, and the demons all turned as one to watch.

His dark eyes glittered as he held her gaze for a long moment. Then his shoulders fell, and he reached for the white collar, pulling it from his neck. The instant it left his skin, light shimmered around his frame, blurring his image. When it faded, she took a step backward. Another set of arms enfolded her. Sigurd’s, she knew. She didn’t fight his embrace as her knees wobbled.

The creature standing in the clearing in front of her was fae. Tall, broad-shouldered, with silvery hair that fell to his shoulders—and blue-green, glittering eyes.

Recognizing him instantly, she stiffened inside Sigurd’s arms. “Were you waiting for me to conceive to steal my child?” she asked, her voice thick with anger.

Her father raised his hand. “Daughter, it’s not as simple as that.”

Sigurd’s curse in her ear was bitter. His arms tightened.

She pushed at his arms and wriggled until he let her go. Not glancing back, she stomped toward her father. “Then explain it to me. Explain how you could be here, be my friend for years, and still want to steal my child.”