She landed, the force of it shaking the ground. She staggered, not used to leaving the sky in this form. I’ll have to work on my landing, she thought, then turned her attention to Victor, speaking mind-to-mind. I’ve burned this place to the ground. Surrender.

You won’t spare me, Victor snarled.

He was right about that.

He turned, bellowing at his remaining forces, a handful of armed men and werewolves. The best of his warriors were gone, though. Stacy intended to finish this, while Victor meant to make a final stand.

Too late, Stacy spoke into his mind. You thought you were dealing with Stacy Drake, but really, you’ve come face-to-face with Anastasia Drakethorn.

All was quiet in the shop aside from the hissing tea kettle in the kitchen, the cat’s occasional purring, and the gentle pattering of rain against the windowpane. The books were in their places, and everything was swept and dusted. A hot meal awaited the bookshop owner in the oven, its aroma wafting into every part of his small home. All things considered, tonight would have been perfect.

Despite the quiet, Ethan sensed someone other than himself was in his shop. The door hadn’t opened. He would have heard it. Of course, anyone who came in here had to possess magic because humans without magic couldn’t see the place.

This person, whoever the hell they were, had managed to enter with magic while not using the door. Ethan didn’t like that. People with mysterious ways unnerved him. If they wanted to come into his damn shop after hours, they could simply ask.

Holding a cup of tea, Ethan strode into the main part of the shop and stopped short.

A tall, dark-haired man with gray threading his temples turned, hands locked behind his back. He looked almost regal, wearing all black trimmed with crimson. He appeared to be somewhere in his late fifties, though Ethan knew he could be far older.

Something about the man’s flashing eyes threw him off guard. At first, he thought the intruder’s eyes were yellow, but he quickly surmised they were gold.

“Hello, Ethan,” the man greeted in a deep voice that reminded him of ancient things, like many of the books surrounding them. “That is your name, correct?”

“Y-yes. And you are?”

The man offered a knowing smile.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Ethan added hurriedly. “My shop is closed, and I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

The man strode toward him and extended a hand. Ethan noted a large ring on his left ring finger with a bright, shining ruby. It looked expensive and arcane. “My name is Khan. I believe you are a friend of my daughter, Stacy.”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “Y-yes. Stacy and I are friends. I’ve been helping her with magic. I’m a…” He trailed off, realizing how flustered he’d become. Why am I acting this way?

The knowing smile on Khan’s face widened. “A witch, yes. Like Stacy. I am grateful to you for helping her. She has my bloodline in her, but I am not a witch. I can teach her a lot, but not the things you have shown her.”

Ethan had been right that Stacy wasn’t merely a witch. Something else prowled beneath her skin. Normally, Ethan could sense on other magicals what they were, but Khan’s heritage was a mystery. He sensed shifter but not what kind. What did that mean about Stacy?

Gods, I hope I don’t have a werewolf standing in my shop.

Khan chuckled. “I am not a werewolf. Some would say I’m worse.”

Ethan’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. “You can read minds?”

“No, but your thoughts are written as plainly on your face as ink on paper.”

Ethan schooled his expression, his cheeks reddening.

Khan fluttered a hand about the space. “You have quite a collection here. I can see why my daughter enjoys spending time in your shop.”

Ethan flushed deeper, though he wasn’t sure why. “I don’t suppose you came here to buy books?”

“Ah, no. I have little need for more books. My library at home is quite expansive.” Another flutter of his hand. “I probably have a copy of everything you have here.”

Ethan bristled. He considered his collection rare. Most of it, anyway. The typical spell books every witch shop had were available here as well. “Then, without meaning to sound like a total asshole, why are you here? Has something happened to Stacy?” he asked at last.

“Maybe. If not by now, sometime soon.” Khan’s voice was wistful, his gaze far off.

Ethan couldn’t help the puzzlement that filled his features.

“She will need your help soon, Ethan,” Khan added after a few heartbeats in which his listener wondered if he was ever going to understand what the hell was going on.

Khan drew a folded piece of paper embossed in gold from the front pocket of his black-and-crimson pinstriped vest and handed it to the witch. “This is the address of the place Stacy is currently at. You had better be going soon if you don’t want to miss the show. I think she will finally come into her full form tonight. She hasn’t told you about it, but she should. A time will come when she will need every ally she can get.”

Ethan knew Stacy didn’t always feel safe, especially in the city, but what Khan was suggesting seemed far bigger than he had imagined. What danger was Stacy in now? And what the hell did her father mean by her “coming into her full form?”

He forgot all about his tea and the hot dinner awaiting him. All plans for the evening flew out the window.

Khan strode to the door as if he intended to depart that way. He turned back to see Ethan gawking at the paper. The embossment had one name on it. Drakethorn.

Stacy’s last name was Drake, or so Ethan had thought. If Drakethorn was her true last name, it meant…

She’s fucking rich.

The Constantine Drakethorn stood in his shop. A new sensation skittered up Ethan’s spine, something between fear and apprehension. Rumor had it Constantine was no ordinary shifter. He was a dragon. Much, much worse than a werewolf, he decided. Ethan could hardly remain on his feet. Did this mean Stacy was one, too?

He was still reeling when Khan added, “I will see you another time, Ethan.”

His mouth hung open as he watched Khan leave not by opening the door and walking through it, but by touching the knob, then vanishing into thin air.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Surprise looked much the same on the face of a werewolf as it did on a human’s. The sound of Stacy’s true name rattled through Victor.

You’re not, he snarled into her mind. That’s impossible!

Why else do you think I can take this form?

The Red Dragon has not been seen for ages!

That doesn’t mean he died. He was busy having a daughter! Among other things.

Stacy couldn’t tell if the emotion joining shock on Victor’s face was hatred or fear. Probably a mixture of both. She didn’t care.

Victor unleashed a feral growl and charged, claws extending. He slid through the rain-churned earth, aiming for her underbelly.

Though her body was far more awkward and heavy than she was used to, Stacy managed to pivot with a powerful twist, her tail whipping toward him. His claws caught on the end of her tail, but she hardly felt it before she thrashed it enough to send him flying. Victor crashed into one of the smoking trees.