Chapter One

Donata stared at the man standing in the hallway in front of her apartment, torn between the desire to slam the door in his face and the equally strong impulse to jump into his arms and kiss him until he cried uncle. She compromised by taking a deep breath and saying with a calmness she didn’t quite feel, “Hello, Magnus. Long time no see.”

Uncharacteristically, the blond giant of a man hesitated, holding back on his usual exuberant greeting. He clearly wasn’t quite sure how to proceed either, although he couldn’t suppress his grin at seeing her.

“Hello, Donata. Aren’t you going to ask me in?” He held out a slightly battered bouquet of flowers that looked like they might have been plucked from someone’s garden and probably had been. Although where he’d found them this far into fall, she wasn’t sure.

She also wasn’t sure if she felt like letting him in. She hadn’t had much luck with men lately and wasn’t really in the mood to deal with another one. But her cat, Grimalkin, settled the question for her by strolling into the hallway and winding around Magnus’s legs, purring madly.

“Traitor,” she muttered, opening the door wider to accommodate her old lover’s ridiculously wide shoulders. Then added to Magnus, looking up all six foot four of him to meet his ocean-colored eyes, “Fine, but consider yourself warned. I’m off men at the moment, so don’t expect me to fall for your charm and the old stolen-flowers routine.”

He chuckled, handing her the blooms, and wandered briefly around the living room before plopping onto the couch and putting his feet up on the scarred table in front of it. “I like your new place.” He paused. “I take it I don’t have to worry about Peter coming in and challenging me for your hand then?”

She gave a small growl through clenched jaws. “No,” she said flatly. “He was around for a bit, but it didn’t work out. He’s gone.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “‘Gone’ as in left town, or ‘gone’ as in he pissed you off and you killed him?” He didn’t sound as though he thought either outcome was a problem.

“‘Gone’ as in left town without a forwarding address,” Donata said, grabbing a couple of beers out of the fridge and handing one to him as she settled into the chair opposite him, intentionally keeping a safe distance between them. She hadn’t seen him in over seven months, but they’d always had a dangerously tempting chemistry. “I killed the other guy.”

The eyebrow moved higher. “Is that a joke?”

A small hand appeared out of nowhere holding its own beer; the hand was attached to a three-foot-tall man wearing a long, neatly trimmed brown beard and matching brown overalls. “Not at all,” the Kobold said. “But it’s okay. The bastard had it coming to him.”

Magnus choked on his beer, sputtering slightly. Ricky helpfully handed him a handkerchief to mop up with. “You killed someone, ’Nata? I’m impressed.”

She rolled her eyes. Only an Ulfhednar, descended from a race of shapeshifting berserkers, would consider murdering a former boyfriend to be a kudos-worthy achievement. “Don’t be. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d had any choice.”

“It looks like I missed a lot in the last few months.” He reached out for her hand but sat back again when she made no move toward him.

Donata held herself stiffly upright. There was no way she was going to go down that road again. She’d learned her lesson.

“You could say that. It’s a long story; one for another time, perhaps. After you’ve told me how you’ve been, maybe. I know you had to leave to finish your Ulf training at home.” It had been tough, watching both him and Peter walk away. “It would have been nice to have gotten, oh, I don’t know, a phone call or something to tell me you were still alive.”

She hadn’t even known for sure about Peter’s continued existence until recently. She sure could pick ’em: a half-Dragon forger with anger-management issues and a disgraced Shapechanger, both of them with enough baggage to fill an airport carousel.

“I’m sorry, ’Nata. The Ulf training is incredibly intense and requires complete focus. We’re supposed to avoid all distractions during the training.” He grinned at her over the top of his beer. “You know I’ve always found you very distracting.”

Donata huffed out a breath. “And you know I hate that nickname,” she said automatically. “So, does your presence here mean that your training is finished and you’ve finally become an Ulf?”

She knew it had been important to him to learn how to control his inner berserker, and after avoiding the training for years he had returned home to take up where he’d left off when he was much younger. He’d intended to triumph over the arduous tests that would make him one of the elite warriors of the Ulfhednar. Or die trying. Until he’d shown up at her door looking like a modern-day Viking with a scruffy three-day beard, she hadn’t known how worried she’d been about the possibility he’d failed. Those who did rarely survived. She felt like she’d let out a breath she’d been holding for almost eight months.

“Not exactly,” he said, draining the beer and putting it down with a clunk before meeting her brown eyes with his own blue ones. “I’m actually still in the middle of training. I got special permission to leave briefly, just long enough to drive here and talk to you. But then I have to head right back.”

Donata had to suppress a flash of involuntary disappointment. Great. Another one who wasn’t going to stay. Men. Who needed them? She ignored Ricky’s sympathetic look.

She stood up. “Okay, then. You’ve talked to me. It’s been swell catching up. Have a good trip home.”

Magnus didn’t move, other than to stroke the back of the cat, who was draped over his large lap, purring.

“You don’t understand, Donata,” he said. “My people are in trouble. I’m in trouble. And I’ve come to ask for your help.”

Donata could feel her mouth drop open. Magnus was one of the proudest, most stubborn men she knew. Until this moment, she would have sworn he wouldn’t have asked for help if he was drowning and she was standing by with a boat, a life buoy, and three friendly dolphins. Whatever the problem was, it must be bad.