A Touch of Magic Read online

  Touch of Magic

  True Mates Generations Book 8

  Alicia Montgomery

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 Alicia Montgomery

  Edited by LaVerne Clark

  Cover by Jacqueline Sweet

  032520

  All rights reserved.

  About the Author

  Alicia Montgomery has always dreamed of becoming a romance novel writer. She started writing down her stories in now long-forgotten diaries and notebooks, never thinking that her dream would come true. After taking the well-worn path to a stable career, she is now plunging into the world of self-publishing.

  Also by Alicia Montgomery

  The True Mates Series

  Fated Mates

  Blood Moon

  Romancing the Alpha

  Witch’s Mate

  Taming the Beast

  Tempted by the Wolf

  The Lone Wolf Defenders Series

  Killian’s Secret

  Loving Quinn

  All for Connor

  The True Mates Standalone Novels

  Holly Jolly Lycan Christmas

  A Mate for Jackson: Bad Alpha Dads

  True Mates Generations

  A Twist of Fate

  Claiming the Alpha

  Alpha Ascending

  A Witch in Time

  Highland Wolf

  Daughter of the Dragon

  Shadow Wolf

  A Touch of Magic

  Heart of the Wolf

  The Blackstone Mountain Series

  The Blackstone Dragon Heir

  The Blackstone Bad Dragon

  The Blackstone Bear

  The Blackstone Wolf

  The Blackstone Lion

  The Blackstone She-Wolf

  The Blackstone She-Bear

  The Blackstone She-Dragon

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Please Review My Books

  Prologue

  Three years ago …

  The call came at three o’clock in the morning, and anyone who’s ever been woken up by their phone at that time knows that such a call would be important. That’s why Cross Jonasson immediately picked up the cell from his bedside table and answered it.

  “It’s me.”

  The sound of his father’s voice made him sit up. As hybrid—part Lycan, part warlock—his eyes naturally adjusted to the darkness so he didn’t need to reach for the light. His wolf, too, heard the urgency in his father’s voice and was immediately on alert.

  “What’s wrong? Is it Mom?”

  “No, it’s Gunnar.” The words came out short and clipped, his father’s accent becoming more pronounced. “Come now.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Rolling out of bed, he grabbed his discarded clothes from last night and quickly shrugged them on. From the dead seriousness of his father’s tone, he knew there would be no time to wash up or even gulp down a cup of coffee, even if he could make it himself on the go. Of course, while most people made coffee by brewing grounds, he could literally make coffee from thin air, via transmogrification, one of the powers he’d inherited from his warlock father.

  As he grabbed a rubber band to tie up his messy blond locks, he focused his thoughts on Gunnar’s location. He’d been there numerous times, so it wasn’t difficult to transport himself there using the other power he’d inherited from his father—teleportation across long distances.

  In seconds, he transported himself from his Lower East Side apartment in New York to the middle of nowhere in the Shenandoah Valley. He appeared in the corner of the living area of the sparse cabin, a spot he and his father had designated as their transport spot. Teleportation, after all, was a tricky power. He needed to have been somewhere before to transport there, or have a clear idea of the location and view of the place. Even then, it was dangerous as he could accidentally materialize inside a tree or piece of furniture. It was so dangerous that he didn’t even attempt it until he had been studying with his father for at least a decade.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as he strode into the cabin’s lone bedroom.

  Daric stood by the bed, his hand on his son’s shoulder as he looked to Cross with those blue-green eyes so much like his own. “It happened again.”

  Though Gunnar had his face buried in his hands as he sat at the edge of the bed, Cross could tell from the tense lines of his body that something was very wrong. Not as bad as the last time—the incident that lead him to live like a hermit in this remote cabin—but this seemed grave nonetheless. Moving closer, he mirrored his father’s gesture and placed his hand on his brother’s other shoulder. “Gunnar, are you okay?”

  Slowly, Gunnar turned his face up. His skin was pale and his brown eyes had a glazed-over look. “It was awful, Cross. Terrible. We … you … Dad … Mom … everyone dies.”

  Daric’s eyes turned stormy. “He’s had another premonition.”

  And that was the gift his younger brother had inherited from their father. The ability to see the future. However, unlike Daric’s power—which relied on touch—Gunnar’s was more spontaneous. He didn’t need to touch anyone to see their future. He just saw it.

  Cross knelt beside him. “Was it clear?” Gunnar nodded. “Have you told Dad?” Another nod. “Can you tell me?”

  There was a moment of hesitation in Gunnar’s face, but he took a short, sharp breath and began to speak. “It was so clear … so many there … you, Dad, Mom. Astrid. And Nick Vrost …” He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t Nick, this guy was younger. Maybe one of his sons. One of the twins or the eldest one. Also … Julianna Anderson, and Elise, and two more men I don’t recognize.”

  “What were they—we doing?” Cross asked.

  “A white marble table. Two things on top—a small sword and a pendant. There were hooded figures all around. Red robes. Red eyes.”

  Gunnar became even paler, and Cross knew why. Though he’d never seen one before, he knew his history well. Red robes and red eyes. It could only mean one thing—mages. “And then?”

  “There was a ceremony or something. They were chanting. You came up, trying to stop them, but you couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they had … there was a woman. White-blonde hair. Unusual eyes. Blue—no, they’re like amethysts. And she’s wearing a ring. It’s silver with a small red stone in the middle. She takes the sword and the pendant and then … and then …”

  Daric’s grip tightens. “Go ahead, tell him.”

  Gunnar’s lower lip trembles. “She falls to the floor. You’re holding her and whisper something in her ear. There’s fighting around you. A man with long white hair wearing a red hooded robe slips the ring on his finger, raises the dagger and the necklace over his head. He takes all the three objects and disappears. You’re all lying on the ground. Then everyone’s dead … you’re dead. She’s dead. Mom. Dad. Astrid. Everyone dies. And they take over … armies … cities burned to the ground … humans in chains … death. I can’t … stop!” His fingers gripped his short blond hair, pulling at it. “I can’t—”
r />   “It’s all right, son.” Daric rubbed at his back. “Why don’t you lie down?”

  Gunnar lay his head on the pillow and curled up into a ball. When he closed his eyes, Daric motioned for Cross to follow him out to the living area.

  “Was anyone hurt this time?” Cross asked when he shut the door behind him.

  “No, but that’s why he stays out here.”

  Since the accident over three years ago, the first time Gunnar’s premonition powers manifested. He’d been at the club in The Village he co-owned, and the magic he bled out was so powerful, it knocked everyone unconscious. That’s why he’d been living here. Well, that was the short version.

  “He’s never had another bad episode since the first time. Why now?”

  “I think the more important thing here is what he predicted.”

  Cross glanced back at the door to the bedroom, wondering if Gunnar was all right. These horrific visions he had … it tormented him. But Daric was right. What he saw was concerning, because Gunnar’s visions had never been wrong yet. “The mages are back.” He never thought he’d say such words out loud. “Or they will be.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” His father’s brows drew together. “We must warn the Alpha.”

  “Grant Anderson is no fool.” Cross rubbed his temple. “I don’t think he entirely believed us when we said Gunnar had an accident with some potions that mixed together in his pocket. If he finds out about what really happened—”

  “He won’t,” Daric said. “I’ll make sure of it. We’ll make sure of it.”

  Cross swallowed audibly. If Grant Anderson knew Gunnar’s powers were out of control, he would have no choice but to tell the Lycan High Council. And the council—who were already prejudiced against hybrids in the first place—could order his brother put down if he were deemed a danger. However, Cross also knew that the situation was so grave that Daric was willing to risk exposing his son.

  “What will we tell him?”

  So, they came up with a plan, and by sunrise, they were back in New York. Though they could easily teleport into Grant Anderson’s office, they opted to go through his assistant, Jared, and they were shown in right away.

  “And what was this matter you needed to talk to me about?” the Alpha asked. “It must be important enough for you to come all the way to see me.”

  “Alpha,” Daric bowed his head with respect. Although not a Lycan himself, the warlock had pledged to the clan long ago. “I’ve had a vision, and my mother, she had the same one as well.”

  And they relayed to him what Gunnar had seen, under the guise of Daric and Signe’s powers. As non-Lycans, they would not be subject to the Lycan High Council’s influence.

  The Alpha listened to them, not saying a word until they finished. The silence in the room was thick and heavy, until he did speak. “You haven’t spoken of your visions in a long time, Daric. And neither has your mother.”

  “Anything we’ve seen in the last couple of decades haven’t been important enough to share.” The lie slid out of Daric’s mouth so smoothly that Cross would have believed it too.

  “All right.” Grant folded his hands over his massive oak desk. “There’s nothing else you can tell me about your vision? How far into the future is it? Where did it take place?” Daric shook his head. “No clue at all?”

  “I’m sorry … I’m just relaying the vision to you. I can’t control it.”

  Grant’s jaw hardened. “I can’t just act on a vision—reliable as it may be. But I think we need to learn more.”

  “I completely agree, Alpha,” Daric said. “That’s why I’m going to send Cross on a mission. To find out more about the objects in the vision.”

  The Alpha turned to him, his emerald green eyes turning dark. “And you’re okay with this? What about your work at Lone Wolf?”

  Like most of the people in his extended family, Cross worked at his uncles’ private security firm, Lone Wolf Security, which was an offshoot of the larger Creed Security Corporation. “We’re going to tell them that Dad is sending me on an extended training session to help me gain more control of my powers,” he replied. The lie would be believable enough. After all, because his gifts were so complicated, he’d been studying and training with his father since he was thirteen. Daric himself had started when he was much younger, but then those were different circumstances. “I’m sure Uncle Killian and Sebastian will understand.”

  Grant thought for a moment. “All right. You can go on this fact-finding mission, but this needs to stay between us. While we don’t want the same thing to happen as last time, we can’t get everyone into a panic. The Lycan High Council should be notified as well.”

  “You’re right of course,” Daric said. “But maybe we should wait until we have solid proof before informing the council.”

  “Hmmm.” Grant tapped his fingers on the desk. “All right, proof first.”

  After conferring on a few more details, Daric and Cross left, reappearing back in Gunnar’s cabin.

  “Are you ready for this, Cross?” Daric asked.

  If he were honest—not really. “You’ve trained me well, Dad.”

  His father cracked a genuine smile. “And you’ve been an excellent student. I have every confidence in you. Now, let’s go see if Gunnar feels well enough to tell us more.”

  When they walked into the bedroom, his brother was walking out of the bathroom, freshly showered and shaved. “How about some breakfast, son?” Daric asked. “What would you like?”

  Gunnar rubbed a towel down his face. “Chinese food. Emerald Dragon’s egg rolls.”

  “We’ll have it ready for you by the time you finish getting dressed.”

  So they did, and as they ate, Gunnar gave them as much detail as he could about his vision. When they finished, Daric stood up. “I think I may have an idea where you can begin looking, Cross. But I need to check something out first. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of all of this.” With that, their father disappeared.

  “Do you need me to stay or get you anything, Gunnar?”

  “Cross.” His brother’s hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist. “There’s something …”

  Gunnar’s grip was deathly tight. “What is it? What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

  “I … I didn’t tell you everything. About the vision.”

  “What? Why would you keep anything from me and Dad?”

  “It’s not you … it’s Dad.” He withdrew his hand and curled his shoulders inward, bent his head down. “I thought … I wasn’t sure if I should have told you, but I think you should know something.”

  “What is it?”

  Gunnar slowly lifted his head. “Cross … that woman. In the vision.”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s there because of you.”

  “Why?”

  His whiskey-brown eyes turned dark. “Because she’s yours.”

  “Mine?” His heart thudded in his chest. “What do you mean, mine?”

  “Your True Mate.”

  Three months later …

  Despite being called The City That Never Sleeps, Cross knew that New York, did in fact, sleep, at least pockets of it did. On this particular September early morning, this part of the Upper West Side was waking up—the garbage truck was chugging along, collecting bins left on the street, workers at the corner coffee shop were coming in for their morning shift, and of course, right on time—Deedee Creed was hopping down the steps of her brownstone home, about to head into work. It had been months since he’d seen his best friend or even talked to her, so he thought he might surprise her and take her out to breakfast. Then maybe they could make plans for dinner with his sister Astrid. Growing up, they’d been a tightly-knit trio, and he’d missed their company after being away for so long.

  She was just across the street, walking toward the subway stop on Eighty-Sixth, so he crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk, making a beeline for—

  “Whoops! Pardon me.”
r />   Someone had bumped right into him as he tried to cross the street. He whipped around and saw that someone walking away from him, going the opposite direction as Deedee. At first, he turned back to chase after Deedee, who had nearly reached the corner, but something made him turn around. It was the scent of apple cider and fresh snow. It made his inner wolf freeze, then raise its head in the air, sniffing for more of that delicious scent. The person that bumped into him—a woman, he realized—was nearing the other end of the street.

  Before he knew it, he was walking behind her. She was wearing a light trench coat, and her hair was hidden under a cap. She turned uptown, and he followed her for a few more blocks, taking the trace scents of her, following it like breadcrumbs leading to … what exactly?

  He stopped, realizing that he’d walked over ten city blocks following this woman. Some might say he was acting like a stalker. Rubbing a hand down his face, he made a motion to turn around when she stopped, then walked into one of the coffee shops along Amsterdam Avenue.

  His wolf urged him forward, and he found himself reaching for the shop’s door when he looked up at the sign overhead. “Wicked Brew,” he muttered to himself. The logo of the coffee shop had, of all things, a silhouette of a witch on a broomstick.

  Instead of going in, he withdrew his hand and stepped aside when someone behind him cleared their throat. However, he couldn’t help but glance inside the shop. He saw the trench coat draped over the back of a chair in the corner, but no sign of the woman.