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Chapter 1

The first sign something was wrong was the uncommon rain that ripped through the skies of Black Cove.

Rowan Dahl might have noticed the even further unusual red streaks of light accompanying the storm if only she could fight against the overwhelming punishment of too many Bahama Mamas.

If she would have noticed the lightning, she might have turned on the TV or scrolled through her phone to find out what was going on.

But, as things stood, the Master Spellcaster was taking in the sound of the rhythmic droplets hitting her window to help soothe her hangover.

White-haired, fair-skinned, and pointy-eared, the woman fit the stereotypical description of an Eastern Elf to a tee.

As fourth in line to the Eastern Elven Kingdom throne, that’s how Rowan liked to be perceived. No second looks underneath the glamor she wore.

The office assistant, a blue-haired fairy the size of an average hand named Dew, was pouring her a steaming cup of coffee with the aid of her magic while she went through her day’s schedule.

“If you’d like, I can push the lunch meeting to Mr. Smith.“ The distaste Dew felt for her boss’ condition was a sharp note in her normally chipper tone. “I think a nap would be best to get you prepared for Ms. Young’s visit so soon after the Coven Elder’s death.”

Rowan, who already had the urge to vomit due to the constant spinning of the room, felt the bile in her stomach try to rise. “Today is the meeting with the Coven?”

“Yes.” Dew’s sharp tone softened. Visits from the Coven were the bane of Rowan Dahl’s existence. “We already rescheduled her twice; a third time, and she might just walk in whenever she likes.”

It took a beat for Rowan to signal her to continue.

“Also, Mitchell Tech left a couple of voicemails and a request that you’re the one to call them back,” the voice trailed off for a second then returned with a giggle, “Oh, wait-your mother asked me to remind you to make it to family dinner tonight lest you wish her to, and I quote, ‘turn your apartments in the Eastern Elven Kingdom into an everlasting memorial.’” the fairy tinkled with full-blown laughter at the end of the message.

Rowan’s attention split between her assistant’s concerning reaction to her mother’s genuine threat and a thunderclap that shook her teeth.

It was enough for her to wrench her eyes open and take in the odd color of the streaking skies. Her mind whirred past the hangover, searching for a plausible explanation.

The fairy floated toward one of the floor-to-ceiling window panes once she realized Rowan’s attention was no longer hers alone. “Isn’t that Draconis?” Her small hand spread out against the beaded glass.

Draconis was Black Cove’s crowning jewel. The neighborhood was the only place in the world exclusive to dragon shifters—the oldest species of mystics.

Just outside its golden gates, which had remained open to the public as long as the town had become a bustling epicenter of trade and commerce, were streets of shops offering dragon wares and services.

The dragons welcomed everyone to their doorsteps. They had barter systems in place; more often than not, they preferred the chance to add to their hoards rather than accept currency.

Rowan herself had one chief interest in the neighborhood: Alessandro, the Dragon King.

The most powerful dragon to have ever lived.

He’d achieved godhood nearly three centuries ago, but, in a feat never heard of before, refused ascension.

He owned one of the private residences past a giant gate that was charmed to keep intruders out, even as it remained open.

For ages, she’d longed to come face to face with the shifter and to unleash her power against him, to see how she matched up to the most formidable Master Spellcaster of them all. But it was only a dream; she couldn’t risk the consequences that came attached with showing her true prowess.

His magic, even without the godhood, was so grand that when he was in-house there wasn’t an inch of the city or the suburbs she couldn’t feel it from.

At that moment, she knew he wasn’t in town, and perhaps that was the reason her sense of doom suddenly settled. Something was very wrong in Black Cove.

Rowan stood from her rolling chair as footsteps in the hallway approached her office, accompanied by two bickering voices.

“It was a fire dragon, look! The benches are melting!” The voice of Louisa Monterrey preceded the appearance of Rowan’s two business partners.

Louisa was a fashionable, leggy brunette clad in a powder-blue three-piece suit with red stilettos that matched her glowing eyes. This, along with a pair of sharp incisors, was the dead giveaway of her vampire heritage.

Kin Smith—not his birth name, but the one he preferred—had already shed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie for the day.