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T en years ago.

Shereen Morgan, or Sherry as she preferred to be called, crossed the bare wood floors of her small apartment. She came to the small seaside town on a whim.

She’d needed a change. A major one. Moving next to the sea seemed like an excellent idea at the time.

If only she knew. Despite her nomadic past, Sherry had immediately fallen in love with the beautiful landscape that comprised the Jersey Shore.

For the first time in her life, she wanted to settle down, grow roots.

The apartment she’d rented was small, but it suited her immediate needs. She had one goal when she chose the space, and that was to rest, relax, and recuperate some of the energy she’d spent over the past few months. But all of that changed when she’d met him .

Her body still tingled from their fevered embraces, but still, sadness threatened to overwhelm her. She inhaled a deep breath and allowed the energy in the room to settle over her.

Don’t be a coward. Sherry frowned. It wasn’t like her to dawdle. She usually preferred to rip off the band-aid so to speak. Not this time.

Slowly, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Sherry glanced down at the note that sat unobtrusively beside the silverware caddy. She grimaced as she picked up the surprisingly light paper off the tiled counter inside her small kitchen nook.

She’d decorated the small space with cheerful yellow paint and brightly colored curtains. But the happy décor did nothing to soothe her soul in that moment. Her hands trembled as she fingered the smooth edge of the paper.

He’d methodically torn it off of the legal pad that still sat on the clean wood table. Carefully as if not to rip it. And yet he’s ripped my heart from my chest.

She took a moment to observe just how deliberately he’d folded his missive. His placement of it, propped up to ensure she’d see it almost as soon as she entered the room, just as thorough. How like him.

The familiar and neat, yet very masculine hand, had scrawled her name intently across the back of the page. Oh Seff. Dread filled her. She hated her own weakness. The fear she felt in the pit of her stomach that accompanied the pain that squeezed her heart.

She was not a true clairvoyant, but sometimes Sherry had psychic hits that proved all too accurate. Especially where he was concerned. S he sighed and replaced the note without opening it. She knew what it would say, but dammit , she wished she were wrong.

She’d thought that he of all people would have at least listened to her side of things! True, she couldn’t expect him to ignore the edict of Zev Maccon, his Pack Alpha, but still. He could have talked to her.

Zev Maccon. The man was an all-around bastard. He hated everything and anything to do with magic. Especially the creatures who’d been born to it. Like me. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her.

Sherry was a Witch. A fact of her birth that she could not control, nor deny, even if she wanted to. Magic was indeed real. Seff, as a Werewolf, had undoubtedly known about its existence.

Still, he hadn’t connected it with her until they’d already become involved. My fault , she thought guiltily. She’d kept the truth of her powers from him.

Sherry recognized Seff was a Werewolf from the start. Surprised by the sheer force of her undeniable attraction to him, she’d delayed telling him the truth about herself. Foolish Witch.

At that time, she’d only heard rumors of the Macconwood Pack’s Alpha and how adamantly he warred against magic. In fact, it was part of the reason she’d ventured to Maccon City.

To find out if the rumors were true, and to advise the Elders Trust on how to proceed. She hadn’t really believed the accounts that a Wolf could object vehemently to magic. After all, what was a Werewolf if not magical?

When supernatural factions had disagreements, there were special forces called in to weigh on them.

Guardians to be precise. But before they were sent in, a third party was sent to gauge the situation.

Sherry had needed a break. She’d heard about the trouble and offered her services to the Order of the Guardians.

Having little contact with Werewolves before, she’d expected most of what she heard to be gross exaggeration. Her plans were to watch from afar while drinking in the sun and enjoying the cool waters of the Atlantic.

Then she’d met Seff. And the rest, as they say, was history. Had she known then that his Alpha had decreed to his Pack that no Werewolf of his would associate with Witches, she might have prevented this entire mess.

Still, Sherry could not help the shake of her head at the irony of it all. Rejected for her magic. Anger coursed through her veins. Zev Maccon absolutely refused to acknowledge the magic that worked within his own Pack.

He debased her and her kind as filthy abominations. Witches are not worthy to live let alone to be trusted. And as part of his Pack, Seff had no choice but to submit to Zev’s fanatic views.

Sherry had spent years of her life steering clear of unnecessary strife. She’d rejected that part of her magic that was prone to violence and war. She had no desire to fight or to police other supernaturals.

It was inevitable that she’d run smack into a fight when she’d only been there to do some research and rest her weary bones. The Fates strike again. She wondered what she’d done to tempt them to break her heart.

It would have been so much simpler had she just said no when the Elders trust asked her to gather information on the Pack.

Werewolves in general were secretive, but none so much as the Macconwood.

Sherry’s curiosity had gotten the better of her.

She’d been thrilled at first. She’d never seen so many Wolves in one place.

The small town was ripe with them. After spending the last few years stuck in a damned desert doing the bidding of the Elders Trust , that pesky council of the leaders of the White Covens of the world, she’d been looking forward to some down time. This had seemed like the perfect assignment.

She waved her hand and the teapot on the table filled with the steaming herbal concoction that she favored. The note sat heavy in her hand. Coward. Open it.

Instead, she thought back on when she’d first met him . Seff McAllister, Werewolf, and all-around good guy with his boyish charm, exquisite, good looks, athletic build, and confident yet gentle nature.

Sherry had fallen for him. Hard . How could she not? He was made for her. Or so she thought. She thought she’d found her mate. Her true love. She had believed Seff loved her enough to get through the whole difficulty with his Pack. I was wrong.

The shock of her admittance was nothing compared to the words written in his Dear Jane letter. Her eyes closed on a wave of pain that shocked her to her core as she read his departing note. Oh Seff, we could have been great together.

She knew she should have told him as soon as he walked into her life that she was a Witch. And not just a Witch, she was a Morgan. Hers was one of the most powerful magical lineages known. She was a direct descendant of the Morrigan , once worshipped as a goddess amongst the ancient Celts.

Her famous ancestors also included Morgan Le Fay, that wronged half-sister of the legendary, but no less real, King Arthur of the Britons.

She came from warriors, supernatural magistrates who’d brought judgement, and oftentimes death, to the lands they’d touched.

They were both feared and revered, sometimes worshipped, by the Covens they’d served.

When Shereen Morgan was born it had been under a Blue Moon during a lightning storm. An omen, they’d later told her. Her mother had sacrificed her life for her child. She had been taught the ways of the Morganna by her grandmother.

Sherry was bright and powerful. Gifted by the Fates. Her skills unmatched, she’d wielded her power for whatever Coven her grandmother had assigned her to.

Once her grandmother’s health began to decline, Sherry had put down her sword. She chose to nurture the healing arts instead. She was proud of her magic and her history. Especially once she began her journey as a healer and a guide to others looking for truth and peace.

Still, despite how far she’d come and how good she felt about herself. Neither feeling stopped her from withholding the truth about her magic from the one person she should have been honest with. And now, it was too late.

She had already given her heart to the young, incredibly handsome Werewolf by the time she’d whispered that she was a Witch in his ear. Seemed she’d been right in hiding that fact. Once he’d discovered the truth about her, he’d left.

Not that she could really blame him, though she tried. Seff had been raised to hate magic. Werewolves didn’t trust Witches. Zev Maccon had declared all Witches the enemy of the Macconwood Pack. Seff’s Pack .

Sherry had been curious about him from the first. Her intense attraction to the Werewolf shocked her.

She hadn’t lied about what she was. Well, not exactly.

She simply hadn’t flaunted her powers. The scent of her anima magicae , the heart of her magic, was easily masked with perfume and her constant baking. She’d always loved to cook.

She wanted to weep when she thought of all the time they’d spent together. Didn’t it mean anything to him at all? Especially these last few days.

They’d cooked Szechuan in her tiny kitchen, watched game shows where he blurted all the answers, danced in the living room to the sound of the rock band that practiced next door.

He’d brought her small gifts every time he dropped by. Candied apples, licorice whips, the red kind not the black, and of course, flowers. Potted ones so she could water them and watch them grow from their perch on her windowsill.