Page 1 of Lunar Desires (Celestial Magic #2)

RILEY

T he ticket inspector slipped in the bloodied mud, letting out a string of curses as his arse smacked the floor.

Oof. I felt that.

“Are you okay?” I asked, hurrying to help.

The poor guy had been the first person we’d seen since Jonathan Aurora exploded in the carriage. My evil uncle, the previous Moon before I took over. A man hellbent on killing me, on returning to his sacred position, and totally tainted by shadow magic mixed with the faint trace of celestial magic.

Oh, and a total arsehole who was supposed to be dead. I’d killed him, my insides constantly twinging with guilt. Regardless of the kill-or-be-killed situation, becoming this weapon, this man of violence, would take some getting used to.

Damn. With each passing hour, my karaoke-loving librarian days seemed so far away. I was heir to a great magic, part of a shamed dynasty, and destined to destroy an impending apocalyptic threat.

Talk about wrestling with serious change.

God, what was this great threat going to be? There would be many of them along this journey, but only one true apocalypse would rise above the parapet to make my bladder tighten. And it was the job of me and my brothers to fight it.

What a shame there were only two of us around at the moment. Preston—The Star—was currently missing.

The ticket inspector fumed over the state of the carriage, the mud and blood still wet and gross. “What is that smell?”

I wrinkled my nose, doing my best to ignore the stink of rotten flowers suffocating the train carriage. Even with a window open, the stench wouldn’t piss off.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” I responded, offering him my hand.

Damn Uncle Jonathon. Along with a bazillion other questions, what the hell was he up to? How did he crawl out of his grave on the Aurora Mansion grounds and get inside this train?

Oh, God. Had he cloned himself? He used shadow magic now, so there could be a cloning spell in their grimoires—texts unreadable to us witches of the non-shadow variety.

Ugh.

The ticket inspector looked me up and down as he got onto his knees, ignoring my proffered hand.

Oh, yeah. My jumper hung open at the chest, ruined by…by my dad’s claw attack before this drama.

Dad…

My Dad is a…shade.

By Hecate, my mind strained against the overload of info.

“What have you done?” the inspector seethed.

Drake stepped past me, crouching down to his level. “There was an incident.”

His rich voice shivered through me, a lovely warmth tingling in the tips of my toes. The scrying witch had the power to disarm me with just a few words, or by looking at me with those dark, soul-piercing eyes.

“An incident?” the furious man in his stained green uniform said, getting to his feet.

Wow. That blend of blood and mud would not be coming out of his clothes quickly.

Drake ran a hand through his chocolate brown hair, shoving the other one into the pocket of his jeans. “A magical incident.”

God, the feelings I’d caught for him, and so damn quickly. My heart found itself in a storm of desire, confusion, and a ton of want.

Oh boy, did I want Drake Parish to be mine. I mean, we’d slept together, but we weren’t an item. Yet. But things were complicated.

Pain pulsed in my temples, as if to remind me those complications came with the sexy, copper-skinned piece of man candy who’d entered my life rather dramatically.

He tried to leave you…

“Explain,” the inspector demanded, retrieving his portable ticket machine off the floor.

I moved forward, brushing the back of my hand against Drake’s leg. “We?—”

The bloodied mud moved, every inch of it slithering up the walls, congregating on the ceiling. It even slid off the inspector’s uniform, leaving him clean and trembling.

Uh-oh.

Laughter rolled through the carriage, the lights flickering. The January daylight outside seemed to dull, as if a dark veil drew down over the day.

Every hair on my body bristled, firmly at attention.

What now? What fresh hell would be unleashed?

“Oh, shite!” the inspector squeaked, hurrying through the door connecting the other carriage. He practically fell over himself to get away.

Didn’t blame him for running.

I took Drake’s hand, dragging him away from the pulsating pool above us. He locked his fingers with mine, squeezing with reassurance.

“Alright?” he asked.

“Not really.”

A face formed in the mud, the emaciated lines of Uncle Jonathon’s features taking shape. My feet got ready for a sharp exit, while the rest of me hungered to kill him all over again.

Painfully. I wanted to hear him scream.

Lidless eyes blazed crimson in the muddy pool, snaring me in a furious gaze. Lips appeared, spread in a malicious grin.

I called to my Tidal Pull power while swallowing a lump of fear. The green light of my witch bangle blinked on for me to use one of its three useful, High Coven approved, spells. And with cloaking potion in my system, any spell usage shouldn’t ping on the High Coven’s radar.

Fingers crossed.

“My dear, dear nephew.” My uncle’s voice crawled from the mud. “This isn’t over. We will be enjoying another family reunion. Mark my words.”

The left eye popped, mud falling from the ceiling and splattering on the floor.

“Why not now?” I countered, my anger boiling. “Let me slap you into the afterlife. For real this time.”

The right eye went next, laughter following the second splatter.

“I told you I’d see you again soon,” Jonathon retorted. “Give me a few hours.”

“Oh. So this is some sort of fake out? Got it.”

“What a mouth you have,” he said.

Whatever. This back and forth was not it. “I guess you’re not going to explain how you’re not rotting in the ground?” I offered him my best sneer.

Laughter answered me, his lips falling off. Seconds later, the rest of the mud came down. I jumped back with Drake, our hands still linked. The bloodied gunk spat across our jeans, spreading across the floor, burping more dead flower stench into our faces.

Yuck.

The train hit a tunnel with a pop, the windows rattling. I jolted from the noise, pushing myself into Drake.

“It’s alright,” he soothed, squeezing my hand again.

Licking my lips, I leaned on a seat, catching my breath. My heart rattled in my chest, echoing the movement of the train.

“Oh, God…” I rasped. “Oh, God.”

Reality gave me a sharp jab in the ribs. Things were so messed up, and I was out here away from the sanctuary of Aurora Mansion, away from my brother. A kernel of ache flared to life in my chest.

I want to go home…

Yep. To that huge, cliff-top house, and not my cute flat with the awesome views of Coldharbour Downs.

Wow. More of the changing me. More embracing of my new life.

Drake removed his hand from mine, slipping his arm around my waist instead. “Let’s sit down.”

“O-okay.” I let him guide me to a four-seater spot. I shuffled over to the window seat, him taking the one beside me.

His arm moved to spread across my shoulders. “Take a breather,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

Thank Hecate for his presence, for the soothing properties of his minty scent. I rested my head on his shoulder, my skull nestling against it so perfectly.

My thoughts came thick and fast, scrambling for a clue.

About Uncle Jonathon, about my dad. He’d been…

Oh, God. He was the blue figure who’d been stalking me, even taking the shape of the shade that’d bitten me six months ago.

He’d attacked me and Isaac at the mansion before I popped up here because of my soul bond to Drake.

My. Dad. Was he the shade or just using its shape? How? What’d happened to him? He was supposed to be living a new life with his new family in America.

Crap. My head pounded like someone was slamming five hammers into my cranium at once.

Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad.

He’d given me a lunar diamond too, in the form of a ring I’d worn since the age of ten. Meaning he must have known about my Aurora blood all along.

Ugh. The pieces wouldn’t fit.

Was he even my dad? Emily wasn’t my real mum, Juliet Aurora was. So, was Daniel Croft my real father?

Damn. This really, really sucked. His face blazed in my mind, wreathed in blue, smothered in mystery.

Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad.

“I’m sorry for everything,” Drake said, pressing his head against mine.

His voice yanked me back into the moment. “It’s…” I placed a hand on his thigh. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

At some point, we’d have to have a chat about why he’d tried leaving me, but not now. I just wanted to be close to him.

The train left the tunnel, daylight pouring into the carriage. Everything was bright again, the darkening from my uncle’s vile presence gone.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

Rhianna Kingwood and her cronies had attacked Drake on the platform of Coldharbour Station before I showed up to help.

Apparently, she was pregnant.

What the hell? How did that work? I smelled a rat wrapped in potent fishiness.

Drake had slept with her once six months ago, only to be shadow bonded to her until his escape from her evil clutches.

In all that time, she’d shown zero hints of impending motherhood.

Only her mean streak and threats against Coldharbour.

Drake lifted his head. “I don’t get it.”

I shuffled slightly to face him, his eyes possessing a glassy sheen as he stared ahead.

“We’ll figure this out,” I said gently.

His throat bobbed. “I…what…what if she is pregnant? What if…” He closed his eyes. “What if I’m a father?”

There was no way this could be real. “She’s really showed no signs at all?”

“No. Still doesn’t.”

“Then she must be up to something.”

Drake kept his eyes closed. “Unless she hid it well.”

God, I hated her. I hated how she’d tried manipulating him to get her hands on me, and how she’d locked him up in a dark cell knowing full well he hated the dark; a remnant from his awful childhood, its damaging roots burrowed deep within him, hurting him, twisting his sense of self-worth.

God, she was another one destined for the next life. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Before my life changed, I didn’t hate. I skirted around it, never allowing myself to feel it. But I’d opened the gates for it now, its horrible presence absorbing into my soul.

Drake breathed deeply, exhaling slowly.

Damn. I couldn’t even imagine what was going on inside his head. I’d had plenty of revelations dropped on me recently, but this really took the biscuit.

I gave his thigh a squeeze. “Whatever this is, I’ll be right by your side. If you…” I gave my bottom lip a quick nibble, my scalp prickling. “If you want me to be.”

Drake opened his eyes, turning to face me. “Of course I do.” He took my hand, bringing it to his lips. Sparks danced across my skin from the softness of his kiss.

I shivered, a flood of happiness chasing the anguish away to the furthest fringes.

For now.

Call me smitten. Call me obsessed. Call me in too deep. All of the above applied. Whatever issues dangled over our heads like the sword of Damocles, I knew we’d get through them to wherever we were meant to be.

I mean, there was a reason Drake now occupied the starring role in my dream of running a bookshop in a quaint village fresh out of a romcom. He was the one. Right? This wasn’t some silly, fast-burning infatuation tangled up with his hotness and me craving romance in my life.

Right?

And could I handle him becoming a dad? If we were headed for something more, could I embrace such a thing if he asked me to?

Crap. I’d never thought about having kids. Ever. It just wasn’t ever part of my dreams.

I bit down hard on my bottom lip, my hands balling into fists. No. He wasn’t going to be a dad. Rhianna was playing some sort of game—a shadow witch’s MO. They loved chaos and murder and inflicting suffering. This was just her way of messing with Drake’s head again.

“If she can’t have you, no one else can,” I muttered.

“Sorry?”

Whoops. Didn’t mean for that to be an outside thought. “Crap.”

He chuckled. “I heard you.” His brow furrowed. “Why do we always ask as if we didn’t hear, but really did? What is that about?”

My turn to laugh, albeit halfheartedly. “Yeah. So weird.”

“But you’re right.” He covered my still clenched hand with his. Instantly, I relaxed a bit. “She gives off only-I-can-have-you energy. Well, she can fuck off.”

Meaning I’m yours? “Amen.”

I kept a lid on the thought. Everything seemed aligned for us to be together, but not before we talked things out.

Drake checked his gold watch with the blue clockface—the mark of a scrying witch, seeing as they didn’t wear bangles. “Should be there in twenty minutes.”

We were on an express train to London Waterloo, no stops until we got into the capital city.

Thank God!

“I’ll call Isaac as soon as we get there.” I tapped the side of my head. “I have his number memorized. The first I’ve ever remembered by heart. Must be a brotherly bond thing.”

“Impressive,” he said.

We had no phones, no money, no way of getting around London. The sooner we made a call, the sooner help would come.

Unless the ticket inspector placed a call to the magical authorities after fleeing, and Waterloo was now crawling with witchcops ready to take us away for a grilling.

Ugh.

Drake cleared his throat, the glassiness in his eyes gone. “Can you put your head back on my shoulder?”

“Really?”

“I like it there. Feels right.”

My lips spread into a smile. “Gladly.”

Who knew when we’d get the chance to do this again after the doo-doo hit the fan? Why not enjoy a small moment of peace?

He tried leaving…

Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.

I kept my head on his shoulder until the train slowed on the approach to its final stop. My stomach twisted, every part of me eager to be off the train.

Until I saw the army of shadow witches gathered on the platform.

Oh. Crap.