Mated to the Moon (Portal City Protectors Book 6) by Georgette Clair (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

Fabiana didn’t know how to explain it. Colors muted, vegetation shriveled up, and the Zealot looked half alive and half dead. Literally. The part of its body within the muted colors was more corporeal, the skin intact and green instead of gray.

“That woman should not be here among humans. Totally wasted on your kind.” Nanshe shrugged. “But then, we all have our parts to play.”

Fabiana didn’t know what that meant. Nanshe had a way of speaking in riddles so she could convey information she couldn’t say outright. Fabiana didn’t want to try to play charades in the middle of the battle. The Zealot froze, trapped in the spaces, and Carlo howled, the sound deafening as a large portal opened to the side of the Zealot.

Heath, Kallan, and Teague sliced through the Hollows, clearing the land with Raphael and Adonis as Zahara worked. Finally, the Witch Doctor clapped her hands together and the Zealot was pulled to the other side. Carlo brought his arms up and then down to the ground, and the portal closed.

Their biggest threat now contained, the battle had turned.

“We have to get to Zahara!” Nanshe pulled Fabiana away, blocking her view of the field, and took her to where Zahara swayed on her feet. Fabiana caught the Witch Doctor before she fell face forward.

“Such power is hard on the body,” Nanshe explained. “She’ll be out for a time. I didn’t want to leave her unprotected.”

No, Fabiana wouldn’t have wanted that either. Zahara had just saved her mate and her pack. The power within her body was frightening, but the way she was exhausted after using it often left her unprotected. With great power, as they say.

Portals opened once more, and the Hollows faded through them, leaving as quickly as they’d come. But the portals stayed open, windows to the other side. Through them, Fabiana saw Fae, clad in armor and roaring for battle. The Zealot was at their back, with a dragon and more Hollows.

“A warning of the future.” The disembodied voice sounded as if it was everywhere all at once.

“Skuld,” Nanshe whispered.

“Eventually, your little tricks won’t save you. I’ve grown tired of trying to be kind, and now I’ve played enough. Next time, you all die unless you hand over the Ales, the Fae Queen and her sister, the Witch Doctor, as well as … the one who thinks she’s me. You have a fortnight to meet my demands.”

“‘The one who thinks she’s me’? What did she mean by that?”

Nanshe sighed. “You, Fabiana. My sister wants you too.”

Epilogue

Silva tapped on her spellphone, humming “System” by Chester Bennington. Goddess knew she loved his voice. The liquid pain and love intertwined just … spoke to her. The post she was making? A pretty epic photo of her covered in black Hollows blood goo, her smile bright and big, eyes cracking with I’ll-fuck-your-world-up challenge, and her hair wild around her face.

Seriously, Silva was one amazing freaking Fae Queen … Well—

You left, though, and now you have less than two weeks to make a decision.

Silva shook her head. She hadn’t left by choice. Even if she’d been an asshole so wrapped up in her own head, she couldn’t do the things she should have. She sighed, no longer interested in finding more hashtags after #SlayBetch and #SilvasComingForYou. Yeah, she was pretty badass, but it really didn’t matter if no one from Fae would ever really see it.

“Silva.”

She swallowed, cocking her hip and pointedly ignoring that deep voice that wrapped around her freaking insides and tugged with delicious craving. Unfortunately, it was attached to a douchecanoe she wasn’t interested in looking at right now. Not with her memories and what she’d lost so close to the surface.

She felt rather than heard Torin shift closer. He never made a sound. Little silent bastard.

“Silva.”

That was it; just her name. One fucking word that made the world blur and spin.

No.

“You have to go home. It’s the only way stop this.”

Sucking in a breath, Silva spun around. “What?”

Torin stood, larger than life, his runes dancing over his skin in a golden haze. Ancient magic, older than her, swirled under his skin until the runes bled to purple, a kaleidoscope of colors, and his eyes matched.

“Skuld came here … with Fae, Silva.”

I know. “But–”

He pulled her close, his large hands spanning her small waist. Her very soul vibrated.

No.

“Yes,” he whispered, answering her thoughts and lifting a brow. “I feel it. For now, we go to Fae lands. This,” he caressed the skin peeking out underneath her midriff, “neither of us can fight, but we can deal with it after the war.”

After the war.

Yeah, no. She didn’t care. She would belong to no one ever again.

War or not, Torin could shove it.

***

“You can’t run forever, witch.”

Zahara froze, curling her fingers into tight fists. He knew; he always knew. He was a wolf, for fuck’s sake. Still, she plastered on a blank face before turning to him. She’d been awake only a short time, and she seemed to have made the list on the ransom note for Encantado.

“We are ’mpossible.”

Arturo shook his head, stepping closer until he crowded her. Each inch she gained to separate them, he claimed with a growl until her back pressed into the wall of the meeting room. Her wild eyes searched for the elevator.

Too far. I’ll neva make it.

Arturo cupped her cheeks in his scalding-hot palms and swung her gaze back to meet his. His eyes were amber, the color of molten gold, and they glowed with promise.

“I have given you space and time, freedom, but I am not a patient man, notte. She can’t have you.”

Night. He always called her night when they were alone, the time the wolf loved most. When the moon hung heavy