Secrets and Sorcery: The Warlock Prince's Guards, #1

By Lori Whyte

No secret stays hidden forever.

Ever since her magics manifested, Avery Hawk was taught to hide her abilities from the Witch and Warlock world. After all, turning into a cat isn't exactly a typical magic. But when her brother is kidnapped following a black magic attack, she risks everything to find him, including turning to a man in the heart of the world she's always shunned. 

Mike Rosslyn epitomizes everything her mother warned her about. He's a warlock, he's powerful, and he's the head of the Dark Guards—a new and mysterious task force. And worse yet, he is sexy as all hell and way too tempting. 

And when her brother's attacker targets Avery, Mike is her only hope... even if his help comes at the cost of her secrets and her heart…

Contains: a surprising amount of fur, hissing, purring and growling for a book about witches and warlocks; a kidnapping or two; crashing into someone else's dreams (yes, those kinds of dreams); a mysterious warlock prince; sexy times; and a whole lot of chocolate (aka ambrosia).

ABOUT THE WARLOCK PRINCE'S GUARDS SERIES

When North America's most prominent warlock prince creates a mysterious task force, rumors are inevitable. Some people call them the Dark Guards. Some people call them his own personal militia. Some people call them the first step toward making his own empire. The only thing everyone knows for certain is this: The Dark Guards are a fierce group of specialists with unique and powerful magics. And that seems like a pretty good reason to worry...  

BOOKS IN THE SERIES

Secrets and Sorcery (Book 1) - Avery and Mike's story - Release date: March 30, 2020

Wishes and Warlocks (Book 2) - Sophie and Reed's story - Release date: May 25, 2020

Auras and Assassins (Book 3) - Web and Kendra's story - Releases: November 14, 2022

Hexed and Haunted (Book 4) - Sergei and Nikki's story - Coming soon

• Language: English
• Publisher: November Snow
• Release date: Mar 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781989764039

Lori Whyte

Lori Whyte lives with her husband and two cats in Alberta, Canada. She writes contemporary romance and paranormal romance – usually spicy, sizzling, steamy, sexy... Well, you get the idea. From werewolves to dragon shifters to hot guys next door, her heroes are always strong and protective, just the way she likes them. 

Book preview

Chapter One

AVERY

A woman with secrets should never attend a magical event, but Avery Hawk had been hauled to the warlock prince's soiree by her brother Jaret anyway.

Surrounded. Trapped. Ready to run.

Relax, whiskers, her brother, aka the reason she was in the heart of her waking nightmare, admonished. Pretend you're enjoying yourself. Everyone else is.

He didn't look at her when he said the barely audible words. But why on earth would he call her whiskers? Here of all places? Did he want her to be caught?

A woman in the group closest to them cackled and Avery jolted. The back of her neck tingled as the fine hairs bristled… lengthened… No, no, no. Goddess forbid if she actually sprouted fur right now.

Jaret frowned at her, probably sensing the stir of her magic. That frown only lasted a second, before his face was blank again. Had anyone seen their tension?

She couldn't risk looking around to gauge reactions, not yet, not while she still fought her own battle for control.

I would do anything for Jaret, I would do anything for Jaret, I would do anything for Jaret…

But why was he doing this to her?

Avery wanted to scream in frustration… or maybe hiss. She wanted to shrink down to her cat form and hide under a chair. She wanted to do anything but stand here and wait for something to go wrong.

Why was this job so important to him?

She should have booked a trip when Jaret first mentioned this event and her mandatory attendance. If she'd been thinking clearly—rather than being muddled with denial—she could have been in Bora Bora, Vegas, or even Swift Current… Anywhere but here.

The most influential people in the local Witch and Warlock world mingled around them as everyone waited for the prince to arrive. They laughed, they toasted one another with their watered-down cocktails, and they ignored the guards at the doors. Yes, Jaret was right, everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, while all Avery could do was anticipate the moment those guards discovered her deceptions and dragged her away. A tremor whispered through her, making the gin and tonic in her hand slosh. Fuck. She gripped the glass tighter.

Her gaze darted to the guards.

No one was watching. Not yet.

Get me out of here.

Her hand still trembled as she lifted the watered down Tanqueray and tonic to her lips for a tiny sip. No matter how much she wanted a double or triple or a whole twenty-six ounces, she couldn't drown her anxiety in alcohol. Not tonight. All hell would break loose if she lost control. Gods, Jaret would be pissed if he suspected she had even a dash of gin within whiffing distance, but she'd hoped it'd calm her nerves.

It hadn't.

Other things that weren't helping? The curious and disapproving gazes following her all freaking night. The snide curl of one person's lips or the haughty arch of another's finely plucked eyebrow spoke volumes. She didn't belong here and everyone knew it.

Even her clothing set her apart. The men here wore black tuxedoes with crisp white shirts. All very elegant and predictable. And the women? Their dresses were pale and muted, like they'd stepped out of a faded vintage photo.

Everyone dressed like that but her.

Her bright blue dress matched the color of her eyes and highlighted her curves. She'd selected it knowing it would make her stand out. It had to—looking like she didn't belong was her camouflage. Hiding in plain sight usually worked for her, but tonight the weight of their stares bothered her.

When could they leave?

Her gaze flitted to her brother. He was studiously avoiding looking at her, staring at a group seated across the room instead. His dark blond hair swung over his forehead, hiding one of his shockingly blue eyes from view. They were the same shade as hers. She'd always assumed the striking color had come from their father, because their mother's eyes had been brown.

Jaret stood with his back to the corner, a typical guy thing to do. He wanted to see anyone coming before they got to him. And by doing that, he left her to stand facing him. Her back to the room. Exposed. Vulnerable. Anyone could approach and she'd never know. An itching sensation flirted along the back of her neck. Every instinct screamed for her to get out of here.

Runrunrun. Hide.

But that would be disastrous.

Maybe that's why Jaret had her facing this way. What if her eyes were changing? They did that when she felt strong emotions… like fear.

People thought she lacked magic, at least any kind of magic that mattered. But the truth of it was, hers was just too… different. And if anyone here discovered just how different… Jaret winked at her, his way of letting her know she was doing okay. But he'd never been good at lying. And it was as clear as her G and T that she was failing miserably.

She shuddered.

Then Jaret shifted, a subtle squaring of his wide shoulders. She went on alert. Or rather the next step up from her usual paranoia. If her brain was a battleship, there'd be sirens and red flashing lights going off about now.

Someone was coming.

She sucked in a deep breath and wrestled her scattered nerves into submission. She set her glass down on a nearby table with a thump. Too loud. Too hard. But Olympus forbid the stranger notice how much her drink sloshed when she held it. It might make them curious about why she was trembling.

Hello, Jaret, a masculine voice—rich, deep and sexy as sin—rumbled directly behind her. The man reached out and touched Jaret's shoulder in a surprising gesture of familiarity. WaWs weren't known for being touchy-feely.

She pivoted slowly, almost scared to see the face of the man who had joined them. Of course the man had a body and face to match his voice. His piercing eyes locked on hers. They were the most peculiar color, almost silver. And they were zeroed in on her.

Her breath caught for a moment, then her heart sprinted at breakneck speed. A strange lightness quivered in her belly. Then her inner feline, which she'd been suppressing all night, purred.

No. No. No.

She couldn't be attracted to him. She couldn't like the way he looked at her. Absolutely not. She needed a nice non-magical guy or a ridiculously weak warlock in her life. Someone who wouldn't sense her own magics. Someone the polar opposite of the man in front of her. But it didn't matter what her mind said, her body was reacting to him in a very instinctual way.

Why now? Why him?

A fresh wave of panic shot through her. His nostrils flared as if he were inhaling the scent of her fear. She didn't know what his magics were, but the predatory glint in his eyes told her all she needed to know. Her urge to flee took on a whole new level of get-me-out-of-here.

You must be Jaret's sister, Avery.

Her gaze darted to the exit. No more than twenty paces away. Could she make it? Her fingers curled, tightening on her clutch. Her nails—or, rather claws now—extended between the thin rows of beads. She didn't dare look down to see how obvious they were.

Her skin itched where her light wrap lay over her shoulders. Stifling. Confining.

Sweat pricked along her hairline when the intruder's head tilted ever so slightly, as if he found her reaction intriguing. Curse it. She didn't want to pique his curiosity.

Avery, Jaret said in a calming tone. He put his hand on her elbow. It must be bad if he thought she needed to be grounded by his touch. This is Mikhail Rosslyn, the head of the task force.

Please, call me Mike.

Mike still hadn't taken his gaze off her.

Fighting every survival instinct surging through her, she willed her claws to retract before she extended her hand. Her smile was forced, but it was there. Shaking hands was such a non-magical or Castor thing to do, but she'd been schooled with Castor's Kind, lived with them and worked with them. She pretended to be the stereotypical Castor's Kind every single day. She'd always hated that phrase. As if Castor being the mortal twin to Polydeuces had anything do to with non-magical people. It wasn't like WaWs were immortal. But whatever. WaWs clung to their smug superiority anyway they could.

Holding her hand out made even more people gawk at her. Regular witches and warlocks, aka WaWs, would never encourage a stranger's touch. Too many magics used touch and no one wanted to expose themselves to an unknown risk. She prayed he would take offense and ignore her hand.

How nice to meet you, she managed to say.

His gaze slipped down her face, then continued sliding over her until it arrived at her bare hand. Most of the witches and warlocks in attendance wore gloves to prevent unwanted skin-to-skin contact with another, but she hadn't and neither had he. His mouth quirked up on one side. And then she knew. Sweet Zeus. He was going to do it. He was going to touch her. She saw it in his eyes a moment before he moved his hand. Heat flared through her and her wrap grew even heavier and hotter against her bare arms.

He took her hand in his. Instead of shaking it, he raised it as he leaned forward. His gaze remained fixed on hers. His fingers, strong and sure, rested along the underside of her palm. The slight pressure on her skin as he lifted her hand the scant distance to his mouth made her skin tingle. She inhaled sharply as his lips, firm and warm, brushed her skin. A shiver rippled over her at the intimacy of the gesture. She swallowed and yanked her hand back, a little faster and harder than she'd meant to. Amusement glittered in his eyes. Oh, he definitely knew he'd called her bluff.

How nice to finally meet you too, he said. His voice, a little huskier now than it had been a moment earlier, spilled over her like a spell. No, that had to be her imagination. Men like him weren't affected by women like her.

Then she realized what he'd said. He spoke like he and her brother had talked about her, but she doubted that. As much as she had been schooled to hide her true self, Jaret had been equally schooled about keeping her secret. That's what made this so wretchedly terrible.

Why does Jaret want to be a part of this world so much?

Sure, it was an honor to be approached by the prince's security team, but to actually accept the invitation? That begged for trouble. She was sure Reginald Byrant wasn't called the Wicked Warlock Prince for nothing. Jaret didn't belong in either the Coalition or the prince's lackey squad. Those people were determined to destroy people like them—like her. Jaret knew that.

She'd pleaded with him to refuse. But he hadn't. Trust me, he'd said. And she did trust him. But she would never trust them, even in this seemingly civilized gathering. At any moment, the uniformed Coalition officers guarding the doors could march over here and haul her away.

She shuddered.

It didn't matter if they called it a task force or the Dark Guards or any other fancy name, everyone knew Mike's group's sole freaking purpose was to spy on people. Of course, Jaret had never said as much, but he hadn't denied it either. Just the idea of it sent fear slithering down her spine like a poisonous snake.

She hoped Jaret didn't get the job.

And maybe he wouldn't.

Mike was watching them too closely, like he didn't trust them. Curiosity tickled at her. In a moment, if she wanted, she could know for sure what he was thinking. A little stroll through his thoughts would do the trick.

Unlike the usual telepathic links, which were limited to familial bonds, her inherited magical skill, mind-walking, let her see into a stranger's mind. She'd inherited the ability from her father, so it was weaker than if she'd been gifted it directly from Hermes. But she could easily pick up emotions and, if she touched someone, thoughts and images usually came too. If Mike was a threat, she'd know.

Jaret would be mortified if he suspected Avery was even considering such a thing.

The Hawk family mantra went something like: No telepathy. No morphing. No magic. Period. It ended with: Act normal.

Whatever that meant.

It hadn't changed since her mother's death a year ago. If anything, the mantra had become more important now than ever before. All because of this man: Mike Rosslyn. He'd recruited Jaret within days of the funeral. It'd felt too soon. Too sudden. But her brother had agreed to train anyway. Tonight was one of the final events before he joined his team. And this test had included her.

Jaret said they didn't have a choice about attending. Etiquette demanded they accept the invitation to the royal gathering. If they didn't, more questions would be raised. The kinds of questions they didn't want flung in their direction.

And so they were here.

I would do anything for Jaret, I would do anything for Jaret, I would do anything for Jaret…

And she would. He was the only family she had left.

She tugged off her suddenly suffocating wrap and dropped it on the table beside her abandoned G and T. Mike's gaze danced over the expanse of her newly exposed shoulders. Under his assessing eyes, heat spread over her. What did he see as his gaze lingered on her? His nostrils flared again, like he sampled the air for her scent. Could he detect their deceit?

She couldn't even imagine what he would do if he discovered her secret.

Mike was deeply embedded in the Witch and Warlock world, WaW through and through. And, to top it off, he was the prince's right hand man. Everyone knew it. The head of security… boss… leader… top dog… whatever title you wanted to give him, it all came down to one fact: Mike Rosslyn exuded power. And he wasn't obliged to protect her. His oath probably had a clause in it about ferreting out people like her and turning them in to the Coalition for punishment.

Her pulse raced. Whether from the intensity of Mike's gaze or the fear of being caught, she wasn't sure.

She should have kept her cursed wrap on.

Wasn't this where Jaret, even though he was her younger brother, was supposed to assert his brotherly protection and warn the guy off? But what was he doing? Ogling a woman across the hall.

Great. Just great.

Avery pursed her lips to stop a soft growl from escaping her throat. Fine. She'd take care of this herself. If Mike was going to look her over, she'd do the same to him. Men like him didn't like aggressive women, right? He'd want someone submissive and obedient.

She braced her shoulders and let her gaze slip over him.

His tailored tux fit him to perfection. The fine black wool hugged his wide shoulders and narrowed down to his waist and hips. He definitely sported a six pack under there. Maybe even an eight pack. A short beard covered his square jaw. No, it was more scruff than beard and it gave him an air of danger and wildness that he might not have if his face were cleanly shaven. His thick black hair was just a little bit messy, like he was inviting women to slide their fingers through it. Her palm tingled, imagining the sensation of stroking his hair, gripping it, holding him close…

What is the matter with me?

If Jaret discovered her thoughts, he'd say she was in heat.

Sweet Hera, was that possible?

I came over to ask you to dance, Ms. Hawk, Mike said as he extended his hand to her in invitation. The band is playing one of my favorite songs.

I… Avery stared at his hand like it was a cobra ready to strike.

She shot a pleading look at her brother. A slight frown crossed his face, but then he nodded to encourage her to go. Curse it.

Yes. Thank you, she managed to say.

Then, for the second time, she slipped her bare hand in Mike's while she prayed she could hold herself together for the length of a song.

Chapter Two

MIKE

The Hawk family was hiding something.

The stench of nerves and anxiety, which always reminded Mike of rotting fruit, clung to them. But tonight he hadn't needed to depend on his magics for confirmation. Their discomfort had been evident in everything they'd done since walking through the door. He'd studied them for an hour before approaching.

He cast his gaze around the assembly again. No one else in the room seemed to notice their odd behavior. Was he overreacting?

Web, his right-hand man, stood by the tables where the other recruits had gathered. He chatted with Bjorn and Sergei, both of whom were on their own tonight, not having any family in the area to bring to the gathering. The way Sergei held himself, there was no mistaking his army background. And, because he knew what to look for, Mike saw a slight bulge under Sergei's suit jacket where his ever-present knives were stashed. As recruits to the task force, they'd been considered part of the security for tonight's events, so Mike didn't mind Sergei coming armed. Beside him, Bjorn laughed. His robust laughter rumbled over the din of the assembly, loud and full. Big, blond and bearded, the man looked like a Viking and, from here, he sounded like one too. They'd both be good additions to his team.

He needed people who weren't conventional and wouldn't be cowed by society's expectations or conventions. As expected, Sergei and Bjorn had gravitated to the other recruits, unlike Jaret, who seemed happy to keep his distance tonight. Mike had never seen the recruit so uptight. But why? That was the question. During the year of training, Jaret never isolated himself. Which meant this behavior was probably because of his sister.

Mike eyed her again.

Admittedly, when the sister first caught his eye he'd been captivated by her beauty. He didn't normally take women home, particularly from an official function, but, if she was willing, he'd considered making an exception for her.

But then he noticed all the little signs that something was wrong. With each passing minute, her hands shook more and her gaze darted from door to door with increasing frequency. She wanted to run and the only reason he could think of was that she was hiding something that could threaten them. That revelation was one way to douse his interest.

He'd been forced to act before she bolted.

Everyone lied, but Mike couldn't accept secrets in his latest recruit. Now he'd have to uncover the truth before moving Jaret onto the team. With all the rumblings and threats in the district, they had to be diligent. He had to be diligent.

Having moved here from Europe twenty years ago, Prince Reginald and the few members of his family who'd come with him were the only royals in the area. It was a bit like the Wild West for WaWs this far from the other powerful royals who ruled the European districts with ruthless discipline. Here, things were unruly. Disorderly. A fertile breeding ground for the insurrectionist movement.

Insurrectionists, in their many varied groups and organizations, would happily see the end of both the royals and the Coalition, which was the WaW answer to everything governmental. Mike's job was to make sure that didn't happen. The escalating tensions and coup attempts were the whole raison d'etre for the so-called Dark Guards.

Which meant the Hawks' behaviour needed to be investigated.

Mike couldn't dismiss his suspicions, even if there hadn't been any reason to doubt Jaret Hawk before. Any weak link needed to be strengthened or eliminated. Whatever the Hawks were hiding could be a liability at best. At worst? They were undercover insurrectionists trying to infiltrate his team. But if that was the case, he'd expect them to try harder to blend in.

In that respect, their behavior didn't make sense. He hadn't intended to use the cocktail party to vet Jaret and his sister again, but now he had no choice.

The air in the hall buzzed with magic and energy. It was one of the things that made Castors uncomfortable in WaW neighborhoods. Families could communicate with limited telepathic waves. Amid a mob of people, particularly at royal or political assemblies like this, most families would be busy with internal discussions.

But here? In the corner with Jaret and his sister Avery? Nothing. If Mike didn't know better, he'd think they were Castor's Kind. But he did know better. Jaret had the most powerful telekinetic gift he'd ever seen.

So what was going on?

He'd figure it out. He had to. The team's safety was his responsibility and he would not put them at risk. He had to ask the questions that seemed ridiculous to others, because if he didn't, something could get overlooked.

In matters this important, he didn't trust anyone or anything except his own gut. He'd ignored that sensation before. That mistake had ended in death. He wouldn't make that same mistake again.

They walked together, close enough that he could rest his hand at the small of her back. He liked the idea of his scent mingling with hers. Of leaving his scent on her. Her long blonde tresses brushed over the back of his hand, triggering images of what it'd be like to sink his fingers into her hair and tug it back as he thrust deep inside her.

Which was entirely the wrong thing to think about.

He pushed the thought away. He had a job to do.

He needed to learn what he could about this unusual woman and decide what action to take. But with each step, her curvy body moved under his touch, tempting him to slide his palm along her back to feel more. But it was the soft swish and rustle of her dress that threatened to unravel his self-control. It reminded him of clothes being cast aside, of bed linens being rumpled, of things that he shouldn't be thinking about…

What was it about this woman?

Sure, she was a striking woman and her clothing choice made her even more eye-catching, but there had to be more to his interest than that. The long colorful gown flowed over her curves, accentuating every rounded slope and plump mound. Every other woman in the room wrapped their bodies in bland tones. The unwritten rule among the WaW elite was that people should stand out for their magics, not their clothing.

But, given Avery's upbringing, she wouldn't know that.

The result was as distracting as it was inviting. He inhaled, opening his senses to her. Honing in on her.

He'd long ago divided scents into categories. Beneath the acrid vinegary smell of fear and the rotting fruit notes of her nerves, the air around her was charged with the sharp, plant-like scent that reminded him of outdoors in spring: fresh sap and the promise of new life. He hadn't expected that. With her mediocre magics, he'd anticipated vanilla or lilacs. Something simple. Something delicate and comfortable. The discovery was intriguing…

His mouth watered as he inhaled it more deeply. His tongue twitched in his mouth, the primal, beastly part of him wanted to taste her. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

I'm happy you could join us tonight, Mike said, as he guided Avery toward the dance floor.

Thank you. Jaret insisted I attend. Her bright blue eyes flicked up to meet his, then her gaze darted to the exit again. Just as it had all night.

When they arrived at the open floor in front of the band, the song ended. He expected her to seize this as an excuse to escape dancing with him. But she didn't, thankfully, because he couldn't let her go yet.

He had lied when he'd called the previous song his favorite. He had no idea what was playing. He'd dragged Avery Hawk to the dance floor to get her alone, away from her brother. When the first notes of the next melody vibrated through the air, Mike smiled. Perfect.

Just in time for a waltz. He spun her into his arms.

She gasped when her chest met his. Her quiet, sharp intake of breath made her lips part. His gaze lingered on her mouth for a moment too long before he made himself look higher, back to her eyes. He closed one hand around hers—any qualms about touching skin-to-skin had been eliminated when she'd dared to offer her bare hand and he'd accepted it—and slid the other to her back.

But then the temptation he'd felt earlier stole over him again…

His hand slipped lower until he felt the rounded curve of her hip. She tensed at the intimacy, but she didn't pull away. She held her tiny purse in the hand that rested against his shoulder. He wished she'd left it back at the table. He had a sudden desire to feel her clutching him, gripping his body, digging her fingers into his muscles…

I thought you might want to talk about the task force, he said. Do you have any questions for me?

Jaret's told me what I need to know. Her tone betrayed a note of sarcasm, surprising him. I understand the situation.

Avery shuddered in his arms. If he hadn't been holding her, he might not have noticed. A scowl crossed her face before she wrestled her expression into a mask of indifference again. Her spine was ramrod straight and just as stiff.

Interesting, that.

When Jaret had been recruited, they'd investigated his family as part of regular protocol. If he remembered correctly, her Coalition Registry Certificate, or CR Certificate, listed her as a hereditary diviner and a gifted aura reader, or aurist. Although some preferred the term Aurora's Children. She should be able to tell he didn't mean her harm.

So why was she so anxious? What was he missing?

Jaret's and Avery's birth certificates lacked the name of a biological father. The omission was noteworthy, but not a deal breaker. Whoever Jaret's father had been, he must have been from an old WaW family. His magic was too powerful for it to be otherwise.

Children born of a witch and warlock had two skills. They inherited one from their parents and the other was gifted by a god or goddess. By the age of eight, most people had some control over their inherited skill and would just be exhibiting the first signs of their gifted skill. People with purer bloodlines usually exhibited stronger magic.

Particularly strong gifted skills showed much earlier, which, according to Mike's notes, was what happened with Jaret. Avery, on the other hand, hadn't displayed until quite late and her magics were of unexceptional strength and, worse yet, they were unreliable when tested. The examiners had recommended she not attend a WaW school. They deemed Avery Hawk as having as much chance of becoming a witch of any merit as the Castor actors who performed in Macbeth. Often in these situations, the child's father was not a warlock.

Was that the secret they were hiding?

Mike spun her through the other dancers. She matched his steps perfectly. With each turn, her long gown brushed his legs. It was just a bit of fabric, but his imagination happily pretended the fleeting touch was her thigh. Within a few refrains, the rigid stiffness in her body loosened. He took that as a good sign and drew her closer still.

Avery's gaze flitted to his again. Upon catching him watching her, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. He lifted an eyebrow, wondering if she realized how easy she was to read. He grinned when she glanced away. He didn't need any special magic to tell him she didn't trust him…