Winged: A Unicorn Queen Novel

By Michelle Guerrero

Winged launches the legend of the unicorn into a modern-day, twisted tale of vengeful gods, unrequited love, and soulmates gone wrong.

 

Seventeen-year-old Tessa O’Sullivan has no idea magic exists. She figures she’s having a rough year plagued with black-outs, memory loss, and sleep deprivation. She doesn’t know her true self is bound in human form because the ancients punished her for defying them or that she ticked off a god who’s bent on destroying her.

 

When Tessa’s family disappears, she’s thrust into a world of magic and deadly curses with two boys. Musician Cyrus Burns may be her soulmate, or a thief sent to destroy her with a kiss. And Cyrus’s enemy Edric is a family friend, who also happens to be a powerful Elven King. He’s Tessa’s former lover from a past life and wants to keep her safe, even at the expense of her freedom.

 

Trusting either of them is impossible when they’re both keeping dangerous secrets. If Tessa doesn’t save her family, they’ll be lost forever, and she’ll be pulled, hooves kicking, into the underworld for all eternity. She’s about to learn as an immortal unicorn queen, there are some fates worse than death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Jul 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781734941319

Michelle Guerrero

Michelle Guerrero wanted to grow up to be a mermaid and have a unicorn. She decided the next best thing to having fins was being a writer. She's a mom of four who lives in a cabin in the woods with her husband and two youngest boys. She's often spotted walking through the trees, surrounded by horses, pups, goats, and kids. She grew up in Illinois but moved to Arizona when perms were still a thing. Her degree is in journalism, but she writes just about anything, from articles to books for children and young adults.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Betsy creaks and groans as I trudge up the road. Except for this obnoxious hill, most of my ride to work is relatively flat as it twists and turns through the forest. I usually enjoy biking, but not when I get called into Magic Beans on my day off. It’s hard to fake an illness when you work at your mom’s coffee shop.

Betsy’s pale-blue paint is chipping, and she complains going uphill. Even though we have history, the idea of trading her in for something with an engine is more appealing with each relentless pedal. I’ll be seventeen in less than a month, but I only have my learner’s permit. I tried taking driving lessons, but I was sweat-pouring-down-my-back terrified. I call it automo-phobia. It’s part claustrophobia and part driving phobia. I can handle being a passenger though.

A loud rumble barrels up the street behind me, quickly closing the distance. Glancing over my shoulder, I make out a guy on a motorcycle with a long case awkwardly strapped to the back of his bike. I do my best to move to the side of the road, but there’s not much of a bike lane on the stretch between town and my house in the middle of nowhere.

My heart leaps. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s close enough to run me off the road or because he’s unbelievably good-looking. His muscles are clearly defined through his t-shirt pressed against his body. I have a feeling his wind-swept hair looks good no matter what speed he’s going.

I grab my chest when my heart doesn’t stop its crazy dance, and struggle to keep my bike upright. It happens quickly, but I don’t miss the scowl he flings my direction from behind his dark glasses. I’m not the one running people off the road.

Nobody likes you! I shout between ragged breaths.

He gives a curt wave without looking back. There’s no way he could have heard me over his muffler and the distance he swiftly put between us.

I try to tuck my hair back in the bun at the top of my head but it’s a losing battle. When the hill finally crests, I stop to catch my breath and fix this mess. Suddenly, to my right, a large, black mass streaks through the woods and I startle, freeing my locks from the nearly-done bun.

There aren’t wolves around here, but it sure looked like one. I fumble with my hair, rushing to redo my work. Leaves fall from the tangle of branches looming above and I yelp as they brush my shoulder. I’m halfway done, but good enough. I’m out of here.

Pushing off is a struggle with tired, noodle legs, but the other side of the hill helps me gain speed while the wind hitting my face brings clarity. I’m fine. There was nothing there. I squint at the sky, assessing how long I have before the dark, churning clouds unleash their fury.

I might get to work dry. And alive.

A fat, cold raindrop smacks my forehead.

I’ll settle for alive. I try to shake the fear off. There’s nothing out there but trees and more trees.

One drop of rain turns into buckets, and within a few minutes I can barely see ten feet in front of me. My muscles burn as I slog through the rainwater quickly pooling on the pavement. A car passes too fast, hits a puddle, and sends a wall of water my way.

Seriously? I shout.

The universe decides to answer my rhetorical question in the form of a nerve-wracking squeal, followed by a sickening crunch, and a horn that won’t stop blaring. I freeze mid-peddle as fear grips my body and drags her icy fingers up my back. I force my legs to move again and try to speed up.

Around the bend, I’m greeted by two pairs of red lights glowing through the sheets of rain. One pair belongs to the car that splashed me, and the other flashing set is from something much larger. The smell of burnt rubber and cracked wood permeates the air despite the rain.

What the—?

My heart sinks to my toes. The car is partially wedged under a flat-bed trailer stacked high with logs. It looks more like a pile of mangled metal than a vehicle, and the windshield is impaled by a log strapped to the bed.

I run to the driver’s side door. My heart pounds and my stomach twists with dread. I can’t imagine how anyone survived this.

Pull it together, Tessa, I order myself.

I cup my hands like swim goggles and press against the glass to see in the car through the pouring rain. A young woman is limp against the steering wheel, and her head’s bleeding. A cross between a laugh and a sob escapes me. It’s a miracle she’s not crushed, but I can’t tell if she’s breathing. I try opening the door, but it won’t budge, and the back door is either locked or jammed. The others are under the truck.

My hot tears mix with the frigid rain and disappear in the downpour. I open my backpack with shaking hands and find my phone. The call to 911 doesn’t go through. My screen goes dark. It’s soaked, and no matter how hard I push the buttons, it won’t turn on again. I should have gone for the expensive, waterproof model.

Where’s the truck driver?

I run to the cab. It’s empty, but the door’s unlocked so I climb in and look around for something useful. There’s an old CB radio attached to the dash. I’ve never used one, but I’ve seen them in movies. I grab the speaker and press the button on the side, Hello? Is anyone there?

No one replies. I turn a few knobs on the radio and try again.

Hello? There’s been an accident on Oak Creek Road a few miles east of town and we need help! Is anyone there?

Silence.

I clench my jaw, trying to keep my teeth from chattering, and slam the speaker back on the mount in frustration. The car horn is still blaring as a constant reminder a life is at stake. Through the dim lighting in the cab, I see a tire iron on the floor. Perfect. I grab it and head back into the storm.

My heart pounds in symphony with the whooshing noise in my head. A warm push of energy floods my chest. I gasp and press my palm to my heart. My tears stop, scorched by determination. The backseat window looks as good as any, but I stop before my first hit and look inside. There’s a toddler strapped into a car seat.

How did I miss this?

I hold my breath as I concentrate on the little one’s chest, praying I see it move. One second, two seconds, three seconds pass. I can’t tell. I’ll have to go through the back windshield.

Holding the iron in two hands, I lift my arms high and bring it down on the glass, aiming for the opposite side of where the toddler sits. I slip with my first hit and nearly fall off the trunk. I gather myself and try again, pounding until the tempered glass cracks. Part of the window breaks, but much of the glass holds together like it’s glued to plastic wrap. I keep pounding until there’s a big enough hole to squeeze myself through.

The ragged glass scrapes my bare arms as I wiggle into the small space. A trickle of warmth slides down my cold skin. I wipe it away and discover I’m bleeding. I’ll deal with it later.

A baby bottle drips liquid on the floor, a crystal sun catcher rests on a splintered piece of wood, a pink purse is crammed between the broken dashboard and front seat—evidence of their normal life moments ago. Although we’re surrounded by chaos, there’s an eerie stillness in the car.

The cab is compressed. I lean forward on my knees to get a better look at the mom. She’s pregnant. If I were a betting girl, I would say she was rushing to a hospital. The toddler looks too peaceful, and I can’t tell if he’s breathing because of the restraint straps on his little chest. I’m afraid to move him.

I reach over and unlock his door, but before I try to open it, the odd flood of energy increases tenfold. It’s tangible and makes me double over. They’re going to die. I’m as sure of this as I am my own name. I don’t get the whole aura thing, but sure as fate, their light is dimming. They’re turning gray.

My heart squeezes painfully, and the sides of the car close in on me.

Deep breaths, Tessa. This isn’t happening. The car isn’t shrinking. Just another panic attack. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. You cannot pass out. You have to help these people.

My fingers tingle and I follow my gut even though common sense tells me I’m wasting precious time. I should be peddling like an Olympian seeking real help. I sit back on my heels and gently place one hand on the toddler’s leg and one on the mother’s head. I don’t shy away from her warm blood oozing through my fingers. My eyes close.

Please, universe. Fix this, I whisper as hot tears spring again.

The pull increases and energy flows into me like wind through a tunnel. It’s filled with emotion, and swirls with tendrils of hope, love, and strength. It builds until I can’t contain it any longer. I’m the eye of the storm and the energy whips around me like a tornado until it forces its way through my hands and into the mother and toddler in a tidal wave of healing power.

There’s an explosion of light. I think the car is on fire.

A wolf howls in the distance.

My world goes black.

Mom’s voice is soothing, but the smell of antiseptic is an assault on my senses.

Quintessa, it’s time to wake up, she whispers in her Irish brogue as her hand caresses my hair. You did well. I am so proud of you.

Her use of my birth name worries me. It must be bad. My eyes flutter open.

There you are. She gives me a sympathetic smile. You're in the hospital, but you're going to be fine. How do you feel?

Before answering, I do a head-to-toe assessment. Nothing hurts. I rub my arm, expecting to find a cut, but there’s isn’t one. I’m fine. I think. What happened?

Someone heard your call for help on the radio. Her smile falters. What’s the last thing you remember?

There was a storm, a horrible accident, and the mom and toddler in the car. The walls threaten to close in on me. Why did I think I cut my arm? I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.

It’s hot in here. I throw the blankets off, sit up, and toss my legs over the edge of the bed.

Hang on, Tess.

I need air.

The television in the corner and the one window in the room pass me three times before I slam my eyes shut. It feels like someone’s sitting on my chest and I can’t breathe.

Deep, slow breaths, Tessa. You’re safe. Come on. Lie down.

Mom puts a cool hand on my forehead. Her touch always grounds me when I get like this. It pulls me out of my head and back to reality. The three-hundred-pound invisible weight finally floats away.

The mom and her toddler, please tell me they’re okay.

They're fine, sweetie. You saved them both. Actually, you saved all three. The mother delivered her baby on the way to the hospital. Do you remember how you saved them?

I remember unlocking the toddler’s door. And I had a panic attack. A memory dangles outside my reach. Did I hit my head?

If you did, there’s no lump to prove it.

Concern is etched on Mom’s face.

I remember something else, a light or an explosion of some sort. There was a fire.

There wasn’t a fire. I got here as quick is I could, says Dad as he walks in the room, dressed in his fireman uniform. She hit her head? Technically he’s my stepdad but he’s the only dad I’ve ever known.

Mom takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

Huh. He frowns. You okay, kid?

Yeah, I’m okay.

Nothing’s broken but my brain. I claw through my memories of the incident. When I touch my arm, the heaviness returns. I’m certain of one thing.

My mind is hiding the truth.

Chapter 2

Sleep and I no longer get along and I do what I can to avoid it entirely, especially after the car accident two days ago. If my heavy eyelids have their way, my heart will be broken again by my dream like it has every night for a month and a half. My nightmare is a fantasy gone wrong.

Anxiety creeps and settles in my bones every time I think of the accident. My gut tells me there’s a common thread linking what happened in the car to my nightmare.

Last month I thought I was having a heart attack; the diagnosis was a panic attack. The doctor says its depression. I know it’s not. All my issues are connected somehow and figuring out what’s triggering this is the key to getting my life back.

Hurry up. Reese bangs on the bathroom door. We’re going to be late.

She’s my best friend and cousin from Dad’s side of the family.

Oh, she says when I open the door. Her glare quickly turns into something resembling concern. She’s not the coddling type. She’ll gladly tear the throat out of whoever did me wrong or slap me silly if I need a reality check.

I drag myself back to the room to get dressed. My mood is completely at odds with this bright summer morning. But at least my teeth are brushed, and my hair is pulled up. It could be worse.

Another nightmare?

Something like that.

Truth is, I didn’t sleep at all. She knows better than to dig; something will prevent me from talking. I’ll choke up and cry or I’ll forget it entirely only to remember what happened when she leaves. Last week I blacked out.

I’m not this girl. I’m usually the happy one in the group, baking cookies, making my friends laugh with my mad dance skills, and my fearless car karaoke performances, but not lately.

Reese glances at her phone. I hate to do this to you, but Ruby opened the shop this morning and you’re back on the schedule. She points to the clothes she threw on my bed.

Nothing pisses off Ruby, the manager at Magic Beans, more than being short staffed during the morning rush and that’s saying something because she has a long list of irritations. It doesn’t matter my family owns the place.

I plop on the bed, trying to remember how to get dressed. Reese pulls on her auburn ponytail to make it sit higher on her head and paces like she’s ready for the kickboxing ring. She picked up the sport and it’s done wonders for her already-athletic build. I wish her energy was contagious. The thought of working a full day is painful.

You want to go on without me? I can bike there.

Maybe I can bike there. Ruby will be happier with at least one of us on time.

I can’t. I’m under orders from the chief. He’s worried about your concussion.

I didn’t hit my head. Or did I? There’s no point in arguing. It’s exhausting and she’ll probably win anyway.

Every table is taken when we get to Magic Beans, and there’s a line weaving from the baked goods counter, through the book section, and back to the front where the gifts and cards live. Tourist season. Magic Beans takes up most of the bottom floor of our two-story historic building. The Beanstalk, Grams’ antique store, takes up the other chunk.

Reese and I throw on our aprons and dive into battle.

Nice to see you finally made it. Ruby rolls her eyes.

I squinch up my nose, smile, and open the second cash register.

Hey, Reese, can you fix me something with a double-shot of espresso and lots of sugar? I ask when the line finally tapers down to a slow drip.

I know just the drink to perk you up.

I’d do it myself, but I’m not allowed to touch the high-dollar coffee equipment. The espresso machine is supposed to be indestructible, but I nearly broke it a month after training.

The bell over the door rings, and one of my favorite people steps inside.

Hello, beautiful people! Ozzie sings as he pushes through the door carrying a big box. I could never pull off white pants like he can, they’d end up with stains by lunch. He always looks fashion-shoot worthy and today’s no exception. Oz is the glitter glue in our trio. We’ve been friends since we were in the same preschool class. He used to be the scrawny, short one in the group, but now he towers over us with his strong swimmer’s physique.

He sets the box on one of the larger round tables then sits in a cushy, burgundy chair. Guess what I brought.

Do I want to know? I ask. Last time he showed up with a surprise box, the evening started with brightly-colored feathered boas and ended with a herd of loose goats running down the street and us in tow.

Costumes for the Fairy Festival on Saturday!

Reese is going to kill you.

The action of smiling is foreign after weeks of bleh, but I can’t help it at the thought of Reese dressed up like a fairy. Magic Beans always has a booth at the annual festival and sells burlap sacks of coffee, along with some other stuff. Usually we wear our uniform: street clothes, and an apron with our logo on it. Tons of people dress up though.

Oz, you don’t even work here. It’s not happening, says Reese as she walks up.

Ruby chuckles.

What are you laughing at? You’re scheduled to work the booth too, she snaps. We may fear Ruby during rush hour, but the rest of the time we’re cool. She’s twenty-something and lives in one of the apartments upstairs. We have an understanding. I take care of the yappy teen girls and she takes the difficult customers.

Guess again. Ruby squeezes Oz’s shoulders. I have the day off thanks to Oz here who volunteered to work our booth.

Your mom already cleared it and she loves the idea of costumes, Oz says to me. Oz’s family is loaded, and he doesn’t have to work but he likes to be a part of things.

He opens the box and pulls out three sets of wings.

The blue-green ones are mine. He sets them on the table.

The multi-watercolor, sparkly ones are yours, my dear. He presents them to me with an exaggerated bow.

The black ones are yours. He shoves them in Reese’s direction. You’re an evil fairy.

She takes them and grins. I’ll wear them because they’re black. I still think you’re a dork.

And this is also for you, Tessa. He pulls out a unicorn’s horn. My throat dries up. I open my mouth to say something but close it because I don’t know what to say. He would never mock me, but this sure feels like he is.

That’s not funny. Reese stares down Oz. They both know about my odd unicorn dreams. It sounds stupid when I think about it, but it’s not when I’m having my heart ripped out night after night in various versions of the same twisted nightmare. What will it be tonight? The one where I watch the unicorn get decapitated by a demon or the one where I wake up crying with a hole in my heart and can’t explain why. My nights have become an endless cycle of blood, death, and heartache.

I pull my eyes away from Oz and look down. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Sometimes counting helps. I’m afraid to move. Breathe. When I focus back into the conversation, Oz and Reese are arguing.

"We need to get Tessa back to her happy-self, she’s been in this place for months. What a better way than to help her find her inner-unicorn?"

Reese rolls her eyes.

Oz walks over and pulls me into a tight hug, forcing me out of this place.

I know nothing makes sense right now and you’re scared. But I promise you, you’re not going crazy, he whispers in my ear.

His warmth and kindness seep into my soul, but a tear manages to escape my exhausted eyes.

We are going to have a great time. And if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. How many times a year do I have a legitimate reason to wear glitter in the town of Page Springs, Wisconsin?

A giggle bubbles from my throat. The noise is odd to my ears. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it. I look up at Oz, and he gives me a gentle smile. I love this guy.

You never need a reason. All you need is the right outfit and an audience, I say.

That’s my Tessa.

Reese sighs loudly and walks away. Ruby gives me a concerned smile before following my cousin.

Reese thinks I push too hard. She’s worried about you.

I know. I am too.

You’ll get through this. Let’s try this on. He holds up the horn.

How about later? How about never.

Just for a second. Pa-leeeeze. It matches your white hair beautifully, he sings as he fiddles with it.

It’s light-blonde, not white.

The little bell hanging on the door jingles suddenly, and in walks hot biker guy who doesn’t like to share the road. My heart races, but the rest of me is frozen to the painted cement floor. Oz turns to see who stole my attention. Biker guy stops and stares right at me, looking as surprised as I feel. He shakes his head and smirks, closing the distance between us.

You’re the guy on the motorcycle, I say and cross my arms.

Yeah, the one no one likes. His eye contact makes me uncomfortable, and even though my cheeks burn, I accept his challenge and don’t look away.

There are so many things I could say to express my frustration with his lack of driving skills, but each version makes me sound like an idiot. He wasn’t that close, and if road rudeness were a crime, Reese would be locked up.

He smiles. You should be careful. That road’s dangerous.

You shouldn’t ride so close to bicyclists.

I wasn’t that close. It’s like he picked the thought out of my head. I was referring to the car accident with the logging truck.

Oh.

News travels faster than wildfire in small towns.

Sorry if I scared you. His sexy grin makes Oz sigh. I shoot a scathing glare in Oz’s direction. It’s obvious biker guy has a big ego and I wish Oz wouldn’t feed it.

Can I help you? Reese interrupts.

Biker guy turns his attention to her. Yeah, I’m looking for Brigid. She around?

I’ll get her. You can wait over there, Reese snaps and motions with her chin.

When he walks away, my limbs thaw and I can’t help but feel disappointed. What is wrong with me? I shake my head, trying to clear him from my aura.

What just happened? Oz whispers while his gaze follows Reese as she weaves her way through the antique store to the stairs leading to Mom’s office.

Wish I knew, I mutter.

I can’t pull my eyes away from biker guy leaning against the counter. He casually glances around the room and lands on the local’s paintings for sale on the wall. He’s familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him before. The combination of his blue eyes and black hair is striking.

I’m drawn to him, which makes no sense because I’ve established, I think he’s a jerk. I narrow my eyes in time for him to catch me staring.

He does the worst thing ever. He smiles at me. I guess it’s better than his sneer, but still. I chew my lip and pick a menu off the table to fan myself. By the time I realize what I’m doing, it’s way too late to put it down nonchalantly. Now I got to pretend it’s hot in here, but it’s him getting me flustered.

And I’m still staring.

Hello, you must be the musician, I hear Mom say over the soft din of clinking cups and the few chatting customers still here. I’m Brigid.

Cyrus, he says and shakes her hand. He looks at me again, then back at Mom.

She your sister? He tilts his head toward me.

Ugh. Is he hitting on my mother?

I swear the room brightens when she smiles. Tessa’s my daughter.

Ah.

I’d be insulted but Mom still gets carded and we do have similar features. Our eyes are about as dark brown as you can get. It’s a strong contrast to our hair. We get it from Grams.

Let’s go up to my office and talk. We have some time before the AV guy arrives.

Sounds good. He nods my direction and grins as he walks off with Mom.

I don’t like him. Reese’s voice makes me jump.

What’s not to like? asks Oz.

Not sure, but I’ll find out eventually.

Frowning causes worry lines. Oz touches the spot between her eyes with his pointer finger.

I’ve got books to stock. And a hot biker guy to not think about. I’m off.

I dig my way out of the box of new novelty books. My personal favorite is 101 Tips to Avoid Turning Into Your Mother. She’s not bad, but it’s irritating always being compared to her. I get halfway through shelving the new gift mugs when Mom reappears. Speak of the devil…

What’s up with the guy you were talking to? I ask.

I’ve hired Cyrus to play a few gigs for us this weekend.

Oh?

Yeah, we were discussing the equipment I need to rent for him, but if I decide to keep him on, he’ll ship his own from home.

We stay open late Thursday through Saturday and hire musicians to play on the weekends. Good music is always a draw.

What do you know about him? I try to sound nonchalant and fiddle with a coffee cup.

Not much. He travels, playing different venues, and reached out because he was looking for work in the area. I saw a clip of him online. He’s good, and the fans seems to like him. She smiles. He’ll stay in one of the apartments for the weekend. If it goes well, I’ll have him sign a lease.

He’s staying upstairs? Mom only leases to employees. There aren’t many units.

She laughs. Yes. Is that okay? Mom narrows her eyes and smiles like she thinks she knows something.

Yeah. He’s six feet of good-looking trouble. I bet half the girls in Page Springs will fall for him. There’ll be competition and possibly hair pulling. Broken hearts are inevitable. I’ve seen it before. The idea of jumping into that game is about as appealing as a trip to the dentist. Yet, the idea of him being near me instead of somewhere else is…relieving.

Before I can analyze my revelation, the bell jingles and in walks a guy who must be a few days early for the festival. His stone-colored chinos and button-down shirt with rolled sleeves don’t remotely match his brown, lace-up boots. He’s like a Viking gone wrong but it doesn’t even matter because he radiates confidence and it works for him. He tucks his shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair behind his ear and scans the room. His green eyes light up when he sees Mom.

Well look who the cat dragged in! I haven’t seen you in ages! She hurries over to give him a hug. He lifts her and swings her around and plants a kiss on her cheek. Does Dad know this guy?

A visit was way overdue, he says with an Irish brogue like Mom’s. He sets her down and turns his attention to me. His hand goes to his heart and his voice hitches when he says, Please tell me you remember me.

And then it hits me. Edric?

He bows at the waist. At your service.

My cheeks flush at my tween crush who I haven’t seen for years. Mom smacks him with a dishrag and shakes her head.

I cover my cheese-grin with my hand, remembering the make-believe adventures we had all those years ago. I, the warrior princess and he, my loyal knight, as we searched for treasure.

Look at you, Quintessa. How you’ve grown. His smile is warm and there’s a twinkle in his eye.

It’s Tessa, now. Only Mom calls me that when she’s pi— It’s my turn to get hit with Mom’s towel. "Angry. Angry at me. And technically I haven’t grown since I was like thirteen. But I heard about this girl who grew an inch