Eagle Moon: Love In The Woods, #2

By Shelly Ferguson

Would Marian risk everything for a dark elf claiming to be her destiny?

Marian had a perfect life in Atlanta – her dream job at a museum, the perfect apartment to practice her magic, and a very nice man she'd been seeing for a few years. The only time she stepped outside of her orderly schedule was to spend a random weekend alone in the woods to paint. Little did she know what was waiting for her when she reserved a cabin at Black Moon Lake.

Lann was a dark elf heading home. He and his brothers were finished being guns for hire. They came to Earth ten years ago in search of their fated mates and fortunes. They were returning home wealthy single men trained to fight and defend.
Only days before he planned to go home he found her, the one woman who would complete him, too bad she wanted nothing to do with him.

Can Lann convince Marian that he is more than a soldier?

~

Eagle Moon is the second book in the new series by Shelly Ferguson. It happens in a world where fae, shifters, and witches don't have to hide who they are, and not everyone is who they seem to be.

Happily ever after, no cheating, fated mates, and dark elves who happen to be aliens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shelly Ferguson
• Release date: Oct 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798224323227

Shelly Ferguson

Shelly Ferguson is best described as a horrible housewife, an awesome mother, an introverted nerd and a hopeless romantic. She lives in the South with her loving hubby, a mermaid for a daughter, two hell hounds, and two miniature divine beings. (Cats – they are cats.) She loves to write stories where the women save themselves, find the man of their dreams, and have a little fun along the way.

Book preview

Prologue

I watched as my new client roamed around my studio instead of focusing on the painting in front of me. Something about her gave me a strong sense of deja vu. I bit my cheek when I realized she was the spitting image of the woman in the Botticelli painting Birth of Venus. Everything from her hair to the way she tilted her head as she studied my latest painting drying on its easel reminded me ofthe painting.

I flicked my eyes back to the signature at the bottom of the painting she brought to me for cleaning. It took me a minute to realize I had no idea what Botticelli’s signature looked like, but the chances of it being at the bottom of the canvas were slim. Those suckers were worth a fortune and were all safely tucked away in museums or private collections that would never find their way to my little studio, no matter how fabulous I was at my job. Only a master would be trusted to restore something so priceless. I was good, but I had a ways to go before anyone called me an expert, much less a master.

Focused on taking before pictures of the painting I almost missed when she asked, Did you paint these?

Yes, ma’am. I nodded as I took the flash card out of the camera before setting it back on the shelf.

Do you ever sell them?

I slid the card into my computer and waited for the images to load. Normally when a client asked about my paintings I assumed they were making polite conversation, but she seemed honestly interested. I do a small show every summer at a friend’s gallery.

Have you ever done a commission?

Mostly I paint for myself. The few I sell are mainly to cover the cost of paints and canvases.

Her blonde hair fell over her shoulder when she nodded. I only ask because a friend recently got married by a lake in Tennessee. I would love for you to paint the lake under the full moon to give to them as a wedding present.

They must be very important for such a gift.

She nodded and went back to studying my painting as I flipped through the form she filled out online. The only thing I see missing is the name of the painter. If it is valued over five grand, I need the painter's name and your insurance information.

Oh, don’t worry about insurance. I did my research and have every faith in you. As for the painter, I think their name was lost through the years as it was passed around the family.

I worried my bottom lip as I studied the picture in question. The frame was worth a couple grand based on the intricate carvings and age. The painting itself was easily several hundred years old and worth a small fortune on its own. For some reason, I didn’t feel like pushing the subject with her. Not only was she referred by one of my oldest clients, but there was something about her that insisted I could trust her, so I let it go.

Five minutes later the paperwork was done and she gathered her purse.

Marian, I’m serious about the painting for my friend. I would cover the cost of your trip, the materials, plus your fee. She pulled a silver business card from her purse and pressed it into my palm. There is a cozy cabin you can stay in a few minutes’ walk from the lake. No pressure. If you ever find yourself free on a full moon, let me know and I will arrange your trip to Black Moon Lake.

I studied the card after she left. The only information on it was an out of state number underneath the name Isolde de Seraphim. I wrote the name of the lake on the back of the card and taped it on the wall above my desk. It wouldn’t hurt to do a little search on Ms. de Seraphim or Black Moon Lake.

Chapter 1

A re you absolutely sure about this?

I nodded and kept packing things into my work bag. I’d been over this several times with Carol and I wasn’t going to go over it again; mainly because it had zero to do with her.

You can’t push it off for a couple of days? The new…

I zipped the top of my bag closed and looked her in the eye. No.

Astonishment that I would directly tell her ‘no’ was clear on her pinched little face. Never in the history of my career had a museum benefactor been interested in meeting me, much less cared if I was on vacation.

Really, Marian, you have to change your leave dates. Mr. Stroker was very specific. He asked to meet all members of the restoration team before he agrees to loan us the collection.

I took two deep breaths trying to find the words HR would prefer I use instead of the ones I wanted to. My soul rejected the HR version completely, so I settled for a PG version of what I wanted to say.

Carol, you’re new here, so I’m gonna explain to you how things work in the restoration department. Mrs. Lancaster is the head of our department. When I request time off, I go to her, and she approves it. Nowhere in my chain of command is the new hire in the marketing department. Your aspirations are not my responsibility. The collection you are trying so damn hard to get? Museums have been trying and failing for over a decade. If, for some god forsaken reason, you’re the one person in the world who gets him to unclench his ass long enough for a public showing, there is not a single piece in it that will need to be restored.

I hefted the bag strap onto my shoulder. When she didn’t back up to let me by, I stepped into her space. Was there anything else?

Her mouth opened and closed several times while she tried to come up with a response.

I really must be going.

If looks could kill, the one Carol gave me would have skinned my knees. The girl couldn’t even scowl properly and she thought she was going to tell me to cancel my trip? Bless her heart.

~

Thirty minutes later the evening doorman of my apartment building flagged me down before I made it safely into the elevator. He was a nice old man, but he liked to talk.

Ms. Symon, I have a package for you. I heard you are going on one of your painting trips in the morning, so I wanted to make sure you got it.

Thanks, Herman. I adjusted the strap on my shoulder and signed next to my apartment number on the package log. The whole reason I picked this apartment complex was the manned front desk that would accept packages for me. Clients rarely shipped their paintings, but the supplies I ordered were not cheap and there was no way they would still be waiting for me in an unsecured apartment building. I learned that the hard way.

He crossed his arms on the counter and leaned forward. Are you going somewhere new this time?

It was tempting to ignore his question and ask for my package, but I didn’t. It was good for people to know where I went on my trips and when I was expected back. A friend of mine liked to email me news articles about women who went missing on solo trips. I kept building security up to date about my travel plans to avoid becoming a statistic. Sure, I told Mrs. Lancaster and my sister Alice. But it would take them longer to realize I wasn’t home when I said I would be than it would for Herman.

It is a new one. A lake in Tennessee called Black Moon Lake. I bobbed my head in a silent signal for him to give me the package; unfortunately, Herman didn’t pick up on it.

Oh, that is an interesting name. Wonder how it got it?

No idea. I adjusted my bag strap.

I bet you can ask someone when you get up there. If it is in one of those little towns then you can ask the locals. They always know why things are named what they are.

I shifted my weight to my left foot. I’ll make sure to ask while I’m up there.

We both turned when someone came in the front door. I waved while Herman greeted them by name, like he did every tenant. I tapped the countertop to bring his attention back to me. Sorry I’m in a bit of a rush, Herman. Can you get the package?

A slow smile stretched across his wrinkled face. Having dinner with your gentleman?

For fuck’s sake.

I rolled my lips instead of giving him the snarky comment I wanted to. I was all for them knowing when I went on a solo trip, but I drew the line in telling them when I was going on a date or expecting someone over. That was just a little too far into my privacy.

The package, please.

The smile disappeared when he realized he had crossed a line. Yes, the package. I have it on the cart if you would like me to roll it up for you.

The cart? I hadn’t ordered anything that would take the luggage cart to get to my apartment. My confusion went up another notch when Herman pulled the cart from the back room. The box was the size of those flat pack furniture pieces from Ikea.

Thanks. I’ll take it with me, no need to bother you with it.

I felt a twinge of remorse when Herman nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. I laid my bag on the cart next to the box and said thank you before heading to the elevator.

Five minutes later I was safely tucked in my apartment trying to figure out what was in the box before I opened it. The only writing on the outside of the box was my name and address—no delivery slip, mail stamp, nothing.

I took a picture of the box and texted it to my sister Alice, followed by a question mark. She liked to watch auctions, and if she found something she thought I would like, she sent it to me; most of the time she gave me a heads-up first. She responded instantly with a shrug emoji.

It took a few minutes to shift the box from the cart to my floor, slice the tape and work through the layers of protective wrapping. I rocked back on my heels and studied the picture within. It was a beautiful oil painting of a rustic farmhouse kitchen. Guessing from the pottery and fireplace, somewhere in Europe around the 1500s. The unsettling part was the objects that had been added over the years. A Victorian gas lamp sat on the table, a sculpture of a woman playing the lute on a bench rested on the fireplace mantle. A dusty boombox sat in the corner half covered with a shawl. I grabbed the magnifying glass off the counter and studied the books lined up neatly across the rest of the mantle. A few spines were marked with runes, one with a date, and the others were blank.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out someone sent me a Hinder. The question was who? Only a couple of people in the world knew I had the ability to work with a Hinder and none of them would have sent me someone else's work without warning me.

After searching the layers of wrapping, the inside of the box, and the back of the frame, I still had no clue as to the sender, nor the original witch who created the painting. I jumped when my phone chimed with a message from Alice.

Alice: What was in it?

Marian: A Hinder.

Alice: Are you sure?

Marian: Who else would put an eighties boombox, a Victorian lamp, a Renaissance statue, and a dozen books into a 1500’s crofter kitchen?

Alice: Send me a pic.

I snapped a few pictures and sent them to her. I made sure to get the back and the box label because she would ask for those next.

Alice: Definitely looks like a Hinder doesn’t it?

Marian: Yeah. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with it.

Alice: Stick it in the safe with a serious ward on it.

Marian: Probably a good idea.

Alice: Are you going to the cabin tomorrow?

Marian: Yep. You’re coming the day after?

Alice: That’s the plan.

Marian: I booked a cabin with two bedrooms.

Alice: Spoil sport.

Marian: If you ever had to sleep with you then you would understand. Seriously, snoring, kicking, blanket hogging. I don’t know how you’re ever gonna find a man who can put up with all that you do in your sleep.

Alice: Pretty sure I wear them out before they fall asleep so it never comes up.

Marian: Not enough brain bleach in the world.

Alice: If you ever quit hooking up with Jack you might get to find out what I’m talking about.

Marian: Don’t start.

Alice: Text me when you get there.

Alice: …

Alice: Unless you meet a nice mountain man who teaches you the value of going to sleep wrung out.

Marian: See you in a couple days weirdo.

Chapter 2

Thankfully the directions the girl at the check in counter of the cabin grounds gave me were easy to follow, because at first glance the labyrinth of dirt roads inside the Black Moon Campground was worrisome. I leaned over the steering wheel with my mouth hanging open as I looked for the road that led to my cabin. The place looked more like a middle-income subdivision than a campground. Cabins of all sizes were spread out over the property. Each had a wraparound porch, landscaped yards, and a private driveway.

A giddy sensation rolled through me when I parked in front of cabin number three. It was the one-story cottage of my dreams. I left everything in the car to do a quick walk through before I cluttered up the place with my easel and bags. The inside was like a family stepped out to the store after cleaning all day instead of being a rental in the middle of the woods. The living room held a flat screen over a fireplace, a comfortable leather couch, a couple of cushy chairs, and just the right amount of knick-knacks and lamps to make the room inviting. I snapped pictures as I walked through and tried to send them to Alice only to discover there were zero bars.

It took five minutes to unload everything from the car and slip on my hiking