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father’s enthusiasm. His parents talked about the witches he’d met, about their families and their connections. His eyes rolled up. He knew they were keen to see him settle down, see him choose a mate and reproduce right away. He’d have to break it to them gently that he had other plans, wanted to take his time. Then he noticed there was one woman they didn’t speak about. Grace . Someone they’d never approve of being his mate, or of him even talking to her. Her being a supposed necromancer was one big part of it. Her being the daughter of Elvira Denholm was the other. He wasn’t sure of the history between the two families. He’d been allowed to associate with Grace when he was young, mostly because he was too energetic to keep in the house and his father had allowed it to smooth relations in the coven. He’d seen Grace almost daily—until that dreadful incident. Now he was back and the old prejudice lingered. He’d have to work the truth out of his parents. Besides general talk about bad blood, dark magic and necromancy, nothing specific had ever been mentioned in his hearing, but he guessed there was more to it.
    ‘Up for a nightcap?’ his father asked.
    ‘No, thanks. I’m going to turn in.’
    His mother limped down the hall to her bedroom.
    ‘See you in the morning.’ His father patted him on the back, then leaned in close to whisper, ‘Don’t mention the Riordon girl to your mother. She doesn’t know she was invited—didn’t see her.’
    Declan sighed. ‘Dad.’ Rather than argue, he nodded and slipped into his room.
    In his bed, he found it hard to sleep. Maybe it was jet lag and maybe it was that his mind was full of thoughts, emotions and memories. It was her smile that kept hovering in his mind and the joyous sound of her laugh that echoed there. It was exquisite torture. Grace .
    That day when she’d brought back the cat loomed large in his memory. Frightened of what she’d done, he’d bolted and told his parents. He couldn’t see that he’d done wrong in that, but the consequences were severe. After that day, he’d never seen her again.
    He rolled over and punched his pillow, trying to make it fit his overgrown shoulders. The hardest and the cruellest thing he’d done that week before he’d left was to ignore her attempts at contact. He’d built a wall around himself so she couldn’t touch his mind or hear his thoughts. Perhaps in that, he had done wrong. Maybe.
    As he finally drifted off to sleep, he recalled looking into the dark depths of her eyes. There had been hurt there. Lots of hurt. She’d hid it well, but he could see it.

Chapter Two
    Grace sat back on the sofa, stroking Fel, an odd sensation really because the cat didn’t have fur, just a sort of flimsy, greasy substance. She scratched under Fel’s chin and the cat’s purr intensified.
    That’s good. More .
    The thought ploughed into her mind. She blinked. The cat continued to butt against her hand, demanding more attention.
    Grace blinked at the cat, then with a screech leapt up, sending the cat into the air to land at her feet. Fel flicked its tail in annoyance and sauntered away.
    Hyperventilating, Grace gaped at the spot where the cat had been.
    Her mother raced into the room. ‘What is it?’
    Grace pointed at the departing cat. ‘It spoke to me.’
    Elvira scoffed and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Enough with the pranks, already.’ She turned to go.
    Incredulous, Grace glared at her mother. ‘I’m not pranking. I tell you, it thought at me.’
    Elvira snorted and headed to the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, she looked back and asked, ‘So what did the cat say? What does a cat say, for goddess’ sake?’
    A bit calmer now, Grace took her seat back on the sofa and tugged her hair behind her ear. ‘It said what I was doing was good and asked for more.’ A glance at her mother revealed she didn’t understand. With a shrug, she added, ‘I was scratching her under the chin.’
    The