Chapter 1: The Soldier and the Fight
The London rain was a fine, persistent mist that didn’t so much fall as hang in the air, beading on Jan’s fiery hair and Godfrey’s thick black coat. It smelled of wet concrete and distant diesel.
“I still think you’re mad for bringing him,” Cameron said, nodding at the massive Bernese Mountain Dog who trotted contentedly between them, his service vest a bright splash of red. “He takes up half the pavement.”
“He’s my emotional support animal,” Jan said, grinning. “And my tactical early-warning system. If Godfrey doesn’t like someone, neither do I.”
Cameron chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling. He looked unfairly good in a simple grey sweater, the damp air making his black hair curl slightly. “And what does he think of me?”
“He thinks you’re adequate. Mostly because you share your bacon.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Thanks for coming. Business trips are less dreary with a distraction.”
“Is that what I am? A distraction?”
“A very handsome, frequently naked distraction,” she said, her voice dropping to a purr. She let a thread of her power unspool, just a whisper, a suggestion of warmth and wanting. She saw him feel it—a slight hitch in his step, a darkening of his gaze as it flicked to her mouth. It was a game they played. She’d nudge, and he’d respond, never knowing the push was literal magic. He just thought their chemistry was insane.
“Tease,” he murmured, his hand finding the small of her back, pulling her closer against the chill.
They’d turned off the main thoroughfare, cutting through a network of quieter streets behind King’s Cross to reach their hotel. The alleys here were narrow canyons of brick and peeling posters, the cheerful clutter of the city giving way to gloom.
Godfrey stopped first. A low, steady growl rumbled in his chest, a vibration Jan felt through the leash. He planted his feet, his body a solid, immovable barrier in front of her knees.
“What is it, boy?” Cameron asked, his playful tone gone.
The alley ahead was a tunnel of shadow, the only light a sickly yellow spill from a single, flickering lamp twenty yards away. The smell changed—from damp to the sharp, acrid stench of urine and something rotting.
“Maybe we should turn around,” Jan said, her own magic prickling under her skin, a defensive itch.
It was too late. Figures detached themselves from the deeper darkness, three of them, moving with a synchrony that felt wrong. They wore dark clothes, their faces obscured by hoods. They didn’t speak. They just advanced.
“Jan, get behind me,” Cameron said. His voice was different. Flat. Commanding. It wasn’t a request.
“Cameron—”
“Now.”
He stepped in front of her, placing himself between her and the approaching men. His posture had changed utterly. The easy-going slouch was gone, replaced by a coiled, balanced readiness Jan had never seen. He wasn’t just a handsome guy who worked in finance anymore.
The first attacker rushed, a blur of motion. Cameron didn’t flinch. He moved. It was brutally efficient. A deflection of the lunging arm, a sharp strike to the throat, a follow-up knee to the solar plexus. The man crumpled, gagging.
Jan stared, her mouth open. What the fuck?
The second and third came together. Cameron met them. He was a whirlwind of controlled violence. A block, a disarm where a knife clattered on the wet cobbles, an elbow that cracked against a jaw with a sound like a branch snapping. He fought with a terrifying, silent precision. This wasn’t a bar brawl. This was something trained, practiced, and lethal.
One of the men landed a glancing blow to Cameron’s ribs. He grunted but used the momentum to throw the man into the brick wall. The third, seeing his companions down, hesitated. Cameron didn’t. He closed the distance in two strides, his hand shooting out in a knife-edge strike to the neck. The man collapsed.
Silence, broken only by the ragged, wet breathing of the fallen and the distant hum of the city. Cameron stood amidst them, his chest rising and falling steadily. He turned to Jan, his intense blue eyes scanning her, checking for injury. Godfrey stood poised beside her, still growling, but the threat was neutralized.
“Who are you?” Jan breathed, the words barely a whisper.
“Later,” he said, his voice still that unsettlingly calm command. “We need to go. They might not be alone.” He took her arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Come on.”
He led them out of the alley at a fast walk, not a run, avoiding attention. Jan’s mind was reeling. The magic, the Order, the secrets she kept—they felt trivial suddenly. Her almost-boyfriend, her polite, respectful booty call, was a fucking soldier.
They didn’t speak until they were in the elevator of their hotel, the polished doors closing on their stunned reflection. Godfrey sat, pressing against Jan’s leg. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a shaky, hollow feeling in its wake, and beneath that, a hot, insistent curl of pure desire.
The fight had been terrifying. It had also been the most arousing thing she had ever seen.
The elevator dinged. They walked to their room. Cameron unlocked the door, ushering her and Godfrey inside before securing the chain and deadbolt. He leaned back against the door, finally letting out a long, slow breath. The tension in his shoulders remained.
Jan stood in the middle of the room, the plush carpet soft under her boots. She turned to face him. The quiet hum of the minibar filled the space between them.
“Special Forces?” she asked.
He nodded once, a sharp jerk of his chin. “Army Rangers. Reserves now. I don’t… talk about it.”
“You just killed three men for me.”
“They weren’t dead. Incapacitated.” He pushed off the door, running a hand through his hair. “They were professionals, Jan. That wasn’t a mugging. They targeted you.”
The fear spiked again, but it was tangled now with the heat. The sight of him moving, the raw capability, the sheer danger of him, had lit a fuse inside her. Her magic, always close to the surface, responded to her own spike of emotion. It wasn’t a gentle nudge this time. It was a wave, radiating out from her core, a palpable force of hunger.
Cameron felt it. His head snapped up. His eyes, which had been scanning the room, locked onto hers. The blue darkened to near-black. His breath hitched.
“Jan…” It was a warning, or a plea.
“You lied to me,” she said, walking toward him. Her voice was low, thick.
“Omission. For your safety.”
“You don’t get to decide what’s for my safety.” She stopped a foot from him. The power poured off her, an aura of pure, undiluted want. She saw it crash into him, saw his discipline waver. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “All this time… I thought I was the one with secrets. The one with power.”
She reached up and traced the line of his jaw. A shockwave of sensation followed her touch. He shuddered.
“What are you doing?” he gritted out, his hands clenched at his sides.
“What I always do,” she whispered. “Leveling the playing field.”
She leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t soft. It was a claiming. A release of all the shock, the fear, the blinding lust. Her magic fused with the kiss, a current of pure encouragement, stripping away the last of his control.
He broke with a gasp, his restraint shattering. His hands came up, cupping her face, and he kissed her back with a ferocity that stole the air from her lungs. It was all tongue and teeth and desperate noise. He walked her backward until her legs hit the bed and they tumbled onto it.
There was no more talking. Only the frantic sound of clothes being torn at, not undone. Buttons pinged off the wall. His sweater was over his head and gone. Her hands were on the hard planes of his chest, tracing the scars she’d never seen before—a pale line across his ribs, another on his shoulder. Maps of his other life.
He yanked her jeans and panties down in one rough pull, his mouth leaving hers to blaze a trail down her throat, over her collarbone. He took her breast into his mouth, sucking hard through the lace of her bra, his tongue circling her nipple until she cried out, back arching.
“Fuck, Cameron…”
He shifted, kneeling between her legs, his own jeans shoved down just enough. He was already hard, thick and flushed. He didn’t wait, didn’t ask. The head of his cock pressed against her, and she was so wet, so ready, her magic and her own need having soaked her.
He looked down at her, his eyes wild, question and warning in them even now.
“Do it,” she snarled, hooking her legs around his hips. “Fuck me. Now.”
He drove into her in one deep, brutal stroke, filling her completely. She screamed, a short, sharp sound of pure satisfaction. He buried his face in her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he began to move.
It was nothing like their usual lovemaking. There was no slow build, no playful exploration. This was raw, punishing, a physical catharsis. Each thrust was a jolt that shook the bedframe, each withdrawal a sweet, aching torture. His hips pistoned, his balls slapping against her ass with a wet, filthy rhythm. The sound of it, skin on skin, their ragged breathing, filled the room.
Jan clawed at his back, her nails digging in. She met every thrust, lifting her hips, taking him deeper. The coil of pleasure wound tighter and tighter, a white-hot wire in her gut. Her magic swirled around them, amplifying every sensation, every spark of friction, until it was almost too much.
“You feel that?” she gasped into his ear. “That’s me. That’s all me. You can’t hide from me in here.”
He groaned, a deep, shattered sound. He shifted his angle, driving up into a spot that made her see stars. His pace became erratic, frantic.
“Jan… I’m gonna…”
“Come,” she ordered, her own climax ripping through her, a blinding, convulsive wave that clenched around him. “Come inside me. Do it.”
With a final, guttural shout, he obeyed. He plunged deep and held there, his body rigid as he pulsed inside her, hot and endless. She rode out her own orgasm, milking him through his, until he collapsed on top of her, his weight a heavy, sweating comfort.
For a long time, the only sound was their struggling breath. The rain streaked the window in silent rivulets. Godfrey, from his bed in the corner, let out a soft humph and laid his head down, thoroughly unimpressed with the human spectacle.
Cameron finally rolled off her, onto his back. They lay side by side, staring at the ceiling.
“That wasn’t… I don’t normally…” he started, his voice hoarse.
“I know,” she said softly. She turned her head to look at him. The soldier was gone again, hidden behind the familiar, handsome face. But she’d seen him now. The genie was out of the bottle. “Those men. They were after me. Specifically.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He turned to face her, his expression grim. “But we need to find out. Because they knew where you’d be. They knew your route. This wasn’t random.”
The warmth of the afterglow was rapidly cooling. The fear was back, sharper now, because it was shared. Jan reached over, lacing her fingers with his. Her magic, sated and gentle now, offered a soft pulse of comfort, of solidarity. He squeezed her hand, accepting it without knowing what it was.
Outside, London gleamed dark and wet, a city full of light and shadow. And somewhere in those shadows, someone wanted her dead.
The silence stretched, thin and brittle. The heat between them cooled into a slick sheen on their skin. Cameron’s hand was still tight around hers, an anchor in the sudden, quiet storm of their shared reality.
He moved first, rolling onto his side to face her. His eyes traced the lines of her face, the smattering of freckles across her nose, like he was memorizing her. Or re-evaluating her.
“You’re not scared,” he stated, his thumb rubbing a slow circle on her knuckle.
“I’m terrified,” Jan corrected, her voice soft. “But I’m also turned the fuck on. It’s a confusing mix.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Yeah. I know that one.”
He leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time. Not a claiming, but a question. Her answer was to open her mouth to him, to slide her leg over his hip, drawing him closer. The urgency was gone, replaced by a deep, probing hunger. They had seen the monster in each other. Now they wanted to taste it.
His hands were everywhere, mapping her body with a new reverence, a new hunger. He kissed the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast, his tongue dipping into the space between her ribs. She arched under him, her fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him up for another searing kiss.
“Again,” she whispered against his mouth, her hips grinding against the hard line of his cock, which was already stiffening against her thigh. “I want you again. Slow. I want to feel all of it.”
He nodded, his breath ragged. He shifted, pulling her beneath him, settling between her legs. He nudged her entrance, and she was still swollen, still wet from their first frantic joining. He pressed in, an exquisite, inch-by-inch invasion that made her gasp. She wrapped her legs high around his waist, locking her ankles, taking him deeper.
“Jesus, Jan,” he choked out, burying his face in her hair as he seated himself fully.
He began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that was somehow more intimate than anything that had come before. Each thrust was a confession. Each withdrawal, a plea. She met him stroke for stroke, her body singing with a sensitivity that was almost painful. She could feel every vein, every pulse of him inside her. Her magic, subdued, hummed in time with their coupling, a low background note of pure pleasure amplifying every slide, every friction.
“Look at me,” she breathed.
He opened his eyes, the blue almost swallowed by black. She held his gaze as he fucked her, as the bed began a soft, rhythmic creak beneath them. The world narrowed to this: the slap of skin, the mingled heat of their breath, the intense, unwavering connection in his eyes. She was close, so close, the pressure building in a sweet, tight coil.
Then her suitcase, sitting upright near the closet, began to bounce.
It was a dull, thumping sound. Once. Twice.
Cameron froze, his entire body going rigid above her. His head snapped toward the noise, his soldier’s instincts overriding everything else. “What the hell?”
Jan sighed, a sound of pure exasperation. “Oh, for moon’s sake. Not now.”
The suitcase jiggled again, more insistently. The latch twitched.
“Jan,” Cameron said, his voice low and deadly serious. “Get behind me.”
“It’s fine, Cam. Really.” She pushed at his chest, and he reluctantly withdrew from her, rolling into a crouch on the bed, his body positioned defensively between her and the luggage. He looked absurd and terrifying—naked, covered in a light sweat, and poised to kill a piece of Samsonite.
The latch popped open.
A wisp of silvery mist, cold and smelling of ozone and old roses, curled out from the seam. It coalesced in the air above the suitcase, swirling, gaining form and density.
Cameron stared, utterly transfixed, his combat training offering no protocol for this.
The mist resolved into the figure of a woman. She was translucent, her edges shimmering. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved gown from another century, her hair piled in elaborate curls. She had a cheerful, pretty face and eyes that sparkled with incorporeal mischief.
She clasped her ghostly hands in front of her and beamed at the bed. “Do carry on, my dears! Don’t stop on my account. That was just getting riveting.”
Cameron made a sound somewhere between a cough and a choke. He didn’t move.
Jan sat up, pulling the sheet around her shoulders. “Eleanor, you have the worst timing in the history of the afterlife.”
“Nonsense! The tension was palpable. The emotional vulnerability! The raw physicality! It’s been ages since I’ve seen a performance with such stakes.” Lady Eleanor floated a few feet closer, peering at Cameron with open curiosity. “Oh, he’s a sturdy one, isn’t he? Lovely form.”
“Jan,” Cameron said slowly, his eyes wide, never leaving the apparition. “What. That.”
“Cameron, this is Lady Eleanor. Eleanor, this is Cameron. He’s a Ranger. Or was.” Jan said it as calmly as if she were introducing a friend from book club.
“A soldier! How dashing.” Eleanor gave a little curtsy.
Cameron finally tore his gaze from the ghost to look at Jan. His expression was a masterpiece of confusion, shock, and dawning comprehension. “You… you see her too.”
“Well, yeah. She sometimes travels in my suitcase. It’s spelled for spectral occupants. Less fuss than a haunted urn. though I don't recall inviting her along this time.” Jan reached out and placed a hand on his taut forearm. The muscle was like steel cable. “You’re not the only one with secrets, Cam.”
He looked from Jan’s calm, freckled face to the smiling Victorian ghost hovering by the wardrobe, then down at his own naked body, still poised for a threat he couldn’t possibly fight. The absurdity of it all seemed to crash into him at once. The fight in the alley, the sex, the ghost. His shoulders slumped. A disbelieving laugh, sharp and short, escaped his lips.
“Secrets,” he repeated, the word hollow. He looked back at Jan, his eyes searching hers for something solid. “What are you?”
She held his gaze, the green of her own eyes bright and unflinching. “I’m a member of the Order of the Green Moon. We… spread joy. Among other things.”
“She’s a delight,” Eleanor offered helpfully. “And she’s in rather a lot of danger, I’m afraid. Those brutes in the alley weren’t ordinary footpads. Their intentions had a particular, how shall I say, metaphysical stink about them.”
The last of the post-coital haze evaporated. The room felt cold. Cameron’s shock began to harden into a sharp, focused clarity. He looked from the ghost to the woman beside him, the two truths merging into a new, impossible reality.
The game had changed. The battlefield was one he didn’t understand. And the woman he’d been sleeping with was at the center of it.
And the woman he’d been sleeping with was at the center of it.
Cameron slowly, deliberately, reached for the sheet and pulled it over his lap. It was a absurd gesture of modesty given the circumstances, but it seemed to help him latch onto something normal. He kept his eyes on Jan.
“Okay,” he said, the word measured. “Start talking.”
Jan took a deep breath. The sheet slipped from her shoulders, but she didn’t pull it back up. “I can do magic. Real magic. It’s not card tricks. It’s… it’s about influence. Emotion. Desire.” She stumbled over the words, watching his face for the flash of disbelief, the dismissal. It didn’t come. He just watched her, listening. “The Order I’m part of… we sort of spread joy. Often through, well, sex. Removing inhibitions. Amplifying what people already feel. Making connections easier, smoother.”
She saw his mind working, connecting dots. The electric chemistry he’d always felt. The way a room seemed to tilt toward her.
“I’ve… helped out. A few times. Saved the world, maybe. Once or twice.” She gave a weak shrug. “There’s a lot more to everything than most people see. Layers. Things like her.” She jerked a thumb toward Eleanor, who was now humming and examining the pattern on the hotel curtains.
Cameron was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded, once. “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”
Jan blinked. “What?”
“Sherlock Holmes. Or my old CO, who loved quoting him.” He ran a hand down his face. “Three trained operatives try to grab you in an alley. I fight them off. A Victorian ghost pops out of your suitcase. My impossible is pretty narrow right now.” His blue eyes found hers again, sharper now. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
The question was quiet, but it held weight.
“We don’t have that kind of relationship, Cam,” she said softly, honestly. “We have dinner. We fuck. It’s great. But we don’t talk about our families, or our pasts, or the secret societies we belong to.” She sighed. “And even if I did tell you… most normal people, they can’t hold onto the knowledge. The magic… it slips out of their minds. A few hours later, it feels like a dream. A weird story. They rationalize it away.”
He absorbed this, his gaze drifting to the wall. “So I would have just… forgotten?”
“Probably.”
“Did you…” He paused, choosing his words with care. “Did you use it on me? That… bewitching?”
“No.” Her answer was immediate, firm. “I never make people feel something that isn’t there. I can’t create desire from nothing. I can just… turn up the volume. Take a spark and make it a flame. What’s between us, Cameron, that’s all us. The magic just lets us hear the song a little clearer.”
A slow, real smile touched his lips then. It was the first genuine one since the alley. He seemed to like that answer. He liked the idea that the heat was theirs, a fact, merely underscored by her power.
He reached out, his hand curling around the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. The sheet fell away completely. “So that first time. In my apartment. The way I couldn’t keep my hands off you…”
“You wanted me the second you saw me at that gallery opening,” she murmured, her lips inches from his. “I just turned the key.”
He kissed her, deep and searching. It was different from before—less frantic, more profound. An acknowledgment. When he broke away, his forehead rested against hers. “The ghost is still here, isn’t she?”
“I’m afraid so, dear boy!” Eleanor chirped from the corner. “But don’t mind me! Think of me as ambient atmosphere!”
Jan groaned. “Eleanor, for the love of God, take a walk. Haunt the minibar. Anything.”
“But the reconciliation is the best part! The emotional vulnerability is simply chef’s kiss.”
Cameron laughed, a rough, surprised sound. He looked from Jan’s exasperated face to the beaming specter. Then he shrugged, his hands sliding down to Jan’s waist. “She’s seen everything already.”
His mouth found her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin below her ear. A shiver racked her body. The fear, the revelation, the absurdity—it all channeled back into a pure, hungry need. He laid her back on the disheveled sheets, his body covering hers, his erection, still slick from their last joining, pressing insistently against her thigh.
“Ignore her,” he breathed into her ear, his voice a low command.
He positioned himself and pushed into her in one smooth, sure stroke. She was still open, wet, aching for him. She cried out, her nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. This time was different. It was a claiming, yes, but also a conversation. A silent, physical dialogue of everything they’d just learned.
He fucked her with a deliberate, deep rhythm, his eyes locked on hers. Each thrust was a question. Is this real? Each roll of her hips was an answer. This is.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his pace increasing. “That’s all me. No magic.”
“Prove it,” she challenged, her legs locking around his back, pulling him deeper.
He drove into her harder, faster, the bedframe resuming its rhythmic protest. The slap of skin was louder now, wetter. She could feel the sweat beading on his chest, dripping onto hers. The coil inside her wound tight, a live wire about to snap.
“Oh, bravo!” Eleanor’s voice floated over them. “The eye contact is superb! Very intimate!”
Jan squeezed her eyes shut, but a laugh bubbled out of her, mixed with a moan as Cameron hit a spot that made her vision blur. “Can’t… shoo her…”
“Don’t care,” Cameron gasped, his control fraying. His thrusts became ragged, desperate. “Just come. Come for me, Jan. Let go.”
She did. The orgasm tore through her with a force that was almost violent, a raw, screaming release that clenched around him, pulling his own climax from him. He shouted her name, his body plunging deep as he emptied himself inside her, the pulses hot and endless.
They collapsed together, a tangled, sweating mess. The room was silent except for their ragged breathing.
After a moment, a soft, polite clapping echoed from the corner.
“Exquisite,” Eleanor sighed with contentment. “Truly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do believe I’ll go see if the spirit of a maid is haunting the linen closet on the third floor. One hears things.”
She dissolved into a silver mist, which streamed silently under the hotel room door and was gone.
Cameron lay beside Jan, one arm thrown over his eyes. “I’m never going to forget any of this, am I?”
“No,” Jan said, staring at the ceiling. A strange peace settled over her. The secret was out. With him, at least. “I don’t think you will.”
He turned his head to look at her. The soldier was still there in his eyes, but now he had a new mission. “Those men. The metaphysical stink. We need to find out who sent them.”
“We do.”
He pulled her closer, her back to his chest, his body a solid wall of heat against her. His lips brushed her shoulder. “Get some sleep, Red. Tomorrow we go to war.”
And in the corner, Godfrey let out a soft snore, dreaming of squirrels and bacon, a mundane anchor in the suddenly magical, dangerous dark.