Ready Or Not
Moira Dunne is a witch—the quantum physics kind. Time and space are her playthings. Which might explain why her one-night stand from a hundred years ago has turned up to “claim” her—and request her family’s assistance with the war he’s brewing. But the more she learns about Connlan Kayrs, the more she comes to think this is normal behavior for him…
There’s Nowhere To Hide
When Conn and Moira tumbled on the moonlit grass, Conn hadn’t meant to mark her as his mate for all time. She was only twenty! But it wasn’t easy to wait for her. It was even harder to forget her. So when he finally returns for his wicked-hot witch, he’s ready to let the sparks flying. Even if he burns up in flames…
“Paranormal at its best!” --Cynthia Eden
Praise for the Novels of Rebecca Zanetti
“Hot and fast from beginning to end.” —Kate Douglas on Fated
“She’s going to kill you,” his old friend muttered.
Conn Kayrs raised an eyebrow, cutting his eyes to
Kellach from across the scarred table. He hadn’t been in
Shea’s tavern in a century, yet the tables were the same.
Beaten and solid. “She can try.” Damn, he hoped she
tried. For no other reason than the excuse it gave him to
put his hands on her. Finally. After all this time.
Kell tipped his ale back, his dark gaze remaining steady
on the tavern door. “She’s coming.”
That she was. The air thickened as if in anticipation of
a lightning strike—or a witch’s temper. Conn relaxed in
his chair, stretching his long legs to cross at the ankles. His
boots caught on worn grooves in the wood. “You might
want to make yourself scarce.”
Kell tied his dark hair back at the nape, his shoulders
tensing. “You may need backup.” He glanced at the row
of patrons lining the bar on hand-carved wooden stools
centuries old. Mostly witches, maybe a couple humans.
People who lived on the northern coast of Ireland, happy
in the knowledge most of the world didn’t know they existed.
“Though we should clear everyone else out.”
Conn fought a grin. His friend sounded almost . . .
As a fierce witch and a dangerous warrior, the enforcer
for the council was trained in witchcraft and traditional
war. Kellach’s main job was to protect the leading council,
the Coven Nine. He feared no man. But a woman? Well
now, that was another story.
“Your cousin isn’t that dangerous, Kell.” Though what
did Conn know? Moira had been training for a century.
Her skill set might be deadly. If so, they needed to get a
couple things straight.
Several folks lining the bar cast wary glances over their
shoulders. Even in this day and age, vampires were a
scarcity in the north, so Conn kept his fangs hidden. He
didn’t want to spook them—although his metallic eyes
probably gave him away.
Watching carefully, he wondered if anyone would challenge
him. He’d never battled a witch. They’d been allies
of the Realm for centuries, though he often wondered
about that. Witches kept their powers shrouded in secrecy.
Not even his king knew the full extent of what magic allowed
them to create.
Kell’s lips tightened in his rugged face. “Moira is the
seventh sister of the seventh sister. All power. You have
no idea what you’re doing, my friend. She told you not
to come to Ireland, and you should’ve listened. You
The door swept open on a gust of wind. Electricity
crackled through the room. Moira stepped inside, her
green gaze hard on Conn. His heart seized. How had he
forgotten her beauty? Her power? Her tiny size?
Conn scraped back his chair and stood. “Hello, mate.”
Her focus remained on him. “Get out.”
Stools toppled, chairs clattered, and patrons stumbled in
a mass exodus. He couldn’t help his grin as the door
slammed shut behind her. Even from across the room
her scent of lilacs whispered toward him. Tempted him.
“Feeling dramatic, Dailtнn?”
“I believe I’ve asked you not to call me a brat.” She
stepped into the empty tavern, all grace, all intent. “Kellach,
“Yes, Kell. Get the hell out,” Conn said cheerfully, his
gaze on his mate. He’d missed those rioting red curls and
that translucent skin—almost as much as he’d missed the
fire in her eyes and the spirit in her tiny form. Almost. her
lilting voice grabbed him around the throat and squeezed.
With a muttered, “It’s your funeral,” Kellach stalked
outside. The air relaxed as his power dissipated.
Silence. Alone in the bar, Moira and Conn stared at
each other for a moment.
Finally, she sighed and tugged a hand through her wild
curls. “You need to go home, Connlan.”
He ran his gaze to her toes and back up, truly appreciating
the faded jeans and tight white shirt decorated with
Celtic knots. The sight of the dainty witch in modern
clothing reached deep in his gut and twisted. The need to
take her to the floor nearly had him lunging. “Or what?”
Fire flashed in her emerald eyes. “Or I’ll destroy you.”
Power all but danced on her skin with the threat.