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Dream Prophet Trilogy Book 1
BY COLLEEN TEWS
Two millennia of civil war between witches and werewolves has taken a serious turn. The Alpha, leader to the world’s strongest lycanthropy pack, died, leaving a hole in the chain of command. A battle royale narrows down the list of those fit to take on the role. What the shifters don’t know is one of the wolves in the fight is also a witch.
Rhianne Leto is that a witch. She’s also a werewolf and a werewolf hunter. Since the Alpha’s death, Rhianne has been having odd dreams. She headed into the arena to gather information and came out with more questions.
As the mystical puzzle pieces from her dreams come together so, too, does a forbidden romance between Rhianne and the new Alpha. Could these new feelings and insights lead to peace in her time or a hidden doom exacerbating the current state of affairs?
Editorial Note: Edited for language.
Aside from packing there was one thing I had to do before I left for Washington: Hang out with Alessa. I don’t know if it was the memories the dream stirred up or the fact that I might not return from this mission, maybe a combination of the two, but I asked her to meet me at Café Trifecta.
I leaned back against the dark, brick wall outside the old building. The sign above my head hummed. It buzzed louder when a drop of rain hit a loose wire. Peering inside, it looked exactly how I remembered. What a shame? Although who am I to judge? If it ain’t broke. Don’t fix it.
The squeak of Alessa’s wheelchair snapped my attention back to the rainy evening. She pushed the wheels down the damp sidewalk with leather gloved hands. Her auburn hair was protected under a purple and gold Minnesota Vikings hoodie. Blue capris were tucked around her thighs. Without seeing it, I knew there was an afghan, an umbrella, and a book in the backpack looped around the handles.
“Out of all the f**king places, on a shit night like this, you pick here. Why?” Her smile brightened her caramel eyes.
“Feeling nostalgic. So sue me.”
She wheeled up next to me. “You know, I would but you don’t own anything except that broken down Ford.”
“Look who’s talkin’ about being broken down?”
“Cheap shot.” Alessa feigned an injury to the heart. “Bitch, you are looking at the reigning DJ at Mystics and Legends.”
I sidestep and open the door for her. “Congratulations. You’ve been working on that for a while.”
“Four months at this rave. It jumped all over the state.” She skirts around the green, vinyl booth. “Last weekend was the final round. It was in St. Paul. I’m in my room, throwing out beats, really feeling it. You know?”
“Yeah.” I slid into the booth. Alessa locked her wheelchair at the end.
“Then the guy I was competing against skipped a beat. I heard he was off from the other room. The vibration changed. So, I kick mine up a notch. It was this whole other level I didn’t even know was possible. I felt myself open up to this wild range of possibilities. The crowd ate it up. I sensed them open. People from my competitor’s room came over. Soon everyone was jamming out to my music. There was us, the music, all these colors, and this one vibe connecting us all.”
“Was this a human or witch rave?”
“Because that vibe you felt was your chi and you enchanted the ravers. You kind of cheated.”
“What?” She smacked her hands on the table. “No.”
“I don’t doubt you were amazing.”
“It was amazing.”
“It usually is.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Can you stop saying that?” Shaking my hands, palms to the sky. “You know I don’t like that word.”
“Excuse me, miss,” Shaggy brown hair framed the man’s sculptured face. Eyes the shade of evergreens caught the light just right to show-off golden flecks. His broad shoulders and well-maintained physique dressed in a white button down shirt and black jeans blocked the horrible interior design of Café Trifecta. This was how they kept customers coming. “Miss?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. What?”
“What can I get you?”
“Oh, right. Duh! I’ll have a french vanilla cappuccino, please. And my sister will have…”
“You’re number. So I can pass it on to her.”
I kicked her wheelchair. The clang was loud. I immediately felt stupid. I wanted to kick her shin, but forget she didn’t have that part of her leg.
Alessa smiled. The side of her mouth caved in. “I’ll have a coffee, black.”
He smiled. His eyes wrinkled at the sides. Was he blushing? “All right, that’s one french vanilla and one coffee, black. I’ll get that right in for you.”
Alessa leaned into me as I shook out my foot. “That’s what you get for trying to hit a cripple.”
“Sorry about that. I didn’t kick you, or your chair because of what you said.” She raised an eyebrow. We hunched closer together. “I dreamt about him the other night. What if mom’s ability to dream the future woke up in me?”
She waved me off. “Rhianne, every girl has dreamt about that boy. Don’t think too hard about it.” She sat back in her chair. “There’s a reason why they used to call guys like him ‘dream boats’.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. Lords and ladies know how many dream boats and useless floaters I’ve fucked along the way to tell the difference.”
“I didn’t even see his face before.”
Alessa threw up her hands. “Then there you go. You can’t very well be a dream prophet if you can’t tell one hot guy with brown hair from another.”
“Yeah, but,” I was interrupted when a teenager, dressed the same as our mystery barista, served us our drinks. As soon as she left, “it happened here.”
My sister waved for the container of creamers and sugars. She went about making her concoction perfect. Most of the sugar spilled onto the table. “I know you can’t say a whole helluva lot about this new mission, but I hear rumors. They tell you where you’re going?”
“Sort of.” I sipped my cappuccino.
“Did Akane tell you who was going to win?” She stirred her coffee.
“No. Seers don’t foreshadow that way. They get glimpses.”
She cocked her to shoulder. A ponderous grin curled her lips. “They couldn’t have gotten a glimpse of the winner?”
“I don’t know.” I shouted at her in a gruff whisper. “Why send me in if they if they did? Why are you asking me about this?”
“Hey, you’re the one who thought she had a prophetic dream. I figured you knew more about this stuff than me.” She created a creamy, sugary whirlpool in the wide mouthed mug.
“This isn’t about who knows more. Don’t make my last night here a competition. Save that energy for your raves. All I know is I have to go fight with the big dogs. Baba would’ve told me more if she had more. You know it. She took care of us when mom and dad went off hunting. She took care of us when dad died.”
My older sister slammed her hand on the table. “You mean when you killed him.”
“Alessa, please don’t.”
“Please don’t what? Don’t remind me of what I did, again. I know you’re reminded of it every time you’re called a bitch or see a full moon. Well, you know what, I’m tired of hearing about how great Akane was or is to you.” She leaned close to my face. “You killed my father and became an abomination. I handled my grief by going off to a real war. Mom became an alcoholic. And you became the witch’s council trophy pet.”
Tears swelled in my eyes. I wouldn’t dare let them spill. She didn’t mean the hurtful means she said. She loved me. It was a post-traumatic stress disorder flare-up. Alessa went to the human war depressed, wanting desperately to take her rage out on strangers. Only she came home worse than she left.
“I went through the same challenge you did and didn’t kill a parent. What’s your excuse? Come on. I want to hear it. Before you go off to what could be ‘Your final mission’ I want to hear it.” A tear coursed down her cheek.
“I don’t have one, Alessa.” I took her hand. She didn’t flinch. Which showed how much progress she’d made in therapy. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, ya stupid bitch.” A smirk curled the corner of her mouth.
Gripping and shaking her hand. “Stop saying that!”
Colleen Tews is a quirky nerd. She loves to curl up with her beloved mutt, River, as she writes the Shadow Faith Series -an urban fantasy series about a young vampire, Angela Vista- and the Dream Prophet Trilogy -a paranormal romance set during a civil war between witches and werewolves. She is currently working on The Iron Gate Witches. Think Harry Potter meets Stepford Wives. When not writing Colleen Tews is making smoothies, reading at the dog park, enjoying her youngest daughter’s fresh baked goodies or chilling with her husband while watching The Magicians. Goddess bless Margo!
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