Hope Reclaimed: Spellbound Shifters

By Keira Blackwood and Liza Street

My name is Hope, and I'm going to die.

I only have a few days—two weeks, tops. With the time I have left, I'm doing what I want, when I want. My plans are simple:

1) hang out in a fancy beach bungalow, sleeping in long past the break of dawn
2) drink until I'm numb
3) try to escape fate with a fancy magic spell that I have no business performing

Magic doesn't exist, so of course the spell fails. But three mysterious hotties start following me around, saying they're bound to me.

Why not make the most of it and add one more thing to my bucket list:

4) crazy hot sexytimes, no holds barred

Who cares if my three hotties seem a little more than human? I'm living in the moment for the time I have left—time I want to spend in pleasure instead of pain.

Hope Reclaimed is a steamy, standalone reverse harem romance featuring three hot dragon shifters and the lucky woman they claim as their mate. Don't worry, Hope will seize her happily ever after. We promise!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liza Street
• Release date: May 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393023203

Book preview

Chapter 1

Too bad my last days on earth had to be in March instead of July. I fucking hated the cold, and that’s all I was feeling now. Frigid air rushed past my face, tangling my long hair over my eyes. A shiver raced across my skin and I exhaled. It wasn’t cold enough to see my breath, but it felt like it should have been, with the cool dampness sinking through my sweater and jeans, straight to the bone.

A globe of illumination, the massive full moon dominated the cloudless sky. Waves lapped gently upon the shore in a relaxing rhythm. Out in the depths of the peaceful ocean, the moon reflected on the water’s surface, glimmering against the current. I could imagine framing every beautiful thing in front of me in my camera’s viewfinder and taking a picture, freezing the chilly moments forever.

Taking pictures wouldn’t keep me warm, though. And they sure as hell wouldn’t keep me alive.

Despite the cold and my impending death, I adored Faircliff Beach, even when it wasn’t summer. Some of my best memories were right here, building sandcastles and eating salt water taffy with my mother and father. But that was a long time ago.

I flexed my fingers and rubbed my palms together. It didn’t help the circulation.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. The screen glowed, harsh in the darkness. 11:47. It was almost time. I was about to cast my first spell, even though I didn’t believe in magic. I’d never believed anything beyond what was right in front of me. Now everything was different, and it didn’t matter what I believed. I was desperate.

Dying could have that effect on a person.

Piercing pain flashed through my head, stealing my vision, and I dropped to my knees. The pain would pass. It always passed. Slowly the headache dulled, not disappearing, but fading back just enough that I could stand. The headaches were getting worse and more frequent. I didn’t need Dr. Bennett to tell me it was a bad sign.

This had to work.

I left my sandals at the edge of the wooden stairs and sank my bare feet into the cool, damp sand. It was rough and grainy and firm, yet soft enough to slip between my toes.

I held my supplies tightly to my chest, bundled in a small blanket.

Tonight, the planets would align at midnight exactly, or so the witch had said. She’d also said it had something to do with my astrological sign and that’s about where I’d stopped listening and started nodding. I’d bought everything she told me to, and then some. I didn’t care how or why the magic worked, only that it did.

The beach was completely private, the next house half a mile away. It was just me out here, alone, which was why I’d picked this place to rent, spending twice what I should have. It didn’t hurt that the scenery was killer, or that my parents had rented this very same house when I was little.

Besides, I’d always loved the ocean. If the spell failed, at least I’d have a few days remaining, and one hell of a view to go out on.

To my left was the water, to my right, trees. I’d staked the area out a few times over the past two weeks since I’d first arrived in Faircliff Beach. And I’d found the perfect spot, just past some large rocks. It was private, quiet, and the curve of the shore allowed the trees to help block some of the wind.

I settled into my spot and set up my supplies.

With the copper pot in the center of the blanket, I set to adding all the ingredients the witch had sold me—a zippered plastic bag full of stinky green leaves and a vial of something thick and red that I really hadn’t wanted to ask questions about.

I checked my phone. 11:57. Three minutes left.

The three crystals were the icing on the cake—one green, one blue, one red. I’d snagged the good ones, the best ones, because I needed the best chance I could get.

I set the giant stones equally apart, three points of a triangle around the pot. And then I checked my phone. Again. 11:59.

With a click of my lighter, I set the contents of the pot on fire. The flames flickered red to blue to purple. I’d expected noxious black smoke, but there wasn’t any. It was actually kind of pretty, and something dangerous flashed through my head—optimism. Maybe I was wrong, maybe this really was going to work.

For the first time in a long time, I felt a tiny pang of something I thought I’d long-ago lost—hope. Ironic, given it was my name.

12:00.

I flattened the paper on my lap. This was it—the spell, my chance. The moonlight wasn’t enough to make out the words, so I used my phone as a flashlight.

Magna caelum superius, planetarum tuum et class. Benedicat, qui propter hanc humilem salutem et vitale. Excitement and nerves made my fingers tremble as I read the words I’d scribbled down that morning at Otherworldly Occult. Et dissipatum est vas suum esse liberum et vincula. Auferat...

I choked up.

What the hell did that say? I couldn’t stop. It was now or never. I had to do this, I had to read it.

Auferat...mal...mala...sint...sink? Vttffnnnm... Yeah, that was definitely not it. These probably weren’t even real words. Maybe it was close enough?

The fire roared from a gust of wind rushing through the air.

For a moment, the world was silent. For a moment, there was no ocean, no waves.

I stared at the flames, hoping beyond reason.

It worked—it had to have worked. Maybe my will was enough, power of thought or some shit.

Puft—a tiny puff of smoke came out of the pot. And it was over.

Darkness.

The ocean lapped in a soothing rhythm, but the spell was over.

I stared into the pot. The copper was blackened and there was nothing left inside. I didn’t feel any different, no magical energy or anything like that.

I checked my phone. 12:03.

Stabbing pain pounded through my head, a stampede crashing the world to pieces. Every agony-filled pulse of the headache was a reminder that I was still sick.

That sealed it—my fate. The spell hadn’t worked. My spell was a fart, and my head was an explosion. I was going to fucking die.

When the pain eased, I rose to my feet and kicked over the pot.

It hurt like hell on my bare toes, and it didn’t make me feel any better.

Dammit.

I gathered up the blanket, shoved it in the empty pot, and looked for the crystals. They weren’t where I’d left them.

I rummaged through the sand, raking the cold soil with my fingers. Nothing.

Whatever.

I carried my pot back to the tiny bungalow I’d rented for my last month on earth, grabbing my sandals from their place on the stairs as I went.

And then I drank. I found the bottle of whiskey I’d bought for celebrating and I chugged it. If I was going out, I was going out with style.

Chapter 2

When the bastard of morning sunlight assailed my eyes, I stretched my arms and rolled over to bury my face in the pillow. But my leg slipped from the edge, and the rest of my body came tumbling after.

Impact with the floor didn’t hurt as much as it should have, a benefit of lingering drunkenness. I blinked hard, confused by the big-ass glass doors and the appearance of a coffee table in my bedroom—oh, this was the couch.

I shook the haze from my head and stumbled over to the table by the door where I kept my blood monitor. I threw in a test strip on autopilot and braced for impact as I pushed the little button. The needle jabbed into my finger and stung like hell, as it always did. I didn’t know why I bothered with the thing. What did it matter what color I was on the death scale? I hadn’t been green in a long time.

Orangey-yellow. Well, that wasn’t as bad I as I’d expected.

I left the torture device where I’d found it and headed out the door, hands shaking too hard to bother with locking up. I needed coffee, stat. Maybe with some extra whiskey thrown in.

That was one possible plan—just stay drunk for the rest of my life. Nothing would matter, nothing would hurt. Except the blood monitor—that thing always hurt no matter how much I’d had to drink.

The morning air was frigid, though the sun would soon burn it all away. Even after my legs stopped freezing from wearing shorts, I’d stick to long sleeves to cover the bruises on my arms. Bruises, headaches. Gifts of my disease.

So the crazy witch’s spell hadn’t worked. Was I really that fucking surprised? Magic didn’t exist, no matter how much I’d wanted it