The Parting Glass (Caitlin Ross Book 4) Read Free Page A

to offer hardly had the power to make me turn a hair. Anyway, I could take care of myself.
    Or so I thought until I saw a large shadow unfold itself from the porch of my shop and start towards me, just as I unlatched the gate to my white picket fence and started up the walk.
    Despite my earlier musings, I did not at first assume that this shadow had anything to do with the dark being John feared. For one thing, Sage had half convinced me the so-called dark being was no more than a figment of Stonefeather’s alcohol-soaked imagination. For another…well, when a woman alone meets a dark shadow on a dark street, the supernatural is not the first thing that comes to mind.
    I reached in my pocket for my keys and clutched them with the sharp points poking out between my fingers, as my Mundane self-defense teacher had recommended. In my head I ran through the possibilities. Street person looking for a handout, someone in trouble looking for an emergency reading…rapist. The first two posed no danger. The last…well, I’d fight. If I had to I’d whack him with a spell before things went too far. I didn’t like to call on magic to solve Mundane problems, but I would.
    The shadow came nearer. At second glance it didn’t seem so big, but it still appeared big enough to make my stomach heave. Whoever—or whatever—it was stood at least six inches taller than my five foot eight and boasted a width in the shoulder area a linebacker would envy. If I had to fight, I had my work cut out for me.
    “Caitlin Ross?” the shadow inquired in a soft baritone with the trace of an unidentifiable accent.
    The fact that it knew my name did not comfort me. Sure, it could indicate someone who knew of me. A potential client come for a late reading, for example. It could also mean a serial killer who had been stalking me for months and had chosen this moment to strike. Or it could mean a supernatural enemy. I didn’t have many, but everyone in my line of work has one or two. I backed up toward the nearest light source, the neighbor’s porch light, making sure I had my back to the dim yellow glow. If my adversary came any closer, I’d be able to see it better than it could see me.
    “Who’s asking?”
    The shadow did not answer, but continued to advance. I slammed the gate and made for the neighbor’s front walk. The shadow vaulted my fence with easy, feline grace and came after me, still with a slow steady stride that should have reassured me but somehow did not. I banged on the neighbor’s door: no response. They were out, not unusual for a Friday night in summer in Boulder. The shadow kept coming; it stood in the walk now, cornering me on the porch. I considered screaming, and decided against it. I lived in an area full of college students prone to giving wild parties. If I screamed, chance was no one would think it unusual. They’d just shut the windows and return to whatever T.V. program had their undivided attention for the evening.
    At that point, the shadowy being stepped into the light, and I could see it was human—or at least wore a human shape. At any other time I would have licked my lips, and not out of fear. Facing me was a male about six foot four, built like the hero from the cover of a Romance novel. A shaggy mane of dark hair framed a striking face with wide, high cheekbones, a broad brow, and a thin nose that seemed to have been broken at least once. The beauty of that face owed nothing to artifice. It was untamed, like that of an animal in its natural habitat.
    A short, neat beard covered his cheeks and chin. It enhanced his resemblance to a wild creature, as did the watchful glint in his eyes, which were the exact color of the sky at twilight. His clothes—a flannel shirt, jeans and work boots—should have made him look like a lumberjack. Instead, they gave him the air of someone who spent a lot of time in the forest, communing with the little people.
    My knees began to wobble.
    He came forward until he stood at