Bayou Shadow Protector

Native American legends and the fairy world combine in a bayou filled with danger, deception and deadly secrets...

As a shadow hunter of ancient, evil spirits, Chulah Rivers is used to strange creatures and happenings in the bayou. But when April Meadows appears out of nowhere to enlist the Native American’s help in a battle that threatens the balance of the Fae and human worlds, Chulah is plunged into a deadly battle—and confronted with an all-consuming desire for this mysterious stranger who knows far too much about his past...

“Bet you have a million secrets buried under that beautiful, innocent face.”

Beautiful. He thinks I’m beautiful. That was something April could grasp and hold on to while facing his disgust.

“I’m not considered particularly beautiful by the other Fae,” she said casually.

Chulah snorted. “Impossible. Harder to believe than the fact you aren’t human.”

“I’m half human. On my father’s side,” she said quickly. As if this might make her appear more acceptable and less foreign.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth to start with? I’m a shadow hunter. I’ve fought supernatural beings most of my life. Hell, I have my own powers.”

“I’m well aware of your heightened senses. And your strength.” April’s eyes roved over his broad shoulders and chest, the lean, muscular biceps of his arms. Her throat went dry remembering how it felt to be wrapped in those solid arms and how much she’d desired his touch over the years.

DEBBIE HERBERT writes paranormal romance novels reflecting her belief that love, like magic, casts its own spell of enchantment. She’s always been fascinated by magic, romance and gothic stories. Married and living in Alabama, she roots for the Crimson Tide football team. Her oldest son, like many of her characters, has autism. Her youngest son is in the US Army. A past MAGGIE® Award finalist in both young-adult and paranormal romance, she’s a member of the Georgia Romance Writers of America.

Bayou Shadow Protector

Debbie Herbert

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

The Bayou Magic series continues with Bayou Shadow Protector. You met Chulah in the first book of the series, Bayou Shadow Hunter, and this second book is his story.

The mystery and romance of the Alabama bayou continues as Chulah meets a mysterious woman new to Bayou La Siryna. Strange thing is, she knows everything about him—right down to events and thoughts he’s never shared with anyone.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it!

All best,

Debbie

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dear Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

He came in second place to a dead lover. If that wasn’t just so typical of his life.

Tallulah placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. Really.”

Anger pounded his temples. He didn’t want her pity. Chulah shrugged her hand away and took a step back. “Forget about it,” he answered curtly, knowing his resentment was ridiculous, but unable to control the emotion.

“I had no idea you felt that way about me,” she continued.

Tallulah actually looked surprised. Like he and every other warrior should know that she still thought about Bo, lived for Bo, even when he’d been dead for over a year. Crazy women. He’d never understand them.

“No problem,” he lied. He didn’t want to hear any more of the words that killed his dreams. Chulah took a deep breath and started for the woods, aware of Tallulah’s eyes following him as he made for the tree line. His heightened senses from hunting evil bayou spirits allowed him to feel her focused energy on his rigid back.

I love you as a brother, she’d said. As much as I do any of my fellow shadow hunters.

Right.

He should have known better than to reveal his feelings, should have stuck to his code of displaying no vulnerability. Chulah kept his back straight. Eyes ahead. No need for her to realize that the blow had hurt his pride as much as his heart. He was a warrior, damn it. Well, mainly he stuck to the code—with the mistaken exception of this afternoon. But the way she’d stood in the sea breeze—black hair teased by the wind, shirt pressed against her strong, lean form, the leather fringed necklace disappearing into the cleavage of her breasts—he’d lost all reason. She was the epitome of a warrior hunter, the only female hunter in their tight clan. A perfect match. Or so he’d imagined. He’d dared to hope that she must know and return some of his desire.

Wrong.

He’d let his protective barriers down, told her of his secret feelings. Stupid. He deserved the I-Just-Wanna-Be-Friends brush-off.

Marching away, he was so latched on to the eyes-straight-ahead approach and shoulders-back posture that his left foot tangled on something and he stumbled.

His pride took a dive along with his feet and he dared not look back. The old Tallulah would have laughed and teased him; now she must see him as a bumbling idiot or, worse, as a man to be pitied.

Chulah regained his balance and plunged into the woods’ underbrush, heedless of the nettles and brambles that tore at his jeans, not caring to follow the easy path. Instead, he strode forward, straight at the black trunks of massive trees, solid, unmoving and forbidding. As unyielding as Tallulah’s words. Words that pierced like poisoned darts. He struck savagely at the parasitic kudzu vines that hung between the trees and underbrush, making his way deeper into the shadows.

Tallulah, even with her heightened hunter senses, couldn’t see him now.

He wished he could turn all his senses off. His heart, too. Just off.

His breath grew ragged; his long legs shook with exhaustion. Chulah abruptly stopped and inhaled deeply. The green lushness of pine and moss soothed his battered spirit, even more than the peace his job of repairing motorcycles provided. Fixing motors, his mind and hands were in sync and focused on correcting problems.

In the bayou forest, his trekking abilities kicked in, providing a welcome diversion.

The scent of salt drifted from the Gulf on early autumn breezes and mixed with invigorating pine. His supernatural hearing picked up the lap of the tide, the rustle of leaves, a scampering squirrel and a cawing of crows. Chulah opened his mind to it all, relaxing the barrier he put in place to avoid sensory overload. The forest bathed his battered heart as he drew in the ancient wisdom and energy of the trees, calming his mind.

Chulah worked his way to the path and sat on a large tree stump, resting his tired legs. So he’d finally taken a chance and she’d turned him down, with a swift directness that typified all her actions.

And while he was being honest...he was more relieved than disappointed, now that the initial embarrassment had passed. Tallulah had been, perhaps, a little too convenient. They’d grown up together, had shared similar gifts and had fought alongside each other. Their families were close. She’d been his secret crush in high school, and with Bo gone, it was only natural he’d drifted to her familiar, comfortable presence.

Now that he’d spilled his guts and she’d rejected him, he could move on.

That was the plan, anyway.

For the past few weeks, he’d grown increasingly restless...bored, even. The last great battle was over, and with it Chulah seemed to have lost his purpose. He spent his days repairing motorcycles, and at night took his Harley out for long, solitary rides. He’d grown lonely.

The future stretched before him...the same old, same old.

A sizzle of energy traveled up his spine. Chulah glanced at the empty woods, wondering where the presence hid. He’d experienced it many times before and yet it had always eluded him. He tried to puzzle it out. It was nothing evil like he would sense with the Ishkitini, birds of the night, or with the few stray will-o’-the-wisps that still eluded the hunters.

This energy was...soothing. And familiar. He often picked up on it alone in the woods and a few times when he had hunted down a wisp and was in danger.

“Who are you?” he asked, searching the shadows. More to the point, “What are you?”

No answer.

Whatever that presence was, its silence was getting damned annoying. He stood abruptly and strode for home. “Fine. Don’t answer,” he said with a shrug, feeling more than a little foolish. Today was a day for acting like a bumbling idiot.

“What I need is a long bike ride,” he muttered. Nothing but the roar of his Harley and the land rushing to meet him as he sped down the bayou back roads.

To hell with Tallulah and to hell with trying to communicate with some mysterious spirit that wished to remain unknown.

* * *

Now was her chance.

April skittered ahead of Chulah, riding the stiff breeze that blew toward his cabin. Excitement electrified her so much that she worried her Fae form would light up like a luminary beacon. And that wouldn’t do at all. She’d promised the fairy queen to warn the shadow hunters of danger and enlist them to fight the dark shadow spirit, Hoklonote. The hitch? She was to accomplish this mission while at the same time providing as little information as possible about their hidden existence. Revealing too many secrets would be a last-ditch effort. A necessary evil to safeguard their world as well as the humans’ world.

Plus, she had her own reasons for not revealing too much too soon. And it had everything to do with Chulah Rivers. For eleven years she had silently watched him, invisibly aided him as he fought the bayou’s dark shadow spirits. All in an attempt to atone for her Great Mistake. Not that she could ever win absolution, but it helped ease her guilty conscience.

After eleven years, it had grown to more than an attempt to pay for her youthful mistake. At first, his handsome form and bravery garnered her admiration, but his stoic kindness—which often went unnoticed and unappreciated by others—was what most enchanted April.

And today, finally, she’d been given the opportunity to meet him again as a real, flesh-and-blood woman. She’d changed her appearance, yet still worried he’d see through the ruse. She must be very, very careful not to slip up. Chulah could never know what she’d done. He’d hate her, and she couldn’t bear that.

April darted behind a huge oak tree in case any human eyes might be around. She bundled her Fae essence until the staurolite crystal, the fairies’ cross stone, was positioned at the center of her being.

“Out of the mist I arise,” she whispered. “In human form alive. Skin and bone and heart and brain, I now transform to a different plane.”

For the second time today, that strange sensation passed through her ethereal body. Transformations that she hadn’t experienced since the disaster over a decade ago. Not painful, but a stretching and a heaviness and a gravitational pull to the earth. Wind rustled her hair and teased the skin of her arms, and the texture of cotton brushed against her legs.

It was done.

April ran her fingers through her hair and glanced down at the long flowered skirt, and then to the white sandals housing human feet. She wiggled her toes experimentally and giggled. This was going to be fun. Unlike last time. This time she would do everything right and enjoy every tiny human sensation.

An engine revved across the street and she peeked from behind the wide tree.

Chulah gunned the motor and strapped on a helmet. April startled at the loud beating of her human heart encaged by ribs. It seemed too volatile an organ to pump blood so furiously for an entire human life span, not if it kept up this constant beat.

Clouds of dust streaked behind the motorcycle as he exited the dirt driveway. He had to pass by her to get to the county road.

This was it. With a deep breath, April stepped from behind the tree and stood by the side of the road, waving her arms.

He didn’t slow, but sped right by her, and she choked on the fumes and dust. Not how she’d imagined this momentous occasion. She’d been so positive he wouldn’t pass by a damsel in distress.

And then she heard the sound of brakes squealing, loud as a dozen screeching owls. The motorcycle stopped a few yards ahead. Chulah lifted off his helmet and swung one leg over the bike until he stood in the street, facing her.

Hot cinnamon eyes raked her from head to toe. April gulped, her throat suddenly dry. Did she look weird? Was something off in her manifestation? The Fae court had explained that her appearance and clothing would reflect her individual nature, yet be acceptable and appropriate for the human world. And nothing like her last earthly appearance.

So why was he staring at her so intently? The Council had assured her that this current manifestation was unrecognizable from her unapproved earthly sojourn at age sixteen. If he remembered their first meeting, her mission was over before it started.

Shaking off the apprehension, she walked forward and extended her hand. “Hi. My name’s April. Thanks for stopping.”

His gaze shifted to her outreached hand, but he made no move to extend a return greeting. April dropped her hand by her side and cleared her throat. “Would you mind giving me a lift to town?”

“What the hell is a woman doing alone out here?” he asked incredulously.

“I, um, went for a walk in the woods and got lost.”

“Got lost,” he repeated, brows drawn together. “Where do you live?”

“I have an apartment above my shop on Main Street. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called Pixie Land.”

He shook his head, as if in a daze.

“I’m not surprised. We just opened last week.” The Fae had been hard at work setting up that shop and all her living arrangements. She stuck out a hand again. “My name’s April Meadows.”

“April, huh?” he asked, eyes narrowed and assessing.

A surge of warmth flowed through her body when he said her name. The name she’d made up by taking the time of year she loved best and combining it with her favorite place. Perhaps he needed proof that she was who she said she was. She remembered the forged paperwork and patted the slender purse across her shoulder. Good. Everything should be in order. She opened the purse and riffled through it. “Here,” she said triumphantly. “Want to look at my driver’s license? Well, it’s not really a driver’s license. I don’t drive. Occasional migraines prevent that. They just come out of nowhere and incapacitate me.”

His expression of pained incredulity hadn’t changed.

“Anyway, it’s a picture identification card if you want to see it.”

“I don’t want to see your ID.”

“Oh, okay, then.” April dropped it back in her purse. “About that ride?”

“Don’t you know how dangerous it is to walk alone in the woods—especially in the late afternoon? It’ll be dark in an hour or so. What if I hadn’t come along?”

“But you did.” As she knew he would.

Chulah crossed his arms. “I could be a psychopath, for all you know. A serial killer who preys on young, lost women.”

April laughed. “You could never be like that.”

“And how would you know?”

She tapped her sandals on the red clay dirt. Thinking. “I can just tell. You’re a nice man.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “I bet Ted Bundy’s victims thought he was nice when they first met.”

She blinked. “Ted Bundy?”

“Seriously? He’s probably the most notorious serial killer ever.” Chulah shook his head. “You must have been living in a dark hole all your life.”

A fairy mound instead of a dark hole, but he was close. April nodded at once, eager to correct her mistake. “Oh, yes, now I remember. Ted. Of course.”

Chulah gave her a hard, calculating kind of stare, as if debating the wisdom of letting her hop on his bike.

An idea struck. “Are you afraid I might be a killer?”

She should have thought of that before. Quickly, she raised her arms, familiar with police procedures after the fairy council’s crash course on human behavior and customs. They’d spent an entire day on what to do should one become embroiled in the legal system or a person suspected of a crime. “You can pat me down if you want to check for weapons.”

Chulah snorted or laughed; April wasn’t exactly sure which. The sound was rusty, as if infrequently employed, and his lips twitched.

She walked closer, arms still raised, until their bodies were in arm’s length of each other. “Really. It’s okay to search. I’m completely unarmed.”

Not entirely true. She had an inner, secret weapon of casting fairy enchantments, but she’d resolved to employ it only in emergencies. April winced, recalling her disastrous attempt at enchanting Chulah all those years ago. Quickly, she thrust aside thoughts of the past. It was a new day, and she had to focus on the matter at hand.

Enchantments. Chulah had no way of detecting such magic from a pat-down. She frowned, remembering the fairy’s cross crystal in the purse. Would he count a stone as a primitive weapon?

He gave an exaggerated sigh and strode back to his bike.

April’s mouth dropped open. She’d been so sure he’d give her a ride. “Are you leaving me?”

He unbuckled a side bag from the bike and pulled out a spare helmet. “For crying out loud, just wear this and hop on. I don’t know how you’re going to manage in that skirt, though.”

Not the most gracious invitation, but it would have to do. April eyed the helmet with distaste. How could anyone stand to have their head wrapped in such a tight bubble? “Do I have to wear it?”

“Nobody rides this bike without a helmet. It’s the law. Besides, only an idiot would ride without one.”

There went her fantasy of the wind blowing his long black hair in her face, covering her like a blanketing caress. And actually, she’d seen him riding around his yard without a helmet, but it might not be prudent to mention that fact. A female member of the Council had taken her aside and explained about the male ego thing. Which was much the same in the fairy realm, so point taken.

She didn’t want Chulah to think she was an idiot, so she stuffed the torture device on her head.

It was stifling. Her hot breath steamed the windshield thingy. Chulah lifted the helmet’s flap and she sucked air.

“I’m ready,” she announced bravely. She was used to flying, the wind fanning her face and hair, free and wild. Had dreamed of a motorcycle ride as a new kind of flying, human style.

His hands were suddenly at her throat and she gasped, taking an involuntary step back.

“Relax. I’m just tightening the straps.”

“Oh.” She glanced down, mesmerized by the sight of his olive-skinned fingers so close to her pale neck. Fantasies that had nothing to do with motorcycle riding filled her mind, and she shut her eyes. His hands were warm and competent, and a little shiver of pleasure rippled through her as they accidentally brushed against the vulnerable hollow of her throat.

“There. You’re good.”

Did she imagine his voice had a huskier edge, an undertone of desire? Her eyes flew to his face, but his back already faced her as he straddled the bike, putting on his own helmet. Chulah motioned with his hands. “Let’s go.”

Now she would get to wrap her arms around his waist. April almost licked her lips. She walked to the bike, assessing it, before lifting her skirt and swinging a leg over the side. The skirt rode up to her butt, but she should be fine. She’d often observed human women exposing much more skin at the beach.

The motorcycle lurched forward, and she wrapped her arms around his trim waist. Damned helmet prevented laying her face between Chulah’s broad shoulders. She itched to explore the muscles that she’d seen many a time as he worked outside in his yard. Soon, April promised herself. Very soon.

The roaring of the engine pounded in her ears, and she acclimated to the jerk and shudder of tires hitting small potholes. April liked the ride very much. What it lacked in fairy finesse, it made up for in raw power. No wonder Chulah rode so much when he was troubled. On his Harley, he harnessed that power and focused his attention on the open road.

Pine trees and dirt roads gave way to buildings and pavement. Unease prickled down her spine. She much preferred the woods, but had made periodic, invisible trips to downtown Bayou La Siryna in preparation for this mission.

A mermaid statue came into view and she breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar landmark. “Turn left at the next light,” she yelled to Chulah.

He nodded in acknowledgment, and as they turned onto Main Street, she counted the buildings to her left. One, two three, four... “Stop here,” she directed.

Chulah expertly swerved into a parking space and shut off the engine. April sat, waiting for him to get off first.

He lifted his helmet, and the hair that had been secured inside it fell loose. A veil of soap-scented warmth enveloped April’s neck and shoulders. She again cursed the helmet as it blocked her face from experiencing the same intimate contact. Fumbling with the straps, she took off her own helmet and shook her hair free.

Chulah glanced over his shoulder. “Get off,” he commanded.

April hastily complied, throwing one bare leg over the side to dismount. A loud whistle erupted across the street where three young men stared and pointed. Usually a sign of approval, if she remembered correctly.

She looked around, but no one else was close by. Were they whistling at her or Chulah? And for what reason?

Chulah scowled at them and they walked on by, laughing.

“Why were those guys whistling at you?” she asked. “Were they admiring your parking skills, perhaps?”

He arched a brow and studied her curiously. “They were whistling at you. Not me.”

“Why me?”

“I suspect it was the show of leg,” he remarked drily.

But she’d shown less skin than women in bathing suits. Did they constantly whistle while at the beach? Very confusing. The Council had advised covering confusion with diversion. April ran a hand through her hair. “So,” she said brightly. “Would you like to come inside for a drink?”

This was a human convention she was sure was appropriate. And her apartment was supposed to be well stocked in all manner of human food and drink.

“No.” He turned his back on her and headed for his bike.

“Wait,” she called out hurriedly. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? It might be more comfortable to talk about your problem with me than riding your motorcycle all evening.”