The Return of the Elves Books 1-9 (Ebook Bundle)

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• Found family
• Fated mates
• Different worlds
• Accidental pregnancy
• Tortured hero
• Enemies to lovers
• Second chance romance
• Friends to lovers
• Polyamory (MFF – one book only)
• Unrequited love
• Anti-hero
• Single parents
• Twisted mate bonds
• Mental health struggles
• Recovering from loss
• Finding one’s place
• Star-crossed lovers
• Fish out of water

Chapter 1

Arlyn shoved trembling hands into her pockets as the elf approached, his long hair shifting in the breeze. Though he moved with relaxed ease, his sharp gaze scanned her from head to toe. Thank goodness she’d left her weapons at camp. The elf carried only a dagger, but Arlyn’s mother had warned her he was a formidable warrior, more than capable of taking her on. She did not want to be mistaken for a threat.

Her fingers brushed the smooth, useless glass of the cell phone in her pocket. It slid against her sweaty palm as she gripped it, though she doubted they’d have service on this world anyway. Her mother had said these Moranaians were different than the elves of legend, but the myths surely weren’t that wrong. Arlyn grinned, despite her nerves, drawing a frown from the approaching elf. Strangers must not often smile at him in the middle of the forest path.

The dappled light shadowed the elf’s young-looking face and made blotches in his dark brown hair. As he stopped a couple of feet away, Arlyn’s breath caught. He looked exactly like the man in the picture her mother had given her, except then he’d been sitting in the forest near her family home. But this was a different world. Though the shadows might look the same, the leaves that cast them were another shape and the trees another species.

Say something, she ordered herself, but only a strangled gasp slipped from her lips.

“You appear to be lost,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. “May I help you?”

Arlyn took a deep breath. He’s not going to hurt me. Probably. I’ll deliver the message and leave. “Are you Lord Lyrnis Dianore?”

With a small, polite smile, he inclined his head. “I am. Forgive me if we have met, for I do not know your name.”

“We haven’t,” she said, “met, that is. My name is Arlyn.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He stared at her, his brows pinching with another frown. “If you have come with a request, you may make an appointment for a formal meeting.”

She opened her mouth, but no sound worked loose.

Lord Dianore’s expression tightened, a hint of irritation shifting into his gaze. “Very well. If you have no further need of me, I’ll bid you good day.”

He bowed, then continued forward, moving around her. Arlyn’s eyes went wide, and the words she needed to say tangled in her throat. Forgetting the phone she held, she pulled her hands from her pockets to grab him as he passed. Her left hand wrapped around his forearm, and he twisted, crouching into battle stance as he jerked free. His hand settled on the hilt of the knife he wore, his eyes narrowing on the phone in her right hand.

“You have moments to explain,” he snapped.

Arlyn shivered at the coldness of his tone, so different from the polite warmth of his initial greeting. She tried to slip the thin phone back into her pocket but missed. The device thudded into the dirt as she lifted her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“What is that thing?” He drew his dagger. “That is not from Moranaia.”

Her brows lifted. “It’s a phone. You’re speaking my language. Shouldn’t you know?”

Eyes as green as emeralds focused on her face. “You’re from Earth.”

“Yes.” Arlyn stiffened her spine at his flat statement and hoped she appeared confident instead of scared. “My mother sent me to find you.”

He tensed. “Your mother?”

“Her name was Aimee.” Arlyn took a deep breath. “Aimee Moore.”

***

Only centuries of training kept the knife from slipping out of Lyr’s hand. A shudder rippled through him as he examined her. Gods, the girl did resemble Aimee with her dark red hair and slender form, though Arlyn was more muscular, closer to the female scouts who guarded his estate. Wait, what had she said?

“Was?” His hand convulsed around the hilt of the blade as he straightened. “Her name was?”

Arlyn twisted her fingers together. “Her final wish was for me to find you.”

Pain forced the air from Lyr’s lungs, and his hands trembled. After two tries, he finally returned the dagger to its sheath. “How long ago?”

“A few months, I guess. But it’s impossible to tell time in the mists, so I’m not really sure.”

Lyr stumbled over to one of the benches that lined the path and plopped down. His soulbonded. The only woman he had ever loved. Dead. His stomach heaved, and he closed his eyes against the agony. Could he believe this girl? He had no doubt she was Aimee’s daughter. The resemblance was too uncanny.

He rubbed his face, struggling to regain a modicum of composure, before meeting the girl’s eyes once more. “Why would she send you? She knows…knew how dangerous the Veil would be for a human.”

“Haven’t you guessed?” Arlyn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and ran a finger along the pointed tip. “She wanted you to meet your daughter.”

***

“Impossible.” The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale beneath his tan. “In all my years, I have never—”

“Oh, I assure you, you did once.” Her teeth ground together. Why had she dared hope he would believe her? “Maybe you should have checked on her instead of abandoning her. And me.”

He shot to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “I did not abandon her. An emergency required my immediate return. Surely, she told you.”

“She did. But she loved you.”

The implications floated between them, as unbearable as the heat beating down from the sun. Arlyn had grown up hearing tales of her father. Of him and all Aimee had known of his land. But love had colored her mother’s stories, and Arlyn had always wondered how much that emotion altered the truth. Had love made her mother believe he possessed a kindness that wasn’t really there?

“Perhaps she was mistaken.” He took a few steps closer, then paused. The frown deepened between his brows. “I’d hoped she would find another. Half-bloods are rare, and I was only there for a single moon.”

His denial pierced the doubt within and splattered it wide. Arlyn flushed. “Are you saying my mother slept around? That’s low.”

“What?” His eyes widened at the fury in her tone, and he lifted his hands, palms out. “At peace, Arlyn. I meant no offense. Our customs are different here. Whether she took other lovers or not would make no difference among my people.”

The pain burned like the arrow that had sliced her thigh during practice last spring. “Fine. I get it. I’ve delivered the news, and now I’ll head back home. Is there a place I can barter for supplies? I have a few things from Earth that might be of interest.”

His expression twisted, but Arlyn couldn’t decipher the emotion behind it. “No.”

Arlyn threw her hands up in frustration and spun to head back to her camp. There’d been fountains of water scattered through the otherwise formless mists of the Veil but no food. Would she get in trouble for hunting in these woods? Maybe she could add being arrested by her own father to her failures on this trip.

Warm fingers curled around her arm.

“Hey!” Arlyn yelped and twisted, struggling to tug herself free, but his grip held firm. “Let go.”

“I didn’t mean you couldn’t have supplies. I meant you couldn’t leave.”

Arlyn’s brows rose. “What, you have other insults to add?”

“Forgive me.” He stared into her eyes. “I was shocked. A claim like this…”

Her shoulders slumped as her anger deflated. What had she expected? That he would sweep her into his arms as she’d dreamed when she was a child? He had a right to his doubt. “Mom seemed to think you’d believe me without question.”

Boom! A rumble of thunder split the air, and Arlyn jumped. Her gaze darted to the canopy above, but she found no sign of clouds between the leaves of the ancient trees. Still, the scent of rain floated on the wind, and the already-stifling heat clung to her clothes and skin as the humidity increased. Just one more bit of discomfort.

A soft squeeze on her arm drew her attention back down. “What was that?”

“A storm, as on Earth.” He smiled, although it didn’t wash the hint of grief from his eyes. “It’s on the north end of the valley, still some distance away. But it’s moving faster than I expected. Come with me to Braelyn, my home. We’ll work this out.”

Should she? Her chest still ached from the pain of his denial, but she had crossed worlds to meet him. Only he could answer her questions about her heritage. “Okay. If you promise to let me leave when I wish.”

He nodded. “I will provide you a guide through the mists.”

A gust of wind rattled the canopy above. Lord Lyrnis released her to rush back up the path, and Arlyn followed quickly on his heels. Her attention alternated between him and the trees, resembling oaks or maples but as large as redwoods, as their branches tossed back and forth. Could those Earth varieties even grow this big if left undisturbed? She just hoped these trees were sturdy. If one of those branches fell, they’d be dead for sure.

The trail split at the edge of a long valley. To the right, the path descended to the floor below. The route on the left followed the line of the ridge to a large estate woven around the base of the ancient trees. Arlyn had only glimpsed his house from a distance, and then from another section of the trail that led to a large garden. But he didn’t take her in the back way. A matter of trust? She couldn’t withhold the hurt that speculation caused.

Lightning flashed from the windows and across the tan stone walls of the estate, making the carvings on its surface seem to dance. Arlyn squinted at the designs. Stylized trees, leaves, and flowers were clear enough, but the animals… Not-squirrels and almost-deer shifted eerily with each lightning strike. Yeah, so not Earth.

Lyrnis dodged down a side path, avoiding the double doors at the front, and moved to a small door tucked next to a gently curved wall full of windows. Arlyn drew up short at the sight of the soldier, a tall, dark-skinned woman dressed in leather, who guarded the entrance. On Earth, Arlyn had usually seen elves depicted as one of two things: pale and fair or dark and deceitful. Was the whole light elf versus dark elf thing a myth? A reflection of human racism? Did Moranaians not make the same distinction? Something in Arlyn relaxed. Maybe these elves weren’t as cold and unaccepting as she’d feared.

With a nod to the guard, Lord Lyrnis opened the door and gestured for Arlyn to precede him. She paused a few inches over the threshold as her eyes adjusted to the decreased light. The cool interior drew a shiver as her clothes, damp with sweat and raindrops, chilled around her. A heartbeat later, she could make out the small hallway that linked the oval room at the right to the main building on her left, separated by a door.

“If you’ll move into my study?” Lyrnis asked, his voice calm. Unlike the thunder that cracked outside, putting Arlyn even more on edge.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

Arlyn took a few steps into the room and stopped. Bookshelves alternated with windows around the two wider walls of the oval, and a massive desk sat on a small dais at the end. She caught her reflection in the tall mirror placed behind it and winced. Damn. She’d worn some of the clothes she’d made for her Ren Faire booth, but as the only short-sleeved set she had brought, they were well-worn. She wouldn’t want to claim her dirty, sweat-stained self, either.

The sight of Lord Lyrnis, impeccable in a thin, silken tunic and loose pants, brought a blush to her cheeks. Arlyn turned her face away and focused on the chairs arranged in the center of the room, all four placed in precise order beneath their own skylights. Though wood-framed, the seats were covered in cushioned fabric that was probably worth more than the car she’d left on Earth. The two tables positioned between them were exquisite, solid wood carved with leaves and inlaid with tiny, gemstone flowers. Not particle board.

“Please, have a seat.”

Distracted, Arlyn jumped at the sound of his voice. She turned to find him staring at her, his hand held out toward one of the chairs in the center. “No way. I am entirely too dirty.”

“They’ve seen worse.” His lips curved up. “I used to sit in here with my father after a day spent chasing frogs in the gardens. They are spelled to resist stains.”

Though he clearly meant to reassure her, Arlyn paled. These chairs had to be over five hundred years old. “Still, it doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Watch.” Before she realized what he intended, Lyrnis wiped a smudge of dirt from her arm and walked to the closest seat. He knelt, smearing the trail of grime along the bottom cushion. Almost instantly, it evaporated. At her gasp, he smiled again. “Our artisans are quite clever. Come. Our discussion will be more pleasant if you are comfortable.”

Arlyn stared at the seat for a long moment before taking a few hesitant steps. As though to reassure her it really was clean, Lord Lyrnis chose the chair he’d used as an example. Biting her lip, she relented, though she perched on the edge and tried not to touch the polished wooden armrest.

“There.”

From above, light gilded him, softening the serious lines of his face. Pain burned through her. Her mother had been a shadow, all bones and wrinkles, by the time the cancer took her. This man could have been mistaken for Arlyn’s brother. Then he caught her gaze, and the sorrow darkening his eyes dispelled the image. All the long centuries he’d lived glinted there.

His fingers tapped the armrests. “How did you find the way here?”

“Mom showed me where you emerged.” Arlyn shrugged. “Unlike most humans, I grew up knowing that magic is real. I studied all I could find, though most of the knowledge out there is guesswork or pure fantasy. Mostly, I had to experiment.”

“Experiment.” His hands gripped the wood. “You experimented with the portal to the Veil?”

Arlyn winced at his dry tone. “No. Well, not exactly. I meant things like creating shields against attacks and lighting fires. I can make a mean campfire.”

“And the portal?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure what I did,” she answered. “It’s like something came to life when I stepped within the stones.”

A frown pinched his forehead. “Would you be offended if I test you?”

“Test me how?”

“Energy doesn’t lie, Arlyn.” He leaned forward, his eyes focused on her face. “For elves, our magic is a part of us. Unique, like our souls. I can sense where my own energy merged to create yours.”

“A magical paternity test?” She shook her head at the questioning lift of his brow. “Never mind. I guess you aren’t going to take my word for it.”

“I am sorry.” His mouth turned down. “I am eighteenth in line to the throne of Moranaia, Arlyn, and a leader of many. I want to believe you, but I can’t.”

She stared at her hands gathered in her lap. “It’s too much of a risk.”

“More than you understand. It is no small thing to acknowledge an heir.”