Page 10 of Fated Moons
“Trask is a good person to know,” Prince Albert said. “I will play this however the two of you wish, but I won’t put up with anyone blaming you for something your father did when you were ten years old. I’ve put a protection spell on my daughter, which will help her through this uncertain time, and with your permission, I’d like to put one on you.” He held up his hand. “I understand that wolves are somewhat leery of spells. Please understand that this is not anything other than a protection bubble to help ward off those who wish you harm.”
Spells, potions, hexes, voodoo dolls were all things foreign to Jackson. He didn’t understand witches, wizards, or witchcraft. The good witches lived by the laws of the land, and they couldn’t use it to bring harm to anyone or for their own betterment of career or monetarily. So, what was the point of being a witch?
Okay, he’d been schooled a time or two from Trask about witches, wizards, and their purpose. But Jackson still didn’t comprehend the use of magic.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Jackson said. The one thing he didn’t want was to be accused of using magic to make himself a star or to have this movie become a hit.
“If you change your mind, the offer is always there,” Prince Albert said. “I can do it or Amanda could.”
“I appreciate it.” Jackson, totally aware his arm was on the back of the sofa behind Amanda, shifted, dropping his hand onto his lap.
This woman had him completely unhinged. A low rumble formed in his throat. He needed to shift and run in wolf form, relieving him of all the tension she put in all the places he didn’t welcome.
Or maybe it was the damn fairy dust, though that seemed to have disappeared, thank God.
However, Lady Amanda was out of his league in more ways than one.
An untouchable.
Besides, considering his last two co-stars, he was sure his contract would expressly state that he couldn’t sleep with her. He almost laughed out loud.
As if Lady Amanda would jump into the sack with a werewolf.
Much less the son of the man who killed her uncle.
3
Amanda heaved in a breath, only to have it cut short and burn her throat. Ever since the royal fairies had been unlocked and the wolfairies had been conceived and born, more and more humans and other creatures had learned they carried the fairy bloodline.
Some royals.
Some not.
Her mother had been one of the non-royal fairies, one with absolutely no magical powers except to form a little fairy dust that made people feel good. When the few tiny specks her mother generated landed on anyone, it felt like a tiny lightning bolt and wormed its way into your system like warm butter. It put a smile on your face, but that was about it.
However, neither she nor her sisters had ever spewed the dust from their bodies. While being a fairy would have been interesting, it also would have been controversial. And something they didn’t need. They possessed powerful magic as royals. They’d gone to the best schools and studied their craft. Amanda was not overly disappointed that she hadn’t been blessed with her mother’s fairy bloodline. Besides, many witch covens didn’t appreciate the blending of the two.
And her aunt would have seen it as an abomination, which is why they hadn’t told Aunt Alley about her mother.
So when she blinked fairy dust, it set her heart racing. The fact her father had either ignored it or not seen it terrified her. She’d kept those emotions close to her chest during the meeting as she did her best to control something she had no idea she possessed. Thankfully, the damn stuff hadn’t exploded from her body during the press conference. That wouldn’t have been good.
Panic was nothing she’d ever experienced before, not even when she performed live. Acting, whether on the stage, in front of a live audience, or on a set, she’d never felt a pang of fear. She’d given speeches as a member of the Royal Coven to tens of thousands of people and on live television to millions and not once did she feel anxious to the point she felt ill.
Nerves? Yes. But those weren’t anything like not being able to breathe.
She sat on the bench with her head between her legs in the hallway of Media-Max’s lobby where the press couldn’t see her.
Hopefully.
Two strong hands massaged her back and shoulders. She kept trying to shrug them off, but their owner wouldn’t go away.
“Relax,” Jackson said in a low, deep voice. His lips were so close to her ear she could have sworn he had kissed her. Only she knew better. No way would he press his mouth to her cheek. He could barely stand to look at her. During their meeting, he kept darting his gaze away and shifting as if sitting near her made him crawl right out of his human skin. Not to mention that damn dust kept dancing on his leg like it had found some magical playground.
She bet if he could have, he would have shifted into a wolf and sat in front of her, baring his long, sharp teeth in a bone-chilling growl.
“Where’s my father?” she managed.
“Do you want me to get him?”
