Showing results by author "Meghan Ciana Doidge" in All Categories

A masked gala. A solstice celebration with the werewolves. Broken relics and doorways leading not only to other realms, other mythical and magical creatures, but to other possible futures. For me, and maybe even for Kellan. That’s all just another day at the office for me.

They called me an amplifier. And they had bred me, raised me, and trained me to be a killer with preternatural precision. I was capable of taking, holding, and transferring power that wasn’t my own with a simple touch. Skin-to-skin contact. Along with four others of my generation, I could infiltrate any magical organization, extracting whoever or whatever I’d been ordered to extricate. Then I could destroy all evidence of our passing presence. They had made me. They directed me. Controlled me. Then they tried to kill me.

I never got involved in the dirt and the details of an investigation. I never let my preconceptions muddy a reconstruction. And I steadfastly refrained from ever allowing my past to dictate my future. At least until the one person I couldn’t lose went missing. Because then I’d relive every dark moment of my childhood, confront every heartbreak, and even sell my soul if that was what it took to get her back. Because I couldn’t accept a future - not even a promised one of immortality and unbridled power - that didn’t include one of the only two people I’d ever truly loved.

For 12 years, I had managed to separate my personal life from my professional life, becoming one of the best reconstructionists in the world - and proving to myself that I could do so on my own merits. Then I’d been forced into contact with my family, reuniting with someone I thought I’d lost forever, and rescuing my best friend. Now I had to savor what little time I had left before the contract with the Conclave came due and my future was wrenched from my control. Except there was one last case to solve. One last set of puzzle pieces to collect, then assemble again.

I knew that opening the letter from the sorcerer Azar would have deadly consequences. So we had prepared. We’d planned. We knew we might have to defend ourselves, our freedom. And that I might finally get a chance to exact the revenge I kept telling myself I wasn’t interested in exacting. What we didn’t know was that we’d find ourselves hosting a dysfunctional family reunion — the kind where everyone tries to kill someone at least once over dinner.

The Collective was already done. I’d destroyed them more than eight years ago. But apparently, some of those who’d survived now needed a reminder of their demise. When it was done, I would walk away with everything that was mine to have and to hold. And what I couldn’t outright destroy? I would absorb or claim for myself. Because Emma Johnson was stronger than Amp5 had ever been.

Concerned that we hadn’t heard from her in more than a year, Fish had dragged me all the way into the middle of Russia to follow up a lead on the whereabouts of our telepathic team member, Amanda, a.k.a. Bee. But what was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission—gathering intel so we could formulate a plan that might need to involve the rest of the team—went sideways within 24 hours.