This book is a sequel to His Miracle Mate. *** **** *** Orla learns the secret of her ancestry, a secret that will make her a target if revealed. How will she deal with the new development as she trains to use her powers? How will her relationship with Ezra affect the Lock that conceals her very nature? And will she be able to meet the family she had longed for her entire life?

tw's: mentions of emotional and physical child abuse, drugs, alcohol "You'd love me even if the star doesn't shine?" "Even then, Nova. Even then." This is a reverse grumpy x sunshine, childhood ex best friends college hockey romance. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Maeve Nova Leigh-Foster. She's the girl I've known since I was five years old. The only thing I knew that was right at such a young age. But when we're forced apart and reunited over seven years later, nothing's the same. She hates me as much as I love her. She can't even look at me when all I can do is stare. She doesn't even breathe in my direction when all I want is her. But do I take the hints that she doesn't want me around? No. I plan on earning her back even if it opens things from our past that leaves us both even more heartbroken than the start.

The long neck was like a magnet. When bare and exposed it was commanding and shouting. I was not allowed to move further without giving it enough attention and touch. I had to touch it delicately with my lips, to leave a moist trail. I had to repeat the actions until the whole surface was covered in goosebumps. Only then I could move down the twisting image.

A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.