“We love you too, boss,” Benny said, his own eyes filling with tears.
Gabriel sighed. “That’s all lovely, but you’re just a handful of people. You’re extraordinary people, but the demons you’ll be hunting…you’re not enough to stop them. You’ll be spread too thin.”
He wasn’t lying, Harper realized. Harper turned to her mother and Hunter. “You guys read the human soldiers, right? The ones who fought on my father’s orders and the handful who didn’t? Would any of them join us?”
“The ones who fought are useless to you,” Hunter said. “Your father poisoned them against anything supernatural. They only want to destroy. You couldn’t trust any of them to fight by your side.”
Not surprising since they’d agreed to kill a newborn on her father’s orders, Harper thought.
Tina added, “The ones I talked to who didn’t fight—the ones who refused to fight for David when he ordered them to kill Marina and the baby—are good. They’d be loyal to you and your cause. But…they’re young. Green. They’d need to be retrained to fight like, well, all of you instead of like good little soldiers.”
“And how many of them are there?” Harper asked.
Tina bit her lip. “Ten.”
Gabriel snorted. “Ten untrained humans, a handful of dhampyres, and a couple of vampires? It’s still not enough.”
“We’ll recruit,” Harper said defensively. “We’ll recruit people like us. Children of magic and science. People with abilities. People who aren’t accepted as they are because they’re different. People like Addy and Lane and Haven. We can have a school where recruits are taught all the regular…school stuff in addition to fighting and how to control their powers.”
“Just like the X-Men,” Lucas said. “Fucking awesome.”
Harper was about to intervene before an argument erupted over who got to be Wolverine if they were the X-Men—it totally would’ve been Riddick, by the way—when Addy laughed and said, “More like misfits than mutants,” she murmured. “The Harper Hall School for Extraordinary Misfits.”
Benny snort-laughed. “The Misfits of Magic. That’s what we should call ourselves.”
“Insane,” Nikolai said. “That’s what we should call ourselves.”
“Section 8,” Benny agreed. “Like the crazy discharge Klinger on MASH was always trying to get.”
“The Misfits of Magic from Section 8,” Harper said with a grin. “I like it.”
While everyone fell into excited side conversations about who was going to teach what at the new school and who was going to recruit new trainees, Riddick grabbed Harper, pulled her from her chair, and tugged her into his lap. He kissed her long and hard until they were both breathless. When he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, he asked, “Are you ready to save the world again, sunshine?”
She smiled so wide the muscles in her face hurt, but it didn’t matter. Having this man and this group of extraordinary men and women in her corner, willing to fight at her side? It was…humbling, and so damn awe-inspiring she was pretty sure she’d be riding this high for years to come.
“Fuckin’-A right, I am.”
The End
But keep reading for samples of Semi-Charmed (the book that started it all), and You Complicate Me, a snarky, sassy, contemporary romantic comedy. Happy reading!
Acknowledgements
This book wouldn’t have been possible without the usual cast of characters:
1. My ultra-supportive husband and all-kinds-of fabulous son
2. My ultra-supportive and all-kinds-of-fabulous parents
3. The ultra-supportive and all-kinds-of-fabulous bloggers who read, review, and promote my work
4. The ultra-supportive and all-kinds-of-fabulous LE Wilson
5. The ultra-supportive and all-kinds-of-fabulous Renee Wright
6. The ultra-supportive and all-kinds-of-fabulous readers who never fail to come out for a new release
(Anyone sensing a pattern here?)
A personal note from Isabel:
If you enjoyed this book, first of all, thanks for reading! It would mean a lot to me if you would take a moment and show your support of indie authors (like me) by leaving a review. Your reviews are a very important part of helping readers discover new books.
Want to know more about me, or the date of the next book release? You can email me directly at: [email protected]. Also feel free to stalk me on:
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Thanks so much, and happy reading!
Books by Isabel Jordan:
Contemporary romance/romantic comedy
You Complicate Me
You Wrecked Me
Paranormal romance
The Harper Hall Investigations series reading order:
Semi-Charmed
Semi-Human
Semi-Twisted
Semi-Broken
Semi-Sane
Semi-Obsessed
The Harper Hall Investigations complete series boxset
Sample of Semi-Charmed
Chapter One
Whispering Hope, New York, today
Harper Hall swatted the fast-fingered hand of yet another horny, middle-aged CPA off her ass, but resisted the urge to dump tequila in this one’s lap. After all, the Prince Valiant haircut and underbite he was saddled with were punishments enough for his crimes.
“Hey, baby,” Valiant’s friend said as he fondled his shot glass suggestively. “Is that a mirror in your pocket? ‘Cause I can definitely see myself in your pants.”
Harper rolled her eyes and shot back, “Darlin’, I’m not your type. I’m not inflatable.”
And with that, she turned on the heel of one of her requisite six-inch platforms and started for the bar as the CPAs chortled and bumped knuckles. They were probably looking at her butt too, but Harper chose not to dwell on that, or on the fact that most of said butt was probably hanging out of her Daisy Dukes. Not her best look, to be sure.
Lanie Cale, one of the other waitresses, grabbed her arm and leaned in, shouting over the music, “Hey, can you take over for me with the guy at table five? Carlos is letting me dance tonight. I go on in ten.”
Harper gave her a quick once over. Lanie was five years her junior, ten pounds lighter, and had her beat by a full cup size. If she was Lanie, she’d probably aspire to be a stripper too. But as it stood, she was stuck waiting tables with the other B-cups.
“Sure,” she answered. “But, Lanie, this guy at table five…he’s not a CPA, is he? I don’t think I have the strength for another CPA.”
“No way is this guy a CPA. I’d bet Hugh Jackman’s abs on it,” she promised solemnly as she disappeared into the crowd.
At that moment, the sweaty throng of dancers and customers and waitresses parted, giving Harper her first glimpse of the guy at table five.
Wow. Hugh Jackman’s abs were in no danger tonight.
The guy at table five was definitely not an accountant. Serial killer, maybe. CPA…um, no.
Table five was wedged in the corner, to the extreme right of the stage, which was why no one usually wanted to sit there. But instinct told Harper this guy had refused to sit anywhere else. This was one of those never-let-anyone-sneak-up-behind-you types, maybe with a military or law enforcement background. Paranoid and probably with good reason.
Everything about him screamed tall, dark, and brooding. From the black hair long overdue for a trim to the black-on-black wardrobe, complete with biker boots and a Highlander-like leather trench, this guy was either a true rebel without a cause, or the best imitation of one she’d ever seen.
And he was drunk off his ass. Not the kind of happy, silly drunk the CPAs at table ten had going. No, Harper could tell by the wa
y he was ignoring the half-naked dancer on stage that he was drowning his sorrows.
Ignoring Misty Mountains wasn’t easy, either. Her brand new double D’s were mesmerizing, and the nipples kind of followed you wherever you went like the eyes on the creepy Jesus picture in her mom’s living room.
As Harper watched, he polished off a bottle of Glenlivet and set it beside two other empties. She sighed. He’d probably pass out before he remembered to tip her. God damn drunks would be the death of her.
Harper squared her shoulders and walked up to the table, then knelt beside him so he could hear her over the bassline of Bon Jovi’s Lay Your Hands On Me.
“Can I get you anything else, sir? Like coffee?” Hint, hint.
He didn’t even glance at her as he slid the empty bottles to the edge of the table and said, “Another bottle.”
His voice sent a shiver down her spine. It was gravelly, raspy, almost like he’d growled the words instead of speaking them. Sexy.
But sexy voice or not, she wasn’t about to serve him another bottle. He was probably a few inches over six feet and maybe a little over two-hundred pounds, but no one—not even a manly man like this one—could down four bottles of eighteen-year-old Glenlivet and blow a Breathalyzer that wouldn’t get him immediately arrested.
“I think you’ve probably had enough for tonight.”
He slowly glanced over at her as if he hadn’t really noticed her presence until just then. When her eyes locked with his, she completely forgot what they’d been talking about. Hell, who was she kidding? She forgot how to breathe.
This had to be the most gorgeous potential serial killer she’d ever seen.
He had a dark olive complexion most women would kill for, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and eyes that were either black or the deepest blue she’d ever seen—it was too dark in the club to tell for sure.
His perfectly arched black brows—and they had to be naturally perfect, because she was pretty sure this guy wouldn’t be caught dead waxing—raised sardonically as his gaze moved over her.
Harper fought the urge to suck in her stomach and desperately wished her uniform was a size eight instead of a four. She had dignity in a size eight. Class, even. In a four…not so much.
He lowered his gaze to her chest, and then slowly lifted it back to her eyes. “I doubt they’re paying you to think, sunshine.” Sliding the empty bottles even closer to her, he repeated, “Another bottle.”
He’d said it very slowly, deliberately, in a manner most people reserved for slow-witted children and foreigners. The only part of her that wasn’t at all impressed with the guy’s fallen-angel face—which just happened to be her Sicilian temper—kicked in at that point.
Harper straightened and snagged the bottles off the table, preparing to verbally flay him, but just when she’d figured out exactly how many four-letter words she could hurl at him in one sentence, a premonition hit her hard.
People often asked her what premonitions felt like. Imagine someone punching a hole through your forehead and making a fist around your brain, she always told them. This premonition was no different.
Harper staggered forward and planted one palm on the table to steady herself as images assailed her: a young, blonde woman in an alley pinned to a dumpster by a man twice her size.
A vampire, she knew instinctively. Cold chills always shot down her spine when she saw them.
Harper sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on details other than the victim, just like Sentry taught her so many years ago. Instead, she tried to picture the dumpster, the buildings around it, street signs…anything that might tell her where this girl was so she could call the police and get her some help.
And then she saw a logo printed on the side of the dumpster as big as life. Kitty Kat Palace.
Holy shit, the vamp and his victim were here.
Harper staggered back toward the kitchen, shoving drunks and other waitresses out of her way. In the kitchen, she tipped a wooden stool on its side and stomped on one of the legs.
She bent down and scooped it up, testing its weight in her hand. Not the best stake, but it would do. Hopefully.
Normally in a situation like this, Harper would let Romeo go after the vamp first, then help him if necessary. After all, slayers, even crappy ones like Romeo, were ten times stronger than the average human, and unfortunately, being a seer didn’t afford her any supernatural strength.
But Romeo—the rat bastard—was probably at the Bellagio, hip-deep in hookers and craps winnings at the moment.
Harper heard the woman scream as she kicked the back door open and stumbled into the alley.
Just like in her premonition, a biker-clad vampire had the small woman pinned up against the dumpster with the weight of his body, one beefy arm across her shoulders, his other hand clutching her jaw so that he had a clear shot at her jugular.
Harper’s heart clawed its way up to her throat as she met the woman’s horror-filled gaze. She could practically taste the woman’s fear.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to break eye contact, taking stock of the situation. Her gaze flicked over the vampire.
The vamp had at least eight inches and a hundred pounds on her. This could be a problem, common sense told her.
But as usual, her mouth didn’t listen to common sense. “Hey, asshole.”
The vampire raised his head from the woman’s throat, a crimson ribbon of blood dribbling down his chin. Cute.
“Why don’t you pick on someone more my size.”
Okay, so it was a line she’d picked up from watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns. Witty repartee should never be wasted, even if it wasn’t original.
He laughed, a hollow, cold sound that slithered up and down her spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “Run while you still can, little girl.”
She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I don’t think so, Vlad. Running? Not so much a good idea in these shoes.”
His fangs slowly retracted like a cat’s claws, making him look almost human. Almost.
“I like a girl with spirit,” he said. “Enhances her flavor.”
“Wow, that was almost clever. I’m shocked. I had you pegged as stupid and ugly. Maybe I can upgrade you to just ugly.”
Harper had forgotten how fast a motivated vampire could move. One second he was ten feet away, and half a heartbeat later, he stood close enough to backhand her.
And backhand her he did. For him it was careless, effortless. Like swatting a fly. It was still enough to fill her mouth with blood and knock her on her ass.
From her position on the ground, she noticed the blond still frozen in place against the dumpster. “Run,” she mouthed.
Obviously in shock, the blond stared at her as if she hadn’t noticed, and this time Harper shouted, “Run!”
The girl finally seemed to snap out of her stupor. She spun on her heel and fled down the alley.
Harper breathed a sigh of relief as she shakily climbed to her feet and faced a very large, very angry vampire.
Yipes.
“Bitch,” he said through clenched teeth, “I’m gonna take you apart piece by piece.”
Again, common sense wasn’t Harper’s co-pilot as she spat back, “Gee, that might be scary if I didn’t already know you hit like a girl.”
This time when he swung at her, she was ready for him. Harper kicked out as he lunged for her, catching him in the knee with her gold platforms.
He went down with a yelp. “You bitch!”
“Now, I’m getting real sick of you calling me that.”
Harper tried to kick him in the face, but he was too fast for her. He grabbed her ankle and yanked it out from under her. She landed on her butt with an unladylike grunt.
God, where was a good crossbow when she really needed one?
He was on her before she could scramble to her feet, pinning her to the ground with his weight. She managed to free one of her hands and gouged his eye, gagging a littl
e as her thumb sunk in up to the knuckle.
The vampire screeched and leapt off her, one hand pressed to what was left of his eye.
Harper stood up and raised the stake. “Now, I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to. If you run away now, we can forget this whole thing ever happened.”
He whipped a wicked-looking hunting knife out of his jacket pocket. “You’re gonna die slow.”
Harper took a big step back. So much for diplomacy.
But before she could come up with any other bright ideas, someone moved up fast behind her and shoved her out of the way. She hit the ground again.
Being a hero certainly wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Very hard on the tush.
“Who the fuck are you?” the vamp yelled, clutching the knife in one hand and his eye with the other.
“Death,” the newcomer answered dryly.
Harper’s head shot up. She’d know that voice anywhere.
Standing a few feet away from her, presenting her with his impressive profile, was Mr. Congeniality himself: the gorgeous, potential serial-killer from table five.
On a happier note, Harper realized that Mr. Personality was at least a head taller than the vamp and seemed to have more muscle weight. That might even the odds a little for the home team, she decided.
The vamp took a step back and raised his hands, suddenly all friendly and peace-loving. “Look, man, I got no problem with you.”
Harper snorted. “Who’s the bitch now, you big pussy?”
She slapped a hand over her mouth. Damn it, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Her savior glanced over at her and that was all the time the vamp needed. He swung out wildly, slicing neatly into Table Five’s stomach. Harper gasped as blood quickly dampened the fabric of his T-shirt.
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