The End
From outside time, deep calleth unto deep, and the reward of sin is bought...
In a remote churchyard in the middle of a deep forest, a green spark flared in the darkness. The spark changed and flickered, growing in strength as vines crept up the face of a pitted marble tombstone.
What was three hundred years to the Lord of Shadow? What was three hundred years to the Prince of Lies?
A man dressed in the rough robes of a priest stood before the tombstone and glared at the green flame as it flickered to life. The lantern formed around it, twisted vines winding and making the graceful shape that would encase the green flame. The vines hardened and shivered, becoming dark and twisted metal as glass spread between the tendrils and enclosed the fire within.
The words etched into the metal glowed red for a brief moment, and then faded and the shadowy figure smiled.
Three hundred years was nothing to him. He could wait another three hundred for the perfect bride to find him. She was out there, waiting, and the lantern would call to her, just as it had called to every bride before her.
Some things were just inevitable.
About the Author
Niobe Marsh is a penname of a prolific author of many genres of romance. Here you will find monsters, ghosts, paranormal lovers, dark heroes, and adventurous heroines in search of their happily ever after—whatever that means.
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A Hunter’s Moon
Dana Lyons
“I may be dead, but my prayers have been answered.”
Graduate investigative journalist Bella Shay never thought her first case would be to find her parent’s killers. Now, with that perpetrator behind bars, she’s ready to move on to her next case in spite of the death threats sent her way. When three handsome men appear in her life, she thinks her dreams and her prayers have been answered.
They have been.
Only, she has to be dead to collect them.
As an Immortal Bounty Hunter with three handsome Hellhounds at her beck and call, plus carte blanche from both Hell and Purgatory, she realizes … dead ain’t so bad.
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Where do you hide when a Hellhound comes for you? You can’t.
One
Zander followed the smart-ass kid, knowing the fool would instinctively head for a hole. He sucked his teeth. “Not so smart now, are you?”
Running footsteps echoed from an alley around the corner. “Yep. They always think to hide in the dark.” He rounded the corner and faced the darkest shadows the city could produce stretching the length of a long stinking alley. “You know there’s no way out for you now.”
His voice bounced down the alley, echoing eerily.
He took a step, and his shoe grated, adding a sense of expectation of when the next step would come. He cocked his head to listen.
There it is … the sob.
“Come on out. There’s no point in hiding—except to piss me off even more if I have to dig in the trash after you.”
A rustle came from a pile of trash bags and a cowering figure scrambled out. The figure reeked of offal and quivered head to toe. Zander circled him, raking his ice blue gaze over this pitiful representation of humanity. “A shabby attempt to evade the rules. I run the show and I make those rules for a reason,” he snarled. “Why would you commit such a violation when you know what will happen?”
The quivering increased along with the stench of fear. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I promise.”
“Your whining irritates me as much as your stink,” Zander replied. He stepped back and drew out his gun. Silence had wrapped hard around them, making the boy’s crying even more irritating. But the quiet was shattered when a muzzled 45 caliber shot entered the back of the kid’s head. The whining stopped, followed by a thud as the body collapsed to the ground.
“Hey!” a voice shouted from the open end of the alley.
Zander peered through the darkness, which suddenly lit up with a bright light aimed straight in his eyes.
Blinded, he never saw the bullet that entered his forehead
Zander writhed with agony. Pain like nothing he’d ever imagined swept through his body. His bones were breaking and his flesh was being torn from those broken shards. His joints were being pulled from their sockets and his eyeballs burned as if flames filled his skull. A bellyful of snakes crawled through his intestines.
Darkness surrounded him with no sign of relief. Once again, a snake wiggled through his guts and wrapped around his bladder, squeezing. Hot urine cascaded freely, pooling around him.
Unable to bear any more, he opened his mouth to scream.
In a dark stone chamber, Malachi, Master of the Hounds in the Purgatory dimension, waited calmly for his new arrival. One heartless murderer named Zander Morris had been cleared for duty … unless he wanted to return to Hell instead. But never had Malachi seen his offer turned down. After spending 30 seconds in Hell, which felt like a lifetime, working in Purgatory quickly became an offer too good to refuse.
He tipped his head, hearing a scream from the Hades dimension come closer. As the piercing sound hurtled from the very gates of Hell, he stepped back.
A vortex of energy, black and biting, opened and tossed out the man Zander. His scream curdled in his throat and he choked back sobs as he wrapped his arms around himself, eyes closed and legs drawn into a fetal position. Aside from his whimpers, the abrupt silence after the scream was painful.
Malachi snapped his fingers.
Zander opened his eyes. His hands cradled his face as he peered through his fingers. Tears shone on his cheeks and snot clung to his upper lip. His chin quivered as he pushed himself to sit. When his eyes reached Malachi, he froze.
Malachi swept an assessing gaze over him. Possibly handsome when cleaned up. This should be quite an adventure for Mr. Morris. “You may rise, Zander.” He motioned with his hands.
Glaring with obvious disdain through one squinted eye, Zander demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
“You will address me as Malachi.”
Zander scrambled to his feet. With a self-conscious duck of his head, he wiped his nose on his sleeve, then dropped his hands to cover his pissed pants. “Where am I?”
“You’re in Purgatory.”
Zander cocked his hip in an attempt to muster his macho. “What does that mean?”
Malachi gazed over him passively, admiring the arrogance, a trait he would put to good use. “It means you’re dead.”
A shocked grimace filled Zander’s face before his eyes clouded over. The grimace gave way to pain that turned to fear in a fleeting array of expressions. The quiver returned to his chin. “What happened?”
“You were shot point blank in the head. What do you remember?”
The quiver intensified. “All I remember is … that place. That awful place.”
Malachi let a slow smile spread. He’d heard the Hades dimension called much worse. “You mean Hell?”
Zander straightened his back. “Yeah. No surprise I ended up there. So why am I here—instead of there?” He gave Malachi the once over. “What are you?”
“I’m the Master of the Hounds.”
A surreptitious glance about revealed Zander’s dislike of dogs. “You have dogs?”
“Not dogs. Hounds. Hellhounds. And you’re now one of them.”
“I’m no dog.”
“Hellhound. There’s a great differ
ence.” Malachi snapped his fingers. Zander transformed into a Hellhound, complete with glowing red eyes and a threatening snarl.
“Sit. And listen,” Malachi commanded.
The hound snapped at Malachi with clear intention, yet wisely missed and sat as instructed. Malachi returned the hound’s disdain, pointing. “Purgatory. Your last stop before Hell, Zander, your last opportunity for redemption. You do remember what Hell was like, don't you? I can arrange for you to spend eternity there.”
All bravado quickly evaporated from the hound. Zander whined and dropped to the cold stone floor, covering his muzzle with his paws.
Malachi snapped his fingers again.
Zander returned to human form, wearing clean clothes. He wavered on his feet and complained. “Whoa, Dude, you have to give me some warning when you do that.” Once steady, he noticed his clothing and peered back with a calculating eye. “All right, what’s the gig?”
Ransom Andrews raked his gaze over his bed partner. She was blond, beautiful, filthy rich, and bored with her husband. Today, she was ready to move to the final stage in his long con game.
“You’re one handsome dog,” she purred, running her hand over his chest.
He laughed. “Well, you should have seen me when I was a puppy.” He’d drawn her in for a kiss when his gaze landed on the clock. “Oh, hell, I have to go.” He jumped from the bed. “Sorry, hon, got a business meeting. And you’ve made me late.” He grabbed his clothes and hurriedly dressed.
With a well-practiced pout exclaiming her displeasure, she reached to stop him and pulled his valise from his grasp. It hit the floor and spilled its contents—$250,000. Her gaze swept the pile of cash. He grimaced and shook his head. “Kim, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.”
Her pout spread into a smile. “What are you up to, lover?”
“Just a business deal, doll. One I can’t be late for. As you can see, I’ve a lot of money in this deal.” He went to the floor and scrambled to shove the bundled bills back into his valise.
“What kind of deal? One I want in on?”
He allowed a grin to form mentally. He’d been slowly bringing her to this point for the last two months. “I don't know, Kim. Aren’t you rich enough already?” He’d picked her for this con because he knew she had money to throw away and then some … as long as her husband didn’t find out.
What I’m going to take, he’ll never miss.
She crooked her finger and motioned him to the edge of the bed. When he was in reach, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her bare breasts into his chest. Next came her thick southern charm. “A girl can never have too much sex or money. Is there room in this deal for me, too?”
He knew he had her once the come-hither smile lit her face and the drawl came on like warm honey. She wanted this. “Depends on how much you want to make—and how much you’re willing to put in.” He gazed at the valise. “It’s a one million dollar buy in; this is my last 250K.”
“Tell me more,” she said.
“I’m one of a consortium buying oil shares—our payout for this deal is ten to one—that’s a ten-million-dollar guaranteed return. Look, I’ve got to go. Let me meet with them and I’ll mention I have another investor. It’s sort of last minute—the window for joining closes today.” He gave her the hot look, one guaranteed to melt her little panties. “Can you get the money by end of day?”
“Of course. I can have it by three o’clock.”
“Good. I’ll get you a spot when I meet with the others. Bring the money by my place and I’ll take it over to them personally.” He kissed her long and slow, full of promise, enticing her with his erotic spell. “A cool ten mil return—not bad for an afternoon fuck.”
She answered with her sugary drawl. “I’ll see you then.”
He darted out the door, not allowing his smile of satisfaction to break free until he’d driven out of the hotel parking lot. “Maybe not ten mil, but a cool mil of her money for two months of afternoon fucks isn’t bad.”
At home, everything was ready for her arrival. His packed bags were waiting in a private locker at the train station. All he had to do was collect the money from Miss-Hot-to-Trot and be on his way with enough bankroll to set up his next con. There’s no shortage of women waiting to be robbed by a handsome dog like me.
Intending to go up the coast to San Francisco, he bought his train ticket online. After a relaxing lunch and a couple of drinks, he was ready for her by three o’clock. Soon, a knock came at the door. Always punctual—no doubt inspired by her greed rather than her proper southern manners.
He smartly snapped the sleeves on his designer jacket and opened the door. As he expected, she held a valise. But tears streaked her face. Behind her stood an irate man he recognized as her husband.
Angry-husband shoved her across the threshold and she stumbled into Ransom’s chest. When she tried to grab him for support, he side-stepped, his focus on the dangerous man stomping into the room.
“Fuck my wife and steal my money?” the husband ground through clenched jaws.
“Look,” Ransom pleaded, spreading his hands with innocence as he backed up. “She threw herself at me and offered to give me the money. I had no idea—”
On one side, she stiffened with outrage. On the other side, movement caught his attention as the husband drew out a wicked looking knife. Ransom turned to bolt, but Kim threw the valise at his head. He raised his hands to grab it, noting it was empty once he caught it.
What he didn’t notice was the husband stepping in and plunging the knife up under Ransom’s ribs and into his heart.
Ransom grunted each time the knife entered again and again as it severed blood vessels and tore through his organs. He expected to be dead long before the knife kept stabbing him, but the horror of being ripped open over and over continued. Seeing no end to the torture, he prayed for death, whispering a long litany of promises if only God would make it stop.
The knife didn’t hear his prayers and continued plunging into his chest. When no relief came, he opened his mouth to scream.
Malachi nodded as another scream from the gates of Hell tore through Purgatory.
Zander, too, heard the torturous sound and cringed. “For fuck’s sake, what is that?”
Pressure built as a dark vortex began to form before them. Malachi stepped back and motioned to Zander. “You may want to move out of the way.”
The black energy spun madly, emitting the screech of an approaching tornado. A form erupted from the vortex, hit the floor with a grunt, and rolled into a tight ball.
Zander wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. Dude crapped his pants.”
Malachi snapped his fingers, bringing Zander back to his hound form. “I suggest you muster a level of respect for your fellow hounds; your redemption depends on how well you all work together.” He snapped his fingers and returned Zander to two legs.
The sniveling form on the ground had struggled to his feet. He ran his hands over his chest as if searching for something.
“Your innards are quite well,” Malachi said. “For a dead man.”
At the man’s alarmed expression, Zander stepped forward. “Don't worry.” He slapped the man on his back, adding, “I’m dead, too.”
“Ransom Andrews, meet Zander Morris. You two will be working together,” Malachi said.
“What the hell?” Ransom shouted. He pushed Zander back. “Get off me.” He turned to Malachi. “Where are we?” His face crumpled with a sad expression rife with fear and confusion. “What’s going on?” he cried as he gazed about the chamber.
In spite of Ransom’s rebuff, Zander put a brotherly arm over his shoulders and drew him near to whisper in his ear. “Do you remember it?”
Ransom went still as his gaze drifted. He hugged his chest. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Do you want to go back?” Zander prodded. After a vigorous shake from Ransom, he added, “This is Malachi. You want to listen to him … carefully.”
Dalton Ronhaus admired
the parade of young women before him. Blond, brunette, redhead, all were beautiful and recently abducted from their families. And all but one were crying or at some stage of sniveling. He clapped his hands. “Pay attention, girls.”
At his command, their pitiful sounds ceased, leaving expectation in its wake. He remembered a day when another voice, one very much like his, demanded something similar of him.
“Look here, boy. You’ll do as I say and make no sound about it, you hear me? If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s sniveling.”
With his gaze on the floor, Dalton didn’t see the large fisted hand that swung his way and knocked him down. He wanted to cry out in his pain, to beg for release from this torment … to run into his mother’s arms.
But she was gone and now he belonged to this man.
Such a memory was difficult to possess, difficult to recall, and impossible to erase.
I survived, so will you.
He returned his gaze to the girls again. Their expectant faces now waited for his edict. This control over others was a heady sensation, one he cultivated with every breath, for utter control of everything around him was the only way he felt safe enough to sleep at night. Never a victim again.
He cleared his throat loudly to establish silence so they wouldn’t miss a word. “Do always as you’re told and we’ll all live happily ever after.”
Wicked Souls: A Limited Edition Reverse Harem Romance Collection Page 140
