Rykaur: A SciFi Alien Romance (Enigma Series Book 8)

by Ditter Kellen

  Mary rolled over and propped her head on her palm. “How long are the Arkadians going to be here?”

  Rykaur turned his face toward her and kissed her lips. “I am not certain. But I do know that Melvin will be glad to see them go.”

  “I imagine.” Mary yawned. “I saw the way he looked at Zyen. It’s obvious he doesn’t like the blond warrior.”

  “Actually, I was thinking more about the way he looks at Kaspyn.”

  Mary’s bows lifted. “What do you mean?”

  “I am not sure, but there is a certain tension between them that one can barely block out. I cannot decide if it is disdain or attraction.”

  Recalling the last time she’d seen Melvin and Kaspyn in the same room together, Mary grinned. “My money is on disdain. Not that Kaspyn isn’t beautiful. She’s gorgeous, in fact. But Melvin doesn’t strike me as the type to be dominated.”

  “You think Kaspyn would dominate Melvin?”

  Mary laughed. “In a damn second.”

  Rykaur reached over and pulled Mary onto his chest. “Perhaps I wish to be dominated.”

  Grabbing onto his big hands, Mary pinned them over his head. “Shut up and kiss me.”

  ~The End~

  Coming July 2017 -Thrasher – Book Nine in the Bestselling Enigma Series.

  Coming June 2017 – The Billionaire’s Baby – A BBW Shifter Romance.

  She left him at the altar, and vanished without a trace…

  Coming June 2017 – Fully Engulfed – Book Three in the Scruples Series.

  Read Below for a Sneak Peek into the Pages of Ruby and the Beast. A Modern-Day Beauty and the Beast Tale.

  Chapter One

  Ruby Atwood stepped off the plane at the Louis Armstrong International Airport in Kenner Louisiana a little before noon.

  She glanced around at the familiar scenery with a heavy heart. Though Louisiana would always be her home, it would never be the same after today.

  Trailing off toward baggage claim, Ruby fought the tears that had been threatening since landing. She’d been notified by the New Orleans Criminal Investigative Division that a man resembling Charles Atwood had arrived in the morgue after a shooting at Barone’s Gentlemen’s Club the night before.

  As her father’s only living relative besides her nine-year-old brother, Cameron, it was left up to Ruby to identify the body. And she had little doubt that it was her father lying in that morgue. She’d been frantically calling him all night and morning to no avail.

  Poor Cam, Ruby thought, grabbing her bag and heading toward the front to hail a cab. He must be terrified.

  Cameron’s mother, Lucy Peters, a known prostitute and heroin addict, had left only days after Cameron’s birth, leaving Ruby and her father alone to raise him.

  The fact that Cameron hadn’t suffered any obvious adverse effects from the drugs his mother had taken during her pregnancy was a miracle in itself.

  “Excuse me,” a woman murmured, pulling Ruby out of her reflecting. “Do you have change for a dollar?”

  Ruby shook her head. Growing up in New Orleans, she knew just about every scam that could be run. And this woman was definitely a con. “I’m sorry, but I don’t carry cash.”

  Without bothering with a thank you, the woman scurried off in search of her next victim.

  The hot Louisiana sun baked the sidewalk with its scorching rays as Ruby made her way outside in search of a cab.

  Keeping her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of her bag, she brought her hand up and flagged a taxi that sat along the curb.

  The cab driver quickly pulled forward and rolled down the window. “Where to?”

  “Southside Medical Center on Canal Street,” Ruby returned, climbing into the backseat.

  The cab took off with a jolt, darting in and out of the airport traffic like a seasoned NASCAR driver. “Here for a visit or heading home?”

  Ruby met the cabbie’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “That all depends on what I find when I arrive.”

  But she knew. Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew that her father would be lying on a cold slab in the basement of that hospital.

  Obviously sensing that she didn’t feel up to chatting, the cabbie shifted his attention back to the road and the manic drivers in his path.

  Ruby turned to stare out the window, a feeling of dread settling in her gut. What was she supposed to do without her father? Moreover, what would Cameron do?

  Twenty minutes later, the cab slowed to a stop in front of Southside Medical Center. “That’ll be forty-five dollars.”

  Ruby dug two twenties and a ten out of the pocket of her jeans and handed it over the seat.

  “Would you like for me to wait?” the driver murmured, looking over his shoulder.

  Hesitating, she glanced at the hospital’s entrance before gripping the door handle, grabbing her bag, and stepping out. “No, thank you. I don’t know how long I’ll be.” She closed the door behind her.

  The hospital loomed in front of her, an overwhelming presence of death and gloom. Though most would see it as a beacon of hope, Ruby only saw finality and despair.

  A homeless man sat propped against the wall, unwashed and obviously hungry, if the size of his wrists were any indication.

  Ruby wondered if he had family somewhere who missed him, or if he was alone in the world with nowhere to go and no one who cared.

  She fished out another twenty-dollar bill from her pocket and handed it to him. “Get yourself a hot meal.”

  His faded brown gaze lifted to meet her own. “God bless you.”

  Ruby managed a weak smile, activated the sliding doors, and stepped inside.

  “May I help you?” an elderly woman asked from behind a small brown desk.

  Ruby noticed she wore a volunteer’s vest. “I’m looking for the morgue.”

  The older woman’s eyes flickered with compassion. She stood and half turned her frail body toward the hall. “Do you see the elevators?”

  At Ruby’s nod, she continued, “They will take you to the basement. Once you get off the elevator, take a left, and the morgue will be down on your right.”

  “Thank you,” Ruby murmured, trailing off in the direction of the elevators.

  She pressed the Down arrow, waited for the doors to open, and then stepped inside, switching her bag to the other hand.

  The elevator lurched downward with a quickness that rolled Ruby’s stomach before jerking to a stop in the basement.

  Ruby steadied herself while waiting for the doors to open, then stepped into the hall and took a left.

  Passing several doors along the way, she finally came to the one that read Morgue.

  Her hand shook as she lifted it to knock.

  It opened a few moments later, and a balding man wearing a white coat stood in the entrance. “What can I do for you?”

  Ruby stared at the mask hanging askew around his neck. “I’m Ruby Atwood. I’m here to identify my— One of your…”

  “Yes, of course, Miss Atwood,” he interjected, saving her from speaking the words aloud. “Right this way.”

  Stepping inside, Ruby waited for the door to close before allowing her gaze to scan her surroundings.

  Two stainless steel tables sat in the center of the room. A set of matching sinks was perched nearby, and large shiny drawers lined the opposite wall.

  “I’m Doctor Crowder,” the man announced, waving a hand toward the rows of drawers. “You will be doing this alone, then?”

  Ruby pinched the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else.”

  “Very well.”

  Following him across the room, Ruby stood back as he gripped the handle to one of the drawers and slowly tugged it open. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  At Ruby’s nod, he gently pulled the sheet down to the man’s chest and took a step back.

  Fear of what she would see damn near took Ruby to her knees. She inched forward until the dead man’s face came into view.

  “Oh God,” she moaned,
her hand going to her mouth. Tears sprang to her eyes, instantly spilling over to track down her cheeks. “Daddy…”

  Chapter Two

  The Beast prowled the halls of his riverside mansion, inconsolable and furious beyond comprehension.

  He knew his staff huddled downstairs in fear, but he didn’t care. Charles Atwood was dead. The only man alive that could break the curse the Beast had lived with for nearly thirty years.

  Born Lincoln Barone, the Beast had been cursed for the sins of his father, Stanford Barone, by Agatha Atwood, Charles’s mother.

  According to Agatha, Stanford had seduced her only daughter, Charlotte. After learning that she carried his child, Charlotte had approached Stanford with the news, only to be turned away and told never to contact him again.

  Unable to bear the pain of losing him, Charlotte threatened to go to Stanford’s equally pregnant wife. Needless to say, Charlotte disappeared that night, and her body was never recovered.

  Agatha had gone into a rage, ranting about revenge and voodoo curses. A week later, a card arrived on the doorstep addressed to Stanford’s unsuspecting pregnant bride. It read, maledictus. Latin for cursed.

  Stanford had chalked it up as the ramblings of a grieving mother, until the day his hideous son screamed his way into the world, and his beautiful young bride closed her eyes forever.

  “Stiles!” the Beast roared, spinning toward his darkened bedroom. He could hear the butler’s footsteps rushing up the stairs.

  “Sir?” Stiles breathed, obviously nervous and out of breath.

  Satan, the one hundred-forty-five-pound gray wolf lying near the foot of the bed, growled low in his throat as Stiles came barreling into the room.

  Keeping his back to the butler, Lincoln pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, unclenched his teeth, and spoke in a voice more beast than man. “Are you sure Atwood is dead?”

  “I-I spoke with the coroner,” Stiles stammered. “The daughter has identified him.”

  The Beast stilled, every muscle in his body taught with tension. “Ruby is here?”

  “Y-yes sir. She arrived in town around noon today.”

  Letting that piece of information sink in, Lincoln moved to the window to stare out at the river beyond. “Call Templeton. I want him here within the hour.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  The Beast waited for the door to close behind Stiles before turning to peer down at what was left of the rose encased in glass, resting on his nightstand.

  Four more weeks, Lincoln thought, lightly touching the fragile glass, and the hell he’d been born into would forever be his fate.

  Stalking across the room to sit on the side of his bed, Lincoln lifted his gaze to the covered mirror in the corner, and a growl similar to Satan’s rumbled in his chest. He wouldn’t look. He refused to.

  The mirror continued to mock him the longer he sat here, calling to him and taunting him with its inhumanity.

  With a snarl of surrender, the Beast jumped to his feet, strode across the room, and ripped the covering away from the mirror.

  A howl rose up, but he swallowed it back as he stared into the eyes of the man he would never be.

  He lifted an unsteady hand to his face, afraid to touch it yet unable to stop himself. The feel of the skin beneath his fingers told a different story from the man he saw in the mirror.

  But he wasn’t a man, he acknowledged, feeling the dusting of hair on his cheeks and nose, the slants to the corners of his eyes, his larger than normal forehead. And his teeth. He didn’t even want to think about his teeth. He’d seen less frightening teeth on Satan.

  Yet the man staring back at him from the reflection of the mirror had a square jaw, full lips, electric blue eyes, and straight white teeth.

  “Damn you, witch!” the Beast cursed, batting the mirror away from him. “Damn you to hell!”

  The sound of glass breaking did little to soothe his rage. Even if he never looked into that damnable mirror again, the image of his true form would forever be burned into his brain.

  A soft knock on his bedroom door brought Lincoln’s head up. “Come.”

  “I brought you some dinner,” Mrs. Tuff announced, opening the door and stepping into the room. She held a large covered tray in her hands.

  The Beast barely spared her a glance. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I’ll just leave it right here for you in case you change your mind.”

  Feeling slightly annoyed that he’d allowed his temper to surface, Lincoln waved the housekeeper forward. “I’ll take it.”

  She hesitated.

  “I said, I’ll take it!” he snapped, holding out his hand.

  Mrs. Tuff scrambled forward, her eyes wide with uncertainty, and handed him the tray.

  Lincoln noticed that she wore makeup and her hair appeared different. “Are you going out?”

  Clearing her throat, she stared at a place beyond his shoulder, an obvious attempt to avoid looking upon his hideous face. Not that he blamed her.

  “Stiles and I are having dinner together in the dining room,” she whispered while wringing her hands. “Would you care to join us?”

  It was no secret that Stiles and Mrs. Tuff were sleeping together, and had been for years. A normal person wouldn’t have heard the soft sounds they made in the middle of the night, but the Beast wasn’t normal. Far from it in fact. His beastly ears could hear as well as his wolf, Satan. If not more so.

  “I prefer to eat in my room,” was all Lincoln could manage.

  Mrs. Tuff continued to stand there, staring over his shoulder. He assumed she was waiting for him to dismiss her. “Go eat. And be sure to send Templeton to me the moment he arrives.”

  With a quick nod, the housekeeper scampered from the room as if Satan had suddenly bounded to his feet and came after her.

  The Beast glanced over at Satan in envy. The wolf had not a care in the world other than his next meal and finding a tree to hike his leg on.

  The giant wolf lifted his head and pawed at the floor in front of him. He didn’t care about Lincoln’s looks or the raspy growl of his voice. The wolf loved the Beast unconditionally. And Lincoln was more than aware that it would be the only love he would ever have.

  Chapter Three

  Ruby arrived home a little after dark. She paid the driver and climbed from the cab with her bag in hand.

  After filling out the proper paperwork at the morgue, she’d spent the next three hours at the police department being questioned by a seasoned detective with a bad attitude.

  Detective Richard Hall was the lead investigator assigned to her father’s case. He’d informed Ruby that Charles Atwood had been last seen gambling at Barone’s Gentlemen’s Club on Bourbon Street the night before. He’d been shot shortly after leaving the club.

  Ruby had also found out that Cameron was at Mrs. Fleming’s, the next-door neighbor, where Charles had left him before going out the night before.

  Mrs. Fleming had often taken care of Ruby after school as well in her younger years, and Ruby trusted her with her life.

  Rushing up the steps to her two-story home on Royal Street, Ruby unlocked the door and slipped inside.

  Her heart seized as the silence quickly enveloped her. She would never again see her father’s smiling face or hear his booming laughter.

  Blinking back the tears that threatened once more, Ruby numbly made her way to her bedroom, dropped her bag on the floor, and threw herself across her bed.

  Who would want to kill her father? He was the gentlest soul Ruby had ever known.

  She rolled to her back to stare up at the ceiling. Why would her father return to gambling after ten years of walking the straight and narrow?

  Her stomach abruptly growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the day before. But the thought of food nauseated her.

  Slowly rising, she made her way to the bathroom to rise her overheated face.

  Ruby stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Dark circles adorned
her red-rimmed eyes—eyes that appeared foreign to her, as if they belonged to someone else.

  No matter how much her mind screamed in denial, her father was gone, and life without him would never be the same.

  After repeatedly splashing her face with cool water from the sink, Ruby pulled her hair back into a ponytail, took a calming breath, and left the bathroom.

  She approached her father’s bedroom with trepidation, stopping in front of his door with her hand on the knob.

  Not yet, Ruby silently acknowledged, releasing her hold on the knob and turning away. I’m not ready.

  The thought of going through her father’s things, breathing in the smell of his cologne that always permeated his room was more than Ruby could handle at the moment.

  She trailed off toward the front door and stepped out onto the small covered porch.

  The familiar scents of New Orleans enveloped her in a blanket of comfort as they always did. Lights and sounds merged together to mingle with the laughter and murmuring of voices coming from both sides of the street.

  Ruby studied the mass of smiling tourists chattering away as they moved along the sidewalks like ants in search of their next hill.

  She shook off her thoughts, melding into the constantly moving throng of people to reach Mrs. Fleming’s porch.

  Rubbing her sweaty palms along the front of her jeans, Ruby reached up and pressed the doorbell. The door opened a moment later.

  “Ruby,” Mrs. Fleming crooned, pulling Ruby into a warm hug. “I have been so worried about you. You haven’t answered your phone.”

  Hugging the elderly woman back, Ruby kissed her weathered cheek. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fleming. I’ve had a lot going on.”

  “I know you have, dear.” Mrs. Fleming pulled back to gaze into Ruby’s eyes. “Cameron is in the TV room. He doesn’t know about your father, yet. I figured it would be better coming from you.”

  Stepping inside and closing the door behind her, Ruby squeezed the old woman’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough for always being here for us. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”