Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

by Laura Kaye

  Chrys reared back his arm just as the bird turned its feminine head. He swung the dagger in a vicious slash, opening up a bright, red gaping wound in its throat. The Harpy issued a gurgling screech and flailed, but didn’t drop his brother.

  A blast of North Wind knocked him back. Chrys cloaked himself in more of the South. But the sub-zero air surrounding him would wear through his reserves quickly. Just where he was, the rain froze and ice pelted him, cutting and bruising his face and arms.

  He launched himself at the bird-woman again. It thrust its wing out to protect its core, so Chrys jammed the blade through the feathers and used the leverage to pull himself up the Harpy’s big body.

  With an outraged screech, it dropped Boreas, leaving him dangling by one arm in the other Harpy’s clutch.

  That’s right, you screeching bitch.

  He tugged the blade free, lunged for its neck, and aimed hard and fast for its chest.

  Eurus materialized right in front of him, arms outreached to block the blow.

  The dagger sliced full and deep across the palm of Eurus’s hand and plunged into the Harpy’s chest. His brother roared in pained outrage; the bird screeched in agony.

  Eurus lunged at him. Pain exploded across Chrys’s cheekbone. The blow knocked him back, forcing him to pull the knife free, but the job was done.

  A wall of frigidity rammed into him. Then another. From every angle, the blistering North Wind battered him until he was in a freefall with no idea which way was up. He could do nothing, nothing but grip the dagger with all his might. He couldn’t lose it.

  Commotion erupted above him. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed in deep cracks. The remaining Harpy screeched. The cavalry had arrived. He was vaguely aware of Zeph’s and Aeolus’s voices.

  He slammed into the churning black water.

  Time slowed to a crawl as the impact reverberated through every part of him. The sea might as well have been cement for how much it cushioned his fall.

  The height from which he fell drove him under. Waves rolled and crested overhead.

  The cold stole his breath, made his muscles seize, and his joints threaten to snap.

  Extreme heat, Chrys could do all day long. The cold, though? That was a complete show-stopper. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

  His skin, his lungs, his eyes—everything burned.

  Something seized his neck. Chrys gasped, sucking in great mouthfuls of cold sea water.

  Jesus, not like this. Don’t let it end like this.

  Cold. Alone. So many regrets.

  Consciousness flickered.

  Not yet. Not before I can… In a flash, Laney’s beautiful face, her dark hair, her deep blue eyes, all came to mind. He struggled to hold on to the image, onto why it mattered.

  But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. It faded, and Laney was gone, and so was everything else.

  …

  Laney pushed away her empty ice cream bowl and rubbed her stomach. “So good, Tabitha. Thank you.” She glanced at the clock. Ninety minutes had passed since she’d talked to Seth. Depending on rush-hour traffic, he’d be here within two to three hours. God, let the Beltway be a parking lot. She needed every minute to figure out how to explain the situation.

  “Can I have more of the orange?” Owen asked.

  Everyone chuckled. It was his second serving of seconds.

  “What?” he asked.

  “All yours. Makes me happy to see,” Tabitha said.

  She’d come over about an hour before, and Megan had whipped up a quick and hearty salad with crisp lettuce, chunky vegetables, sweet fruit, and grilled chicken. Summer in a bowl. The four of them had chatted while they ate, Teddy eating and playing at Megan’s side, and the fun, free-flowing conversation set Laney more at ease. For the first time since she’d woken up scared in the middle of the night, she felt comfortable, like these people were friends.

  “So, Laney,” Megan said. “What kinds of things do you write— What is it, Owen?”

  Laney frowned and tried to scan their faces, unsure what she’d missed.

  His spoon clanked and he jerked into a standing position, judging by the movement of the white light around him. “I’m very sorry, Tabitha. This is rude and unexplainable, but you should go.”

  “What?” she said.

  “Owen?” Megan asked again.

  Laney’s stomach rolled. The quiet alarm in Owen’s voice, so different from his usual easy-going demeanor, told her something was very wrong. “It’s okay,” he said. “Damn, too late.”

  What was happening? Did it have something to do with Chrys?

  An image slammed into her mind: the god they called Boreas, prostrate on the ground, Owen, Megan, others kneeling around him, Zeph pressing on his chest. She gasped as the scene disappeared as quickly as it came.

  Out of nowhere, a commotion erupted in the living room. Men’s voices. Groans. Oh, God. Owen’s light darted across the room. Footsteps followed.

  A hand grasped hers. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Tabitha asked.

  What the hell was she supposed to say? In truth, no, not really. And what she did know would make her sound crazy. “Uh…”

  “Come on,” she said, urging Laney up.

  “I think we should give them some space,” Laney hedged. Surely Tabitha didn’t know what Owen, Boreas, and the others were. Owen had ordered her to leave for a reason. Obviously his senses had alerted him to the appearance of his magical family.

  Tabitha tugged her up. “Sounds like someone’s hurt.”

  Fear tightened Laney’s throat. “I know.”

  “You know something.”

  Finally, Laney nodded. “Owen’s family. They’re…different.”

  “I’ll take care of Boreas. Help Chrys,” a male voice ordered. Zephyros?

  Why does Chrys need help? Every fiber of Laney’s body demanded to know what was going on. Indecision pulled Laney in two directions. But Owen was right, with his family already here and having appeared out of thin air, it was too late to shield Tabitha from knowing more than she should. “Please guide me in?”

  She wrapped Laney’s hand around her arm. They crossed the room and passed through the doorway. “Oh, my God,” Tabitha said.

  Heart beating a mile a minute, Laney scanned her vision over the sudden crowd of people—gods, by all the divine auras—who suddenly filled the room. Zeph leaned over Boreas, who was sprawled on the floor. Owen and Megan were at his side, Teddy’s fussing ratcheting into a full-out cry.

  “Stay here a minute. I’m going to grab Teddy,” Tabitha said.

  Laney nodded, still searching for Chrys. Men—gods—she didn’t know stood at the windows. One pushed by her and moved to the back door, judging by the sound of his footsteps. Thunder rumbled overhead and she gasped.

  Where was Chrys? Between the number of people, the rush of voices, Teddy’s cries, and the storm brewing outside, both her vision and her hearing struggled to make sense of it all. Why couldn’t she at least find the golden glow she normally saw around him?

  “Let me have him, Megan.”

  “What? Oh, God, Tabitha, I’m so sorry you have to see this.”

  “Don’t worry about that now. I’ll take care of him. Should I call 9-1-1?”

  “No,” a chorus of voices responded.

  “We need to get him warm,” a man’s voice said. Who were they talking about? And where was Chrys? “Find as many blankets as you can.”

  “Go with Ted,” Owen urged. Wind gusted against the side of the house.

  “No, I’m not leaving Boreas.”

  The sound of the baby’s cry neared. “Come on, Laney,” Tabitha said.

  The depth of her disorientation tempted her to flee. But she couldn’t, not without knowing… “No. I— Do you see a blond-haired man?”

  “Uh.” She paused, as if looking. “On the floor, by the stairs, but—”

  “Is the path clear between here and there?”

  “I really think you should—” />
  “Please.”

  “Stay to the right, but there’s a chair sticking out in the corner.” The one she’d sat in at the meeting the other night. Tabitha’s description was just enough to orient her in the room, even if the specifics were vague.

  She crossed the space, passing first by Boreas and those helping him. Déjà vu had her pausing near them. This was just like that weird thing she’d seen at the table. A premonition? Instinct? Yeah.

  “You’re killing me with kindness, Zephyros,” Boreas gritted out.

  His voice captured her attention, and she stared down at the small grouping. Between Boreas’s white and Zeph’s blue, a soft yellow glow trailed over the older man’s body. What in the world?

  “Yeah, well, when I’m done you can pay me back.”

  Boreas laugh-grunted. “Do not make me laugh right now.”

  Laney forced herself away and zeroed in on a brilliant silver aura with flashes of gold throughout. Sprawled on the floor in front of the owner of that unique light lay Chrys, his aura so pale it was no wonder she hadn’t perceived it from across the room. He was shivering and mumbling, fragments of words only occasionally discernible.

  She sank to her knees on the carpet near his head and reached out a hand. “Chrys?”

  “Keep back,” a deep voice ordered.

  Laney jerked away. She scanned her vision over the huge god at Chrys’s side dressed all in black, long brown hair pulled back.

  “He has a knife and is delirious. We don’t need another injury.”

  Emotion squeezed her throat. She nodded and dropped her gaze to Chrys. She yearned to touch him, to prove that he was here, to let him know she was there for him. “What’s wrong with him?”

  The god ignored her. “His energy is all over you.”

  Heat roared over her face, but as the full meaning of his words sank in, a fierce satisfaction filled her. “Good.”

  She got the distinct feeling he was observing her. When she looked up, she saw that she was right. She found his gaze. His eyes were a brilliant green, so like… He and Chrys were related. She was sure of it. But it was a conversation for another time.

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and stopped just before the bottom. “Here are blankets.”

  “Good, set them there and help me hold him down so we can disarm him. He won’t let the dagger go.” Thunder boomed ominously nearby.

  Hold him down… She gasped. “No! You can’t.” She leaned in closer, careful not to touch him. “Chrys, it’s Laney. Can you hear me?” His head jerked toward her. “Chrys, come on, wake up. Can you hear me?”

  “You’re Laney?” the huge god asked. “He’s been saying your name.”

  He has? Pressure filled her chest until she thought it might burst.

  She focused on his face. So pale. Blue tinged his lips. “Chrys—”

  “Laney,” he groaned. His eyelids heaved open once, twice, but sagged closed again. “La….”

  “I’m here. You’re at Owen’s. Everyone’s here.”

  He whispered something she couldn’t make out. His eyelids opened wider this time, and his teeth chattered. He moaned, a huge shudder wracking through him.

  “What’s happening?” she asked. Rain pounded out a beat on the windows.

  “It’s akin to severe hypothermia.”

  “We have to warm him.” She rested the back of her hand against his forehead. So cool, too cool. She was so used to his unusual warmth that he actually felt cold to her.

  He groaned and pushed his face against her hand.

  Oh, he sought her touch! “He won’t hurt me,” she whispered. Instinct had her speaking the words, but the truth of them coursed through every cell in her body. “He won’t.” She crowded in closer and cradled his face in her hands. So cold. “Open your eyes. Chrys. Listen to my voice and open them.”

  He obeyed, but his eyes struggled to focus. “La…”

  “Yes. Listen. We need to help you. You’re holding a knife. Give it to—” She looked over a shoulder at the god beside her.

  “Aeolus. I’m his father.”

  Oooh. She couldn’t even process that tidbit right now. “Give the knife to your father.”

  “No.”

  “Chrys—”

  “No, y-you.”

  “What?” He was so out of it. What if he didn’t get better? Was that even a possibility for someone like him?

  “You…knife. In c-case.”

  Her heart squeezed. He wanted her to have it? “Okay, okay,” she said, worry and love for him nearly overwhelming her. Love? She shook her head and forced herself to concentrate. “Which hand holds the knife?” she asked his father.

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “I’m nearly blind. Which hand?”

  “Right.”

  “I’m going to take the knife now. Chrys? Okay?”

  “You.”

  “Yes, me.” She crawled around his other side so she could touch him as little as possible. Last thing she wanted was to increase his discomfort. Dragging her fingers down his right arm, she half expected him to flinch or pull away, but he didn’t. Finally, her hand reached his, curled in a tight, shaking fist around the grip of the dagger. “Let go. I’ll take it.” Just when she was sure he wouldn’t, his hand slowly turned and his fingers went lax. She felt for the grip and grabbed it.

  Holy crap, it was heavy. Far heavier than it looked. And icy in her hands. But she’d told him she’d take it, and he wanted her to have it.

  “Bring the blankets,” Aeolus said.

  She leaned away from his chest as his father and the other men spread blankets over Chrys. Drawing close to his face, she whispered, “You’re going to be okay. You hear me?”

  His head lolled toward her. “S-so-rry.”

  “Shh.”

  “Sor-ry.”

  “Hey. All you need to worry about right now is getting better.” Unable to resist, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. I love you. The thought came unbidden, spiking Laney’s heart rate even further, but she just couldn’t sit and analyze it now.

  Chrys tossed aside the covers and pulled her against him, his arms bands of steel around her back.

  Laney gasped at the unexpected move, but then nearly melted into him. He was just doing it for warmth, she knew that. But it was so like the hugs she’d yearned to be able to give him that she couldn’t care.

  Except he was so cold. Shivers wracked through him.

  “Chrysander, you need the blankets,” his father said.

  “He’s freezing. If he needs this, just cover us both.” She pushed herself atop him, careful to keep the knife away from his body, wrapped her free hand under his big shoulders, and nestled her face against his neck.

  He groaned and pulled her in tighter, like he was trying to climb inside her skin. And if she could’ve done that for him, she would’ve. How many times had he healed her? Just once, to have the power to do this for him. She would do anything.

  Heavy layers of blankets draped across her back, covering them both.

  Dampness seeped through her clothing. His was wet…and a big part of the cold she felt. She lifted her head to Aeolus. “His clothes are wet. We should get them off him.” She willed the threatening embarrassment at the statement away.

  “You love him.”

  Competing reactions surged through her. Hesitation to admit it was true. Embarrassment at his father asking this, and in front of his entire family—not that they appeared to be paying any attention. And, if she did, fear of him not thinking her good enough. His pause when she’d revealed her disability hadn’t escaped her notice. None of which mattered right now. Only Chrys did. And she was prepared to give him whatever he needed to survive this.

  “Yes, I do, but—” She gasped.

  His clothes disappeared. And so did hers.

  “Your heat will help him,” he said in a low voice. “Fear not. We will keep you covered. Watch over them,” he said to another god. “I will go restrain the storms.” />
  She buried her face in Chrys’s neck, not understanding everything going on around her, but also not caring. It took only a moment for her self-consciousness to fade, for everything else to fade away, until there was just the two of them. He needed her, and she’d do anything for him.

  “I’ve got you, Chrys. I’ll take care of you,” she murmured. For however long she could. For however long he’d let her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chrys couldn’t stop shivering. Aches throbbed through his joints. His jaw was stiff. Even his teeth hurt.

  So cold. The kind of cold that got inside you and never left.

  Except… The more he pushed through the fog of pain, the more he sensed a warmth. And, maybe he was dreaming, but he swore he could smell Laney’s warm, sweet scent. He forced the twenty-pound weights that were his eyelids open. “Laney?” he rasped.

  She lifted her head. “I’m here.” Her hand skated up and stroked the side of his face, his hair.

  Confusion swamped him. Where were they? Who was shouting? And why was Laney on top of him?

  Panic loomed in the distance as the meaning of that last question sank in. She covered him from neck to shins. But though it threatened, the panic didn’t come. All he felt was relief, comfort, gratitude. A sign of just how desperate his condition, no doubt.

  He became aware again of her hand petting his hair and forced his eyes to focus on her pretty face. Worry furrowed her brow even as her lips shaped into a small smile.

  Almighty Zeus, he thought he’d never see her again.

  “Hi,” he managed to say.

  Her smile brightened. “Hi.”

  A series of images flickered through his mind, but he couldn’t make them stick long enough to make sense of them. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know the details, but it seems there was some kind of attack. And you’re way too cold. They said you needed heat. But I know you don’t like, um, to be touched, so I’ll get up if you—”

  “Stay.” He swallowed the lump that took up residence in his throat. No judgment. No drama. It was like she just…got him. “I need you.” And I want you. Even if he didn’t deserve her. Selfish bastard that he was, that didn’t mean he could give her up. At least not right now. Not with his power drained so achingly low, not with the cold emptiness crawling through every part of him. And fuck if using her this way didn’t make him the world’s biggest asshole.