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

by Laura Kaye

  “It’s quite sweet really,” Chloe said. “Jamie and you, I mean. It’s like he wants to look after you.”

  “I don’t need looking after.”

  Chloe patted her arm. “Of course you don’t, sweetie. How did it go with the private investigator?”

  “I never got to see Mr. Grant.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “He couldn’t make it. I saw Christian Roth instead. He’s the owner of the company.”

  Chloe gaped at her. “You saw Christian Roth?”

  Tara nodded. “Do you know him?”

  “No one knows him. At least, if they do, they don’t talk about it. He’s like this totally mega-rich recluse. Absolutely gorgeous, or so the rumors go. There’s always stuff in the papers about him but never photographs. I can’t believe you got to see him. What was he like?”

  “He was very nice.”

  “Very nice?” Chloe said, her voice rising in disbelief. “I can’t believe anyone would actually get to see Christian Roth and have the nerve to say he was ‘very nice.’ Come on, spill the beans, tell all.”

  “Tell all what?” Jamie placed a very small glass of wine in front of Tara, and another pint of Guinness for Chloe.

  “Tara had a meeting with Christian Roth.”

  “Really? That’s…interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Chloe shook her head. “It’s not interesting. It’s amazing.”

  Tara inspected her drink. She thought about taking a sip but decided to put it off a little longer. After all, breaking Rule Number Two was a momentous occasion, and she was determined to treat it as such. Instead, she considered what to say to Chloe.

  “Christian Roth was…” She paused, unsure how to express what she’d felt about it, yet equally unsure she wanted to put it into words. “The rumors were wrong. He isn’t gorgeous, at least not in any normal way, but there was something about him. It’s more than looks, there’s this sort of aura.”

  Chloe sighed. “That, my friend, is pure power. He runs that company single-handedly, and it’s huge. The Investigations side is only a tiny part. And yet, he took an appointment with you. It’s unbelievable, and not a little strange.” She considered Tara for a moment. “Maybe he caught a glimpse of you coming into the building and liked what he saw. Did he make a pass?”

  “No, he didn’t!” But Tara remembered the hot look in his eyes as he held her hand, the energy that had leapt between them at his touch.

  “So is he going to take the job?” Jamie asked.

  Tara nodded. “I left some papers with him. I’m going back in a couple of days. He reckons there will be some sort of logical explanation for what my aunt did.”

  “Oh come on, Tara,” Chloe said. “Logical? What sort of person keeps their kid in total isolation? And uses moral blackmail to make them stay.”

  “She was ill,” Tara said gently.

  Chloe ignored the interruption. “I bet he finds out that she lost her own baby or something and decided to grab another one.”

  “I suppose it’s possible.” But something told Tara the solution wasn’t that simple.

  Chloe continued, “Why don’t you do a search on old kidnapping cases and find out if any babies went missing around that time?”

  “It can’t do any harm,” Jamie added. “You might even be able to do it on the Internet.”

  Tara felt her interest rise. At least it was something she could do herself instead of sitting around waiting. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Now, to breaking that rule.”

  The wine was pale golden. She raised the glass to her nose and breathed in the light, fruity fragrance. Glancing up, she found Jamie watching her intently. She held his eyes as she brought the glass to her mouth and took a sip. The wine was cool, not sweet but tart, and refreshing. She swallowed, felt the liquid slide down her throat. She smiled at Jamie. “See? Absolutely no—”

  She stopped mid-sentence and frowned. There was a sharp, bitter aftertaste that burned in her throat. She was about to comment on it when something went pop inside her head. Flames flickered in her belly and a wave of wild exhilaration washed over her. Alcohol was even better than she’d expected. She wanted to get up, run, scream, rip something to pieces, preferably with her teeth. And she was hungry, ravenously hungry. She wanted meat.

  Which was weird because she was a vegetarian.

  Still, she needed to get up. She put her hands on the table and pushed. Nothing happened. She seemed to have no strength in her arms. She stared at Jamie and Chloe, who watched from across the table, eyes wide with shock.

  “Tara, what is it?”

  She licked her dry lips. “I want—” The words stuck in her throat, she could hardly force them out of her mouth. She gripped the edge of the table until her fingers hurt. The world was shrinking, a black mist encroaching around her until all she could see was a small circle of light that framed Jamie’s face.

  “Tara?”

  His voice sounded as though it was a long way off. The circle shrank to a pinprick and everything went black.

  Chapter Three

  Christian woke as the sun went down over London.

  He stretched, reveling in the feeling of well-being—he hadn’t felt this alive in decades. He’d hunted the previous evening, and his body was replete, filled with power. But it was more than just the feeding. Piers had been right. He missed the excitement of heading the Order, and now he had the chance to go back.

  There was also his newest client, Tara Collins. His mind filled with the intoxicating scent of her. The sensible thing would be to keep their interactions strictly on a business footing. Relationships with humans never worked.

  Only trouble was, he was bored with being sensible.

  The Order and Tara Collins. What to do?

  He stood in front of the open closet and knew he’d made his decision when he pushed aside the formal business suits and pulled on his old Order gear.

  He paused on his way out of the building to talk to Graham.

  “Nice outfit,” Graham said, his gaze running over Christian’s long black leather coat.

  Christian placed the file he’d gotten from Tara on the reception desk. “I want you to look at this. Find out what you can on the aunt.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  It was still early when he walked into the bar, and most of the tables stood empty. Slow music played in the background, and the lights were dim. Ella’s scent lingered in the air, sharp and acrid. Christian found her sitting on one of the stools that lined the back wall and took a moment to study her. She hadn’t aged in the thirty years he’d known her, and he wondered who’d paid for that—all magic had a price, and Ella had never been too particular about who paid it.

  She’d dressed to impress in a skintight dress the color of fresh blood. It showed off her perfect figure, slender yet with all the right curves, but then Ella was unlikely to leave that sort of thing up to nature. He wondered what she looked like shorn of all the spells. Some sort of raddled old hag was his guess, complete with warts on her nose.

  She wore sheer black stockings and crimson stilettos. Her legs were crossed and one foot bounced in the air. Glancing up as he approached, her sullen expression was replaced by a curving smile that didn’t quite reach her dark eyes.

  Christian strode over and stopped in front of the table. “You came.”

  “The great Christian Roth calls and everyone comes running.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t reply.

  Ella shrugged. “Piers ordered me to come and give you anything you want.” She stared up at him from sultry eyes, hot and sensual. “What do you want, Christian?”

  Shuddering in disgust, he made no effort to conceal the reaction, and she scowled.

  “You could at least make an effort to be pleasant. You asked for this meeting, after all.” She wiped the frown from her face with practiced ease and smiled again. “Come on Christian, honey, we could have fun together. You liked me once.”

  “Let’s be c
lear about this.” His voice was ice cold. “Be thankful I left the Order when I did. If I’d stayed, you would have died twenty years ago.”

  The smile slid from her face, and for a moment, fear showed in her expression. But she quickly regained control. “Don’t be so sanctimonious, you’ve killed—countless times. Why look down on me for doing the same thing? The Order knows I can’t do my work without making some sacrifices.”

  “And are all the sacrifices you perform for your work?” Christian grabbed her chin between his finger and thumb, forcing her to look into his eyes. He studied her pale flawless skin. She had to be in her sixties—she could have passed for twenty-five. “Been sacrificing virgins and bathing in their blood, Ella?”

  “Don’t be disgusting. I use anti-wrinkle cream—it can take years off a woman.”

  He released his hold on her chin. “We might both kill, but our reasons are worlds apart.”

  “But then, you hardly need to worry about wrinkles. And neither would I if you’d agree to my request.”

  “Females never survive the transition.” She’d come to him more than thirty years ago, asking to be changed, to become a vampire. That she could even think he would consider it was crazy.

  Her expression became eager. “I’ve been working on a spell—”

  He eyed her coldly. “I would tie you to the stake and light the match myself before I would consider turning you. Or allowing you to be turned.”

  “Bastard!”

  “Without a doubt. And now the pleasantries are over, perhaps we can get down to business.” He slid on to the stool opposite her. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I thought Piers had already told you. I don’t know what more I can add.”

  He forced down the anger that threatened to overwhelm him. “Just tell me what you saw.”

  “Not a lot. The night Gabriel disappeared, I saw him in a vision. I warned him not to go. He didn’t listen.” Her eyes glittered with malice. “You taught him too well, Christian. He’s never trusted me, and that’s your fault. If he’d listened to me, instead of you, he’d still be alive.”

  Christian ignored the taunt. “Piers said the demon was only a minor one, that Gabe should have had no problem sending it back. So what happened?”

  “How should I know? At a guess, they’re getting strength from something way more powerful.” She took a sip of her wine. “From what I’ve picked up, the lesser demons are hunting for something. This isn’t just normal mischief. Someone is sending them across and whoever it is, they’re lending them power.”

  “Who would be strong enough to do that?”

  “Not many. Probably one of the seven. Could be your old friend, Asmodai.”

  His eyes narrowed at the name, and he felt the familiar surge of hatred at the thought of the demon prince. “Have you any proof of that?”

  “None, but it makes sense. He hates you, probably not as much as you hate him, but he still hates.”

  “Piers told me that you believed I was involved.”

  “I saw you, straight after the vision with Gabriel—the two are obviously connected.”

  Christian didn’t like her, but he sensed she was telling the truth. He also knew he had all the information he was going to get tonight. But did Ella really believe Asmodai was involved, or was she just trying to wind him up? It was hard to tell. She hated Christian, but she also wanted him, wanted what she believed he could give her, and that made her dangerous.

  He stood up. “If you discover anything else, you’ll let me know.”

  “Of course, oh Lord and Master.”

  Christian ignored the sarcasm. His cell phone rang as he left the bar. He glanced at the caller ID. “Piers?”

  “Things are just getting better and better,” Piers said.

  Christian sighed. “What is it?”

  “I just received a tip-off. Apparently the Walker is around.”

  Christian’s fingers tightened on the phone . “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what the man said. The Walker’s been seen, and he’s hunting.”

  “Hunting what?”

  “My informer didn’t have a clue, but he reckoned we’d want to know.”

  Too right, he wanted to know. Unlike demons, the fae had little desire to come to earth. They tended to hold humans in total contempt, along with anything else that wasn’t pure fae, and the Walker was the worst. He was also an assassin, and had no right setting foot out of the Faelands. What the hell drew him so far from home?

  Gabriel was dead, one of the seven probably involved, and now the Walker was abroad. Was it all tied in or mere coincidence? Coincidence seemed unlikely. He didn’t believe in coincidence.

  “You still there?” Piers asked.

  “Just thinking. You need to set up a meeting with the fae.”

  Piers swore. “Yeah, I’d already decided that, but I hate fucking fairies.”

  Christian agreed. At least you knew where you were with a demon. The fae were tricky. He ended the call.

  There were a few people he could talk to who might have information. Or he could return to the office, but that held no appeal. He headed off into the night.

  …

  Dawn was close by the time he returned to CR International. Graham, as he’d expected, was still at the reception desk.

  “Good night?” Graham asked as he came through the doors.

  “No,” Christian growled. “A complete fucking waste of time.”

  Graham raised an eyebrow, and Christian shrugged.

  “Fae problems. I spent most of the night trying to find out just how big, but I don’t seem too popular. I couldn’t find anyone who might talk. They all seem to be avoiding me.”

  “Is that significant?”

  “Probably. Definitely. How about you?”

  “I looked up that information you asked for, about Kathryn Collins.”

  Christian forced his mind from the night’s findings or rather lack of them. “Aunt Kathy?”

  “Yeah, Aunt Kathy. You’re not going to believe it. And you aren’t going to like it.”

  Christian sighed. “Give me the file.”

  Graham handed it over and Christian flicked through the contents. “You’re sure about this?”

  Graham nodded.

  Christian thought about Tara Collins. What was it she’d said she wanted? A normal life? He suspected he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t going to be pleased about this information. That was, if she ever got to the point of even believing it.

  …

  The young red-haired man, Graham, was at the reception desk when Tara came through the sliding doors of CR International at seven o’clock on Friday night. He looked up as she stopped in front of the desk and regarded her curiously. A slight sense of misgiving niggled at her. She ignored it and smiled with forced brightness.

  “Hello,” she said, “I have an appointment with—”

  “I remember. You can go right up.”

  “I can?”

  He nodded.

  “Don’t you need to come?” she asked.

  His lips curved in a smile, and he shook his head. “Not this time.”

  Within minutes, she stood outside those huge double doors, her stomach churning, her pulse thundering.

  It wasn’t entirely the thought of seeing Christian Roth again—though that came into it. The truth was, she was still shaky from her bout with Rule Number Two. One teensy sip of wine and she’d blacked out. She’d eventually woken four hours later, to find herself on a trolley in the local ER.

  In the two days since, she’d almost managed to convince herself it had been some sort of allergic reaction to the alcohol. Almost but not quite, because she clearly remembered those few seconds before she’d blacked out. The wild exhilaration racing through her veins. It had felt so good. Even now, if she closed her eyes she could feel a residual buzz humming in her blood. That was so not normal.

  She’d raised a hand to knock when the doors swung open and
Christian stood before her.

  Tonight he hadn’t bothered with a suit, but was wearing black cargo pants and a black button-down shirt. He looked lean and mean, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. Which was strange. Last time she’d been so sure he wasn’t handsome, now she couldn’t look away. She made a lingering sweep of his body before forcing her gaze to his face.

  “You look different,” she said.

  A flicker of amusement flashed in his silver gray eyes. “I’ve been eating well,” he murmured. “Come in.”

  He stood back and gestured for her to enter. Tara hesitated, then took a deep breath and stepped past. She stood just inside the door and listened as it clicked shut behind her. “Right, shall we get on with this?”

  “First, can I get you a drink?” he asked.

  Tara shuddered at the thought of alcohol. She wasn’t ready to face that particular challenge just yet. ”I don’t think so.”

  “A coffee, something to eat?”

  “This isn’t a social call, Mr. Roth.”

  “I thought we’d decided you would call me, Christian.” He circled, his eyes sliding over her. “I like your outfit, by the way, very nice. Black suits you.”

  “Er, thank you.” He was standing too close, and she edged away and sat in one of the upright chairs in front of the desk, clutching her bag on her lap.

  He took the seat opposite her and regarded her through half-closed eyes. His gaze lingered on her mouth then dropped lower to focus on her throat. Tara refused to twitch under his stare, however much she wanted to.

  After a minute, he smiled. “You seem more confident this evening.”

  “I am. I’ve decided I’m being stupid worrying about all this—there’s bound to be a rational explanation.”

  “There is?”

  “Yes. My friend, Chloe, thinks maybe Aunt Kathy kidnapped me as a baby.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  A flicker of irritation jabbed at her. “Because she lost her own baby, or maybe she couldn’t have one. I did a search on the Internet and found all these cases.” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the papers. She handed them over and his eyes widened at the hefty file. “I’m convinced I’m in there somewhere. So I thought maybe you could concentrate your investigation on these.”