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

by Laura Kaye

  He stared at the file. “Let me get this straight, you want me to investigate all these missing persons. Have you any idea how long that would take?”

  “I told you I have the money.”

  He opened a drawer in his desk, dropped the file in, and slammed it shut. “In the meantime, I do have some information regarding your aunt.”

  Tara had been leaning toward him eagerly, now she drew back in her chair. A lump formed in her throat. She tried to swallow it, but it stuck somewhere halfway down. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Why did she feel afraid? She bit down hard on her lower lip, tasted the sharp metallic taint of fresh blood.

  She swiped her tongue over her lip, wiping away the drop of blood, and Christian stood abruptly, shoving back his chair. He crossed the room to stare out of the window, his shoulders tense, fists clenched at his side. Then the tension drained from him, and he swung around to face her. His gaze flickered to her mouth, then away, but not before she saw the heat in his eyes.

  What was up with him?

  It was weird, but she had the strangest feeling he was thinking about kissing her. Probably more delusions.

  Tara forced herself to break the silence. “So, what did you find about my aunt?”

  “Are you sure you won’t have that drink?”

  “Yes,” she said impatiently. “Just tell me, please.”

  “Do you have a photograph of your aunt, a recent one?”

  “Sure.” After searching in her bag for her purse, she removed the small photo she always carried and handed it to him. Christian glanced at the picture briefly, then returned to his desk and opened a file. Taking out a photograph, he compared it to the one Tara had given him, before handing the second photo to Tara. “You agree that this is your aunt?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “That’s a photograph of Kathryn Collins. A photo taken nearly twenty-three years ago.”

  Tara studied both pictures. “But she looks exactly the same.”

  “I know, but then the dead don’t age.”

  “What?” She must have misheard that last comment.

  “The photograph I just gave you was taken over twenty years ago,” he repeated. “Shortly before Kathryn Collins was killed when a drunk driver ran her car off the road.”

  The room went out of focus. Tara closed her eyes, trying to make sense of what he was telling her. A woman with the same name as her aunt, who looked identical to her aunt, had died over twenty years ago. There had to be an explanation. She opened her eyes to find Christian watching her, his face expressionless.

  “Let me get you that drink,” he said.

  “No!” A drink was the last thing she needed. She took a gulp of air. “I’m all right. I just need to think this through.” Her brain latched on to the obvious answer. “Identical twins?”

  “How would that explain the fact that your aunt didn’t age? Because she didn’t, did she? Think back, Tara, remember your aunt when you were young. Was she really any different?”

  Her aunt had just always been her aunt. Tara closed her eyes and pictured her first memories. Aunt Kathy explaining the rules when she was little, then again at regular intervals all the time Tara had been growing up. And each time she looked the same. Even her aunt’s hair had never changed although Tara could never remember her going near a hairdresser.

  She rubbed her temple with the tip of her finger, then pressed hard against her closed lids. She opened her eyes to find Christian still watching her. “What do you think happened?”

  He crouched in front of her and ran a finger down her cheek. She shivered, his touch cool against her heated skin. Then his thumb brushed over her lower lip and she felt it as a caress low down in her belly. He was so close. If she leaned forward just a little bit…

  He straightened and backed a step away. “What do you know of the supernatural?”

  The question caught her off balance. “You mean, ghosties and ghoolies and…” She frowned. “I seriously hope you’re not trying to tell me my aunt was a ghost.”

  “Actually no, I don’t think your aunt was a ghost. You could touch her couldn’t you? She ate and drank like a normal person?”

  “Yes, she ate like a normal person. Because, you know what? She was a normal person.” Albeit a rather strange one, but Tara pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

  “Tara, your aunt was far from normal.” He gestured to the photographs. “However much you dislike the idea, you have to acknowledge that something strange was going on.”

  Tara forced herself to calm down. “Okay, tell me what you think happened.”

  “The body of your aunt was never buried.”

  “Yes it was, I was there at the funeral.”

  He sighed. “I mean twenty years ago.”

  She felt a spark of hope. “Well obviously it wasn’t buried, because she wasn’t dead. They made a mistake.”

  “There was no mistake. I’ve seen the death certificate and the coroner’s report—she was dead twenty years ago. The body disappeared before it could be buried. There are reports, they’re all in the file.”

  “You’re telling me I was brought up by a dead person. That Aunt Kathy was some sort of zombie?” She could hear her voice rising.

  “Not a zombie, no.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that.”

  “There are other ways to reanimate a corpse.”

  Tara bolted from her chair. “I am not listening to this.”

  “You have to. The woman who brought you up has been dead for over twenty years.”

  She stared into his face, sure she must have heard him wrong, but no, he seemed serious. Suddenly she was furious. She took a step toward him and poked him in the chest. It was like stubbing her finger on a lump of rock and she winced. “You are so not funny.”

  She blamed her cat for this. Trust Smokey to pick the one nutcase private investigator in the whole of London. “And by the way,” she added. “You’re fired!”

  She grabbed her purse and stormed away. She’d almost reached the door when he spoke again.

  “Tara—”

  She whirled.

  Somehow, he was right behind her and she almost slammed into him. She put up her arms to ward him off and her palms flattened against his chest. He leaned forward and kissed her.

  She stood there, hands splayed against his chest, while he touched her only with his lips. The kiss was slow, erotic. He tasted her with his tongue, and she let him do whatever he wished. It was over far too soon, and he stepped back.

  In a daze, she opened the door and was just about to step through when he called her again. She stopped and turned.

  He handed her the file, his expression sympathetic. “When you’ve read this, calmed down, and are willing to listen, come back.”

  “When hell freezes over.”

  She tried to calm herself as she rode down in the elevator, but bitter disappointment clogged her throat. She’d been so hopeful a private investigator would find a nice logical explanation for what had happened in her past, why her aunt had kept them isolated for so many years. Instead, she’d hired a madman, who talked about dead people as though they had the power to walk and talk and eat. A madman who’d had the nerve to kiss her. She could still feel that kiss against her lips—she’d never imagined a kiss could feel like that.

  Graham regarded her as she stepped up to the reception desk, his eyes widening as he took in the red folder she clutched. Did he know what was in there? Had they laughed as they put it together?

  “Would you like another appointment?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “I won’t be coming back, and you can return this to your madman of a boss.” She slapped the file on the desk and headed for the door.

  “Tara.”

  “What?”

  “You could be in danger.”

  She stalked from the building. Outside, she gazed about for a moment then headed for the alley opposite—the quickest way to the train station. She hesitated
at the entrance; the alley was narrow, the streetlights penetrating only a few feet, and beyond that, utter darkness.

  Of course she wasn’t in danger. Of course she hadn’t been brought up by a dead woman. Of course there wasn’t something really scary waiting for her down this alley.

  And if there was, all she could say was—it had better watch out.

  Chapter Four

  “Well that went well,” Christian murmured.

  What the hell had happened to keeping his hands off her?

  Though it wasn’t his hands that were the problem. He hadn’t been able to resist that one fleeting kiss, and she tasted as good as he’d expected. A delicious combination of bitter and sweet he’d never encountered before. If he had put his hands on her he probably would have dragged her back in here and not let her out again until sunrise.

  But she didn’t want that. She wanted “normal,” and he was about as far from normal as it was possible to get.

  Perhaps he should have kept the information about Kathy Collins to himself. He had considered that option, but was worried. Tara was obviously human—it came off her in waves—so why would she have an undead guardian? And why had the undead guardian up and died? Presumably, the spell giving her life had run out of power. But who had brought Kathryn Collins back to life in the first place and why?

  There had to be a good reason, because magic like that never came cheap. Someone had paid a high price to protect Tara. And if she didn’t find out why she needed safeguarding, her chances of a normal life were remote.

  Part of him liked the idea of protecting her, but he knew nothing good could come of bringing her into his world however much he might crave it. A wave of bitterness washed over him. It had been more than five hundred years since his wife and two daughters had been slaughtered in a demon attack. Christian had nearly died himself. The Order had offered him a chance to get his revenge. Since that night, he’d embraced the darkness wholeheartedly. For centuries, he’d fought demons, slaughtered demons, feasted on their immortal blood.

  Until one sunset, he’d risen from his sleep to realize he no longer wanted that life. Or rather death.

  He’d turned his back on the Order and tried to make a place for himself in the world of humans. But now he was bored, and he wanted more. He wanted Tara Collins. Maybe just one small taste and afterward, he would sort out whatever mess she was in, and send her on her way unaware how close she had come to the darkness.

  His cell phone rang. It was Piers. “What?” Christian growled.

  Piers chuckled. “Bad moment? Is your balance sheet not adding up?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Are you aware that there’s a lot of demon activity going on tonight?”

  “So, send someone after them.”

  “Aren’t you interested where?”

  Christian sighed. “Get to the point, Piers.”

  “They’re right outside your building. Again.”

  “What?”

  “I thought that might wake you up. I can send out agents, but I thought you might want to take a look.”

  Demons shouldn’t even be able to pick up the fact that he was here. He’d paid a very expensive warlock a whole load of money to have the place warded, to make himself invisible.

  “I’m on to it,” he said.

  “Let me know what you find.”

  Christian slipped the phone into his pants pocket, a flame of excitement burning in his belly. If he couldn’t have sex with the delectable Tara Collins, fighting demons had to be the next best thing.

  He went to the cupboard at the back of his office and pulled on a shoulder holster. After selecting a semi-automatic pistol, he made sure it was loaded and shoved it into the holster. He strapped a knife sheath at his waist, tied it down to his thigh, and slotted in the eight inch serrated blade. He covered the whole lot with a long, black leather coat.

  Avoiding reception, he slipped out the back way. The door opened into an alley that ran along the rear of the building, and he stood in the dim light and scented the air.

  There it was, the faint tang of sulfur. He inhaled deeply to determine which direction it was strongest. He set off down the alley, emerged onto the main street, and he glanced around. Another alley cut across the street opposite. Some instinct made him the peer into the darkness.

  Far up ahead he could make out a figure hurrying in the opposite direction: Black coat, small and a bright head of blond hair. Christian recognized her immediately.

  Had she no common sense? Even if she didn’t believe in “ghosties and ghoulies,” there were plenty of human scavengers who loitered in dark alleys, just waiting for people naive enough to venture down them.

  He hustled after her, keeping to the shadows. He would make sure she reached her train station, and then he would go demon hunting. But as the darkness crowded around him, the strong odor of sulfur filled his nostrils.

  Up ahead, Tara slowed until she came to a halt at least twenty feet from the end of the alley.

  Keep moving, he urged, silently. She could still come out of this unharmed if she reached the main street—nothing would follow her there. It took him mere seconds to realize why she had stopped. A demon blocked her path. From a distance, it appeared almost human, only the dusky red skin identified it as something from the Abyss. That and the rank odor that intensified as Christian moved closer. The demon appeared oblivious to him, all its concentration on Tara. Christian drew his knife; he could take the thing down before it touched her.

  A second demon slithered down the wall to Tara’s right. Christian went still. His knife was raised and ready to throw, but he glanced between the two, unsure which presented the greater threat. While he hesitated, the second demon leapt for Tara. It landed catlike on her shoulders, and she crashed to the ground under the weight. Her head cracked as it hit the concrete, and she lay unmoving, the demon crouched on her chest.

  A wild fury roared through Christian and he reacted without thinking. All his muscles tensed, and he flew the last few feet landing close beside them. His free hand gripped the demon’s tangled hair; he ripped it away from Tara and flung it against the wall. It clambered to its feet, a low hiss emerging from the narrow, skinless lips. Up ahead the first demon drew closer, and from behind him came the unmistakable scent of a third.

  He cast Tara a quick glance. Lying on her side, her hair covering her face, she appeared unconscious, but Christian could see no visible damage.

  “Give us the woman, and you may go.”

  The first demon spoke. All three stood, side by side. Why weren’t they running? They seemed unafraid, but had to know they were no match for a vampire.

  “Let us have the woman, and you can go on your way, Christian Roth.”

  Christian frowned. “What do you want with her?”

  “A little fun.” The demon licked its lips. “A little food.”

  Adrenaline coursed through his system and his excitement rose. It had been years since he’d had a good fight. One of these lesser demons would have been a miserable waste of time, but three might give him a good workout. He held the knife loose in his hand and waited for them to make a move.

  Two of them attacked without warning. Christian braced his legs and stood his ground. At the last moment, he raised the knife and impaled one through the throat. He pushed it away, wrenching the blade free, and the second was on him, grappling, its sharp pointed teeth snapping at his face. It latched onto his shoulder, slicing through the leather of his coat and sinking its fangs deep into his flesh.

  The demon was incredibly strong, and too late he remembered Ella’s comment that lesser demons were borrowing power from something stronger.

  Ignoring the pain, Christian brought his free hand up, took hold of its throat, and ripped it away. His shoulder tore as the teeth remained locked into the muscle. Then he was free. He tightened his hold on the creature’s neck, and the bones snapped under his fingers. Tossing the body from him, he spun to face the third demon. His s
houlder was on fire and blood ran down his arm. He needed to finish this before he weakened.

  The last demon circled him warily. It sniffed the air, muscles tensing, and Christian realized it was poised to run. He hurled the knife, taking the demon straight through the heart.

  For a moment, he stood panting. Nothing moved, and he crouched beside the body. The demon was dead. He dragged his knife free and used it to sever the head with one hard downward stroke. The scent of warm blood rose up and he swayed toward it, then forced himself back. They were dead—too late to feed now. He worked quickly, cutting off the other two demons’ heads and watching them disintegrate into a pile of greasy gray ashes.

  He rolled Tara onto her back and skimmed his hands over her. She moaned but didn’t regain consciousness. Her face was pale, except for a dark bruise blossoming on her forehead. Rising to his feet, Christian swayed and rested his hand against the wall for balance. He was losing blood fast.

  He needed to get Tara away, but there was no way he could carry her back. Besides, the streets were busy, and they’d hardly be inconspicuous. He pulled out his phone to call Graham, but at that moment a black SUV appeared at the head of the alley. The driver’s door opened, and Piers grinned at Christian.

  “Shame about the coat,” he said. “Need a lift?”

  …

  Tara snuggled down. The pillow felt so cozy, soft as down, and silky smooth against her cheek. A dull ache throbbed at her temple, but as long as she didn’t move too much it was bearable. She had no idea where she was, but she was definitely not in the alley, and that had to be a good thing. She thought about opening her eyes, but decided to put it off a little longer.

  There were other people around. Muted voices, the rustle of clothing, but it all seemed far away. The last thing she remembered was that thing in front of her. It had come out of nowhere dressed in dark pants and a jacket with the hood pulled low over its face. At first, she’d thought it was a mugger or rapist, and she’d prepared to fight for her life.

  It had come closer, sniffing the air, and a disgusting stench filled her nostrils—dirty smoke and rotten eggs. The hood had fallen back from its face and she’d gotten her first clear glimpse of her attacker.