Didn’t matter, though—I needed these insufferable shifters and fae to scatter. I wanted the secrets in that demon’s head. Then I wanted him erased from life.
“Right, fine, how’s this going to go?” I pulled my blade from its holster on my back, the steel sliding against the leather. “All you against me? We maiming or killing?”
Charity braced, uncertainty flashing in her eyes. Only Cole, the were-yeti, edged forward in anticipation. He’d wanted an excuse to ring my bell, and now he did.
I grinned. “I’m not letting you have this one.” I pulled my gun from the holster on my upper thigh. “If you want to tango, I want to be the lady.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Charity said, and she looked down at Devon, the alpha of this sub-pack in Roger’s jurisdiction. He wasn’t as good as Roger, though. Not yet, anyway.
Devon huffed, then lowered his head at me. That was a go.
“You sure?” I flipped off the gun’s safety. “All this for a hairy nympho? Is this some kind of fetish you’re into?”
Charity pulled her sword, sparkly and new and probably worth a pretty penny. Light flickered in the sky and a little thread of lightning zinged up the blade.
“You able to do hellfire yet?” I asked, taking in their loose formation. I knew they’d tighten up as soon as I ran at them. One or two would probably peel away and go for the mark. Hopefully the mages would be free to combat them by then.
“Why?” Charity said. She licked her lips. “Nervous this battle will end before it starts?”
“So that’s a no, then. You have to work on your poker face. I’ll let Darius know. He did say it was a hard skill to learn and usually needed more mature power. He’ll be glad that he only needs to worry about your royal pappy.”
Charity’s expression darkened, and I grinned. I’d learned a little thing from hanging around with vampires—you had to grab all the information you could, when they least expected.
I ran forward, lifting my gun and firing as I did so. The blast made a couple shifters flinch. Steve jerked and lowered to the ground, wounded but not out of the fight. I’d gotten him in the side. That would hurt, and more importantly, it would slow him down. That guy was frightful when he really got going.
Charity braced and lightning rained down over me, a really neat freaking trick. It was still magic, though, and I could dissipate most of that as easily as breathing. I dissipated those incredibly tight and intricate weaves, cutting the distance between us, my gun still up and swinging to the other side. One bolt got through, striking me, filling up my world with electrified pain.
I’d live.
I squeezed the trigger several times in quick succession, riddling Charity’s fae friends and a white wolf standing too close with bullets until the magazine was empty. I jammed the gun back into place as Devon lurched forward.
I snatched a spell-filled casing out of my pouch, the magic stuffed in there potent but not deadly. I cracked it opened between my fingers and threw it to the side, landing at the feet of a big, brawny gray wolf that stood in front of Cole.
Cole was going to be so pissed with what came out of that casing in five…four…
I stepped to the side and threw an uppercut, landing on the underside of Devon. The breath exited his muzzle. I pivoted and brought my sword down onto his head, inconspicuously backing it up with my air magic, slamming him down to the ground and hopefully knocking him out.
…three…
Charity was already swinging, fast and agile, just like her kind. But new at all of this.
I arched out of the way. She followed through, spun, and stuck out a hand to blast me with her electrical fireball…thing.
“Damn it, just gotta grab…” I snatched out an empty casing, the magic used up, but no one else knew that. I slapped it onto my blade as her ball of fire reached me. It kissed my face, kept at bay by my ice magic, and even if it wasn’t, the only thing I’d suffer would’ve been a loss of eyebrows. But that demon might see, and so I needed to go through with the ruse.
…two…
I slashed my sword through the fire, whispering expletives that they’d hopefully think were spell words. I was out of practice at pretending to use fabricated magic instead of my own.
The fire dried up, but Charity was already on the move, her sword slashing down at me.
Good Lord, the woman was fast!
I twisted, barely missed by the blade, and punched out, clocking her right in the jaw. Devon struggled to his feet, and Steve at the end stayed down, definitely not that hurt but saw a way out of fighting me. I’d remember that. He was an okay guy, that Steve.
The casing I’d thrown coughed spikes within a balloon of magical pink powder, spraying the gray, brawny wolf and white-furred Cole behind him. The spikes lodged into their flesh, shallow wounds that wouldn’t keep them down for very long. That pink powder would stick to them for months, though. Their coats would be stained, no matter how many times they changed. Very disco.
“Good luck with people taking you seriously after this, snow tits,” I yelled at Cole.
One of the fae, a guy with a handsome face, though pinched in an expression a teacher’s pet might wear, struggled through the obvious pain and flanked me as Charity’s strike barely missed. I punched her in the throat, stepped to the side, and kicked him in a bleeding spot on his chest.
He grunted and staggered back. More of the fae struggled up, those bastards too hardy for their own good.
“How’s it going?” I yelled behind me. Charity’s sword found purchase out of the blue, that throat punch not doing as much as I’d hoped. The blade sliced down my hip, searing heat. “Satan’s thong!” I ran my hand through the air without meaning to, my magic unleashed.
A wall of air slammed into them, knocking them back and sending them tumbling across the ground.
I paused for a moment. Looking behind me, I saw the grinning face of that middle-aged man hosting a sex demon between Penny and Emery working their spell.
“I was right!” The man turned and ran at the back of that small stone building, wanting to shed his human body and go down to the underworld. If he’d had any doubts about me, I’d just given him a payday. Mages or Elementals could create gusts and bursts of wind, updrafts and surges, but not a wall of air like that, especially not one that could also control demons.
“Donkey balls. Catch him!” I ran, forgetting about the fae and shifters jumping to their feet and heading back into the fray. “Stop him!”
Emery surged forward, his hand out to grab the man.
I reached the hole that acted as a doorway as Emery latched on to the man by the scruff of his hairy neck. The bodysuit ripped, exposing a hairy back.
“Ugh, he’s slimy,” Emery said, holding on.
The top part of the body suit continued to rip down the seam, and the man shot forward, headfirst. His head went through the spell two seconds before it winked out.
“It’s down. It’s down!” Penny shouted. “That death wall is down.”
The man crumpled to the ground, and a thin little creature with a leather body and bony fingers hopped up in its place before spinning and running for the trees. I magically grabbed it easily, the human host no longer giving me interference.
“No!” The demon turned and slapped at my hold. “No! That wall has been there for centuries. It can’t be torn down. That's our emergency exit into the underworld!”
“Guess people actually know how to weave spells in this day and age, too, huh?” Emery said smugly.
“Burn,” I said, waving Emery away. “I got him.”
“Great balls in banana hammocks, Emery, hurry. The shifters are pissed.” Penny’s arms were moving at the door, facing outward. She was getting a spell ready to keep them at bay.
“You got this?” Emery pointed at me.
“Yeah, yeah. Keep the others out of here.” I returned my attention to the demon. “So.” I stepped through the hole and around a few stones. “That spell they jus
t tore down—that would’ve killed your host and sent you to the underworld? I didn’t know that was possible.”
It closed its bony mouth, no lips, just jaw and fang, refusing to answer me.
“I could make you respond,” I said.
A naked form around the far corner made me start until I realized it was Steve, blood running down his side and over his defined thigh. He put up his hand in truce and winced before sitting down. “Gunshot wounds hurt. I might hold a grudge for this one. I’ll have to treat you rough when you finally leave your vampire boyfriend and come for that ride on my cock.”
“Don’t feel like continuing to fight?” I asked him, deciding what I wanted to do with this creature.
“With those mages? God no. You never know with that cute little Penny. Sometimes she gets crazy when she doesn’t mean to. That shit hurts. What’ve you got there?” He gestured at the demon. “Ugly bastard.”
“The lower-powered ones can’t change their forms. Not unless they’re in the underworld.” I put my hands on my hips, fine with Steve listening in—we’d fought together, and he knew a lot more of my situation than I really liked. “How’d you know about me?” I asked the demon.
“Okay.” The demon cowered a little and put out his hands. “Okay, we can work out a deal. I’ll talk if you—”
I forced its hand, its lower power incredibly easy to manipulate. It was the higher-powered ones that would give me a real problem. They weren’t stupid enough to get caught most of the time. Whenever one popped up on the radar, it was gone before Darius’s people could investigate.
“There are rumors. Many, many rumors.” Words ripped from its toothy mouth. “All one has to do is put them all together.” The demon made a rather unsavory hissing sound.
“Is that why you came up here, to look around?” I asked.
“I was called for the pleasure I could bring,” it said.
“Uh…” Steve shivered. “No, now…that just ain’t right. Banging that thing? No, that puts me off entirely.”
I didn’t bother to explain the particulars to Steve. “So why did you feel inclined to put all the rumors together then scamper off down to the underworld?”
“The master will greatly reward anyone with information about the woman and vampire who disturbed his empire. But behold, I have found something so much more, haven’t I?” It hissed again, sending chills racing down my back. Steve shivered again. “I have found…”
I squeezed my hand, the air around the demon crushing it into pulp. Steve knew a lot about my magic, but he didn’t know all. He didn’t know a few very important clues about my very precarious situation.
“Crap,” I said softly, crouching down. “The rumors used to mix up Charity and me, but with Roger sending her all over, without a vampire, collecting evildoers or whatever it is you people do, she’s dispelling the possibility of the rumors being about her. Which puts the heat on me.”
“Where does that leave you?” Steve asked.
I shook my head, standing. “Darius thinks I should go back into hiding.”
Steve stood with me and led me around the stone building to a scene that made me smile. The fae and shifters sat in a cluster, bleeding and pissed, wrapped in invisible magical rope. The mages had essentially tied them up, their magic too powerful for the shifter and fae to break out of.
Penny shrugged. “We didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to actually fight them. What’s the status?”
I sighed. “Either I hide, or I get ready for a showdown. It’s only a matter of time before news of me gets to the right ears.”
“You’ve been too exposed to slink back into the shadows now,” Emery said. “Trust me, I know how that works. People will look, and eventually they’ll find you. You best be getting ready for a showdown as you hide, so when you come out, you come out swinging.”
I let my gaze drift toward the winery. “Probably time to take that druid up on his offer to train me.”
“Probably,” Emery said.
“Probably also time to drink half the wine in that winery.”
“Probably.” Emery grinned this time.
I nodded and headed off in that direction.
“What about the mark?” Charity called.
“He’s all yours. Won’t be much good to you, but you’re welcome to have what’s left. Wear gloves, though. I hear he’s slimy.”
THE END
ABOUT K.F. BREENE
K.F. Breene is a USA Today Bestselling author of fantasy, paranormal romance, and paranormal women’s fiction works.
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RENDEZVOUS DOT COM
* * *
A prequel to Love Dot Com
LILLY WILDE
Rendezvous Dot Com
A Prequel to Love Dot Com
Copyright 2020 by Lilly Wilde
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
To those of you who lie in bed with the one who’s supposed to love you, yet never touches you.
To those of you who cry each night for the love you deserve, but don’t have.
To those of you who feel alone, even when you’re mere inches away from the one who vowed to love you for life.
To those of you who no longer have the energy to try with the wrong person.
To those of you who desperately seek your other half.
To those of you who’ve finally said, “Fuck it—I’m doing me.”
A NOTE FROM LILLY
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoy Rendezvous Dot Com, the prequel to the jaw-dropping novel Love Dot Com. This story is not your typical romance, by any means. It is, however, a story that most of you can relate to—whether you want to or not. It’s my hope that you take from this story a lesson that you will apply to your life. We all deserve happiness. Circumstance may push us to go about it in ways we didn’t plan or expect, but we all deserve it.
ONE
ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death. It could very well be the end. The end of my life, of my story, of a love that never really had the chance to start. Never would I have imagined an invitation from him would take shape as a threat to my existence.
As I stare down the barrel of a stainless-steel firearm, I feel the floor beneath me caving in. Fear courses through me like a carp through a river, paralyzing me and grounding me to this spot. I can’t move a single muscle—not even to scream. My mind can’t process what’s happening, but I know I have to remain calm. No sudden moves, no loud voices. No signs of resistance.
When my emotions resume a semi-normal state, I take a few paces back and then lift my palms—my gaze adhered to the weapon pointing directly at me.
“Well, well, well,” she starts.
I look up at the petite dark-haired woman—instantly recognizing who she is.
“We finally meet,” she says.
She looks older in person—much older. The Instagram filters enhanced her appearance, erasing all signs of her age. I suppose I would describe her as nice-looking but nothing to write home about. Her hair is cocoa brown and hangs down past her s
houlders, bangs frame small brown eyes, and she’s even skinnier now than on her last post. Small boobs, no curves—just straight up and down. So not sexy.
“Hmph,” she murmurs as she orbits me.
Despite repeated warnings from my friend Josh, I never considered Maricel Caballero a threat. Not really. Based on what I knew of her, why would I? She was a weak, shallow person whose only concern was for herself. Well, herself and that Yorkshire Terrier of hers. What’s its name? Chloe? Yeah, that’s it. Those were the only posts she ever made—those of herself, her dog, pricey clothes and flashy junk she wasted money on. Everything was all about her—something that became increasingly evident with each of her Instagram posts. There were never any photos of Gil. Well, there was that one from several years ago, but other than that, it was the Maricel Caballero show—all day, every day.
I suddenly realize I hate her. Women like Maricel think women like me are the problem, but no. It’s women like her who neglect their husbands for years and still expect love and loyalty. They are the fucking problem. If she wasn’t holding that gun, I’d kick her skinny ass all over this apartment.
Given the circumstances, I can’t show the slightest sign of hostility. And it’s equally important that she not see the fear her volatility evokes. But my breathing accelerates, eliminating any chance of achieving that goal. Failing to reach the desired level of calm, panic sets in and my heart does quite the number in my chest—thumping so loudly it threatens to escape my breastbone. I tell myself to keep at it, to take deep, cleansing breaths—that although I’m scared shitless, I must display a perfectly composed demeanor. Yes, I know it’s crazy to think that’s possible, but remaining calm in this situation is key to my getting the upper hand.
One More Step Page 30
