by Mina Carter
Reports had been up this last week, way up. It almost felt like word had gotten out that there was a Reaper in town and everything that went bump in the night had come out to take a looksee. Apart from the damn demon they were tracking, of course. That had disappeared without a trace. Something that scared the shit out of everyone who’d seen that scene.
Troy took the steps two at a time, but before he was inside the door the gruff voice of Sergeant Andrews greeted him. “Regan. Those girls’ names you were after, for the Kaufman case? On your desk.”
“Cool, thanks, man.” Troy offered a genuine smile as he passed. Cory Andrews was one scary looking son of a bitch. At least six and a half feet, he towered over the rest of the department, and he had a set of shoulders that would make a barn jealous.
“Welcome.” Andrews just nodded. He rarely cracked a smile. If Troy didn’t know he was as human as John and he were (the captain was a different matter. That dude was way too cool under fire for Troy to be entirely comfortable classifying him as purely human) then he’d have suspected Andrews of being one of the bigger paras. Maybe a troll or something. Those suckers were built like mountains, same as Andrews.
He paused for a second, turning toward Troy. “Cap’t wants to see you. His office. Laney’s already in there.”
He paused between one step and the next to look at the sergeant’s retreating back in surprise. All the shirt-covered acres of it. Since when had his girlfriend become Laney to the normally reticent sergeant?
With no time to think on whether Andrews was sweet on his girl or what he’d feel about it if he was, Troy detoured to Reilly’s office.
The blinds were open so he could clearly see Laney, her hands moving animatedly as she talked. Today she wore a denim skirt with her heavy boots, her jacket slung carelessly over the back of a nearby chair. His attention was distracted by the mouth-watering length of her legs before he got himself under control.
She waved what looked like a photo at Reilly. The captain shook his head, but the hard edge usually on his face was absent. He looked almost…entranced. Like Andrews.
Fucking hell. Was every guy in the damn place sweet on her? Troy’s mood went from pleasant to black in a heartbeat.
“No. This isn’t one of mine.” As he pushed the door open Laney threw the photo on the desk in front of Reilly. It landed right side up to show an image of a woman lying on a kitchen floor. Stacked and curvy with masses of ice-blond hair, she’d have been stunning, if she wasn’t dead. With a hole where her heart should have been.
“I remember this one. Home invasion, Tuesday night?” Picking it up, Troy looked from Reilly to Laney curiously. “I thought the lab came back with some kind of werewolf hair strands at the scene?”
He sighed, dropping the photo on the desk. “Yet another para on human crime. No offense,” he added, offering Laney a smile.
“None taken,” she answered automatically, already shaking her head. “No, not para on human. This was para on para.”
He had to smile a little at that. A week and she even sounded like a cop. His smile faded as her words sunk in. “What do you mean? As I recall, the victim has lived here for years.”
“Yeah? And? You think you haven’t got paranormals living amongst you? Or perhaps you think they all live over in Weirdshitsville and just visit?” She reached around him to pick up the photo, holding it in front of him. “She’s not human. Look, see the feline set of the eyes and the high cheekbones? The color of the hair?”
As he looked at the photo, it became more apparent. The woman’s face, although purely human at first glance, seemed more ethereal the more he looked. How had they missed it?
“She was a banshee.” Laney answered the unspoken question. “They all look like that. Once you’ve seen one or two, then you can spot them easily.”
She turned to Reilly, a frown on her brow. “There was wolf hair found at the scene?”
Reilly nodded, rifling through the contents of the file until he found the lab report. “Yes. Although it’s a type we’ve not seen before. Lab didn’t know what to make of it at first, then theorized it’s a type of werewolf we haven’t encountered yet.”
“No, this is something else. I didn’t get a call to reap her soul.” Laney ran her hand through her hair, the movement jerky. “Shit.”
Reilly looked as puzzled as Troy felt, but it was the captain who spoke. “I thought your… you knew about all deaths?”
Laney dropped her head back, whistling through her teeth. Her expression was tight. “Yeah. Normally. But I’m technically only one type of Psychopomp. There are others.”
“Wait, what? Others? You mean other categories of reapers?” Troy couldn’t help the surprise that colored his voice.
She nodded. “Types of Reaper, yes. You think all cultures call their guide to the afterlife the Grim Reaper? They use different names. The Dead Ancestors in Africa, the Aztecs had Xoloti, the Norse called theirs Valkyries, but they’re a myth now. No one’s seen them for centuries.”
He glanced down at the photo. “And let me guess, there’s a death for banshees as well. And it’s not you?”
“Not quite.” She grimaced. “The banshees are almost reaper level. They’re heralds of death, but they’re Celtic in origin, I think. They belong to a triple goddess called the Morrigan. And if one’s been killed, you found hair…” She shook her head, her expression grim. “We may have a Morrigan Hound in town.”
Sitting back on a wobbly chair in the café/bar near the department, I ran a finger around the top of my coffee mug. Troy and his partner were lost in their own thoughts. From my conversations with Troy I’d learned the threats they’d faced so far had been lower level stuff. A couple of vamps and werewolves and they had been few and far between. Scary enough if you weren’t used to them, but in the general scheme of things they weren’t major movers and shakers. Demons were a different matter, as were hounds.
“So, on a scale of one to ten, just how dangerous are these Morrigan Hounds? More or less than a normal werewolf?”
It wasn’t Troy who asked, but John, the ‘comfortable and heading for retirement’ cop. For a ‘comfortable,’ though, far more intelligence and interest shone in his eyes than I’d expected.
“They’d probably sit about a twelve...maybe a thirteen. And yes, definitely more dangerous than any werewolf.”
John blinked. Troy whistled through his teeth. “Fuck me.”
“Not in public, darling,” I drawled. “I’d hate to get arrested.”
John stuck his nose in his coffee mug, expression all innocent as though he hadn’t heard me, and took a noisy drink. Troy just winked, a grin plastered all over his face. “Later, maybe. Now, these hounds?”
I nodded. “Humanoid. Not shape-shifters like werewolves, instead they have tattoos.” I waved my hand over my arm. “They’re always highly intricate, detailed tattoos. The tats peel away to take physical form…” I paused to make sure they understood the seriousness of what I was saying. “Think a whole wolf pack under the command of one person…called the Hound, even though they don’t actually change form. They control the wolves. Intelligent wolves. Like the banshee, hounds and their wolves belong to the Morrigan. You know? The triple goddess of Death and Battle? She’s real too, and she’s got big ol’ links with Death, so yeah… think wolves are fucking hard to kill. I don’t know about the hound. No one’s ever been dumb enough to try and kill one. Not that I’ve heard. The stories say it’s the Morrigan herself who collects their souls and reincarnates them.”
The boys sat back, shock written large on their faces. “Holy crap.”
“Yeah, that just about covers it.” I sipped from my mug. Coffee and donuts, the stereotypical lunch of any police force, sat on the table between us. Looking around, I noted familiar faces. Pretty much all the guys from the department appeared to lunch here. Even the captain. I watched his retreating shoulders as he left.
He puzzled me. Every time I looked at his lifeline, it was virtually buz
zing with potential. Poking at my knowledge upgrade, I found an answer. It appeared that Reilly was about to become non-human, but there was something else there. Almost like he was removed from life, or death, completely. Very odd. I paused, mug halfway to my lips again. But…non-human. That was not good. So not good. Because if he got bit and decided to snack on anyone, I was going to have to put him down.
“What’s with Reilly?” I couldn’t resist asking once he was out of earshot.
“Oh lord, now that’s another story altogether.” Troy stretched, his hands behind his head. I tried to ignore the thin strip of toned abdomen the move revealed. Didn’t help when it looked eminently lickable.
“Ex-special forces.” A new voice broke in as the fourth seat at the table was suddenly filled. Sergeant Andrews…Cory…dropped into the space. “Not sure what, but something extreme. Couple of tours to places people don’t talk about. Apparently got pinned down somewhere by werewolves, lots of people died. He doesn’t talk about it much, but…” He shrugged. “Family connection, I hear things.”
Fuck. Special Forces. Special Forces who had survived not just a werewolf attack but a whole pack of the things. That I so didn’t want to hear. If I had to put him down, then it was going to be a hell of a fight.
“Thanks, Cory, appreciated.” I smiled. I liked the big, normally-less-than-chatty sergeant even if I didn’t like what he said.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled back, then demolished a sandwich in two bites. Opposite, Troy glared. I pushed to my feet, my need to visit the restroom far more pressing than trying to figure out what worm had gotten into his head now.
A couple of minutes later I re-emerged from the ladies to find Troy loitering in the hallway. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, piercing me with those bright baby-blues.
“Hey. What’s eating you?” Not one to beat about the bush, I went right for it. “You look like a bulldog chewing a wasp.”
He huffed, folding his arms over his chest. “You said you were a reaper.”
Lord, save me from pissy men.
“I am.” I reached behind my back and pulled a blade to spin around my hand. Use those babies enough and you get downright handy with them. “Got the sickles right here to prove it.”
“Just a reaper?”
I put the sickle away. “I am just a reaper. What else do you think I am?”
He glared again, looking all mean and moody. I suppressed the shiver that wanted to roll down my spine. God, he did a good brooding and dangerous look. I liked that in a man. I liked it in him.
“You told me you weren’t a siren,” he accused. “But Andrews is looking pretty damn entranced and Reilly. I haven’t seen him smile so much in like…forever.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“Believe me, I am no siren. And you’d know if the Sisterhood was in town. Actually, no you wouldn’t because they’d have every guy within miles bonded and enslaved to their every whim.”
I frowned, casting about for words to make him understand. “You know that saying ‘I think, therefore I am’? Let’s just say the fact that you can think, and not chained to some chick’s bed servicing her every whim is proof there aren’t any sirens in town.”
He grinned, the expression changing his face from pissed to playful. Two steps and he’d crossed the corridor to push me against the wall. I let him, liking the change of mood. Suddenly our little session this morning seemed a lifetime away.
“Not a siren, huh?” He traced his thumb over my closed lips. “Pity, I think I’d have liked being chained to your bed.”
I kissed his thumb. “It’s not my bed, remember?”
His grin was slow and sexy. “Now that, sweetheart, is a very good point.”
He bent down to claim my lips. The kiss was hot and sweet. If we hadn’t been in a public place where anyone could have come through the door at any minute, I’d have been tearing his clothes off. Troy, however, seemed to have forgotten that, his hand sliding up to cup my breast boldly through my top.
Pleasure tried to trap me in its clutches, numbing my ability to think. I fought it with a gasp. “Not here. The door—”
Troy growled, obviously not happy about being reminded. He nipped my lip, and before I’d realized what he was doing, he backed me through the door of the ladies room. Within were two small stalls. We stumbled toward the nearest, the door slamming against the wall as we crashed into it, sharing biting kisses that were more feral than sensual.
Shoving the door shut, he barely managed to lock us in before he was on me again, heat and need reflecting in the darkness of his eyes. Another gasp rocked from me as he pushed me against the wall, half lifting me to settle my legs around his waist.
I groaned aloud, my decision to switch up my clothing this morning meaning the hot, hard bulge in his jeans was pressed up close and personal where I needed him.
“We shouldn’t be doing this. Not here,” I managed between kisses and groans. He just grunted, working his way down my neck.
I shivered in delight and anticipation. Normally a hot fuck was just that. A. Singular. After a night in the sack, most guys paled, unable to sustain that level of sexiness. But not Troy. Each time we got down and dirty, it was somehow hotter than the last. Last night had been slow and sensual, each touch a promise, each kiss endearing.
Today…now. This was heat and passion and about to be a raw, dirty fuck.
“Now. Can’t wait,” he growled, shoving my skirt higher so he could reach between us. His fingertips found the edge of my panties and I whimpered. A second later hot tendrils were beneath the satin, and sweeping through the slick folds of my pussy to locate my clit.
“Hot. Wet.” His growl was passion resonating as it vibrated along the tiny hairs over the side of my neck. He used a broad fingertip to rub over my clit. Not a gentle or exploratory touch. Instead it was full on and primal, demanding a response.
I couldn’t give one, other than a hard gasp as my pussy tightened, clit throbbing in response to the touch. God, it felt incredible and I needed more. Of everything.
“You like that, huh? Me touching you. The fact that anyone could come in and find us?” He whispered in my ear, the words hitting me at the same time he rubbed hard circles over my needy clit. I nodded, leaning my head against the wall, eyes closed as I was reduced to reaction.
“Good.” The fingers of his other hand gripped my ass, biting hard when he shifted my position, lifting me higher. His fingers slid and found the entrance to my pussy. Without a pause, he thrust two fingers deep.
“Fuck!” I strained against him, needing more sensation. Just a little more.
He barked a short laugh, pumping his fingers as he murmured in my ear. “That’s the idea, babe. Hard and fast. Right here and now.”
I’d died and gone to heaven. Awash with hard need that spiraled outward, I clung to him. My pussy tightened, clutching at his fingers. I needed more. So much more. He reared back, the light catching the blue of his eyes rendered midnight by the desire washing through them.
Hard pants worked his chest, the need riding him as hard as it did me. Pulling his fingers free, he hefted me up, holding me easily as he snapped his fly open. His cock sprang free, the thick, slick head unerringly finding the entrance to my pussy.
He pushed, claiming my lips in the same movement. My moan was smothered under his lips as he drove home. All the way in one hard thrust. Delicious sensation ripped through me as I was stretched, his invading cock forcing my body to accept him. It felt fantastic, better than fantastic. I never wanted it to end.
His hips had no sooner met mine than he pulled back to drive in again. And he didn’t stop, setting up a hard and fast pace. All I could do was cling to him as he took me, letting the pleasure build to a crescendo within.
“That’s it, baby,” he growled in my ear as my cunt started to tighten, clinging to his cock. Milking him. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”
I couldn’t help it. With a gasp I did
as I was told and toppled over the edge into bliss. It washed through me, taking me under. Dimly I was aware of his grunts, the increase in speed as he dropped all restraints and slammed into me time after time, chasing his own release. Then he gasped, surging into me a last time before he stiffened and came.
His cock jerked, pulsing deep within me and I moaned, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. Tenderness washed over me, especially when he dropped his head to my shoulder and chuckled.
“Fuck me, that was good.” He kissed my neck, the move gentle. “Sweetheart, if you’re not a siren, then I don’t know what is.”
Chapter Six
Troy couldn’t believe he and Laney had gone at it in the toilet stall, of all places. But it had been worth it. His legs didn’t work properly as he made his way back into the café.
“Andrews decided to go with a sandwich at his desk then?” he asked when he didn’t see the big sergeant anywhere, and slumped into his seat. John looked up, his eyes narrowing. Troy had tried to return his appearance to normal after the wild ride, but John…he had more years on the job than Troy, and an eye for detail an anally-retentive OCD sufferer would envy. There was no way he hadn’t figured out what they’d been up to.
“If you didn’t find another Werewolf in the toilets, then really I don’t want to know.”
His dry tone made Troy smile. He didn’t care if John knew what they’d been up to, he felt too damn good. As fast and furious as their interlude had been, he’d felt something else buried beneath the heat. A connection he’d never felt with anyone. A soul deep link that scared and fascinated him. If that wasn’t enough to rock a guy’s world, the tenderness at the end of what should have been a fast and dirty fuck had blown him away.
“Believe me then, you really don’t want to know.” He took a sip from his coffee, then grimaced. Cold. He couldn’t stand cold coffee. Worst thing on Earth. After demons and celery. He hated celery with a passion.
