Wicked After Dark: 20 Steamy Paranormal Tales of Dragons, Vampires, Werewolves, Shifters, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More

by Mina Carter

  He was behaving as though that moment on the dance floor hadn’t happened. Fine, she could forget it for the time being. Lie, lie, lie. However, she had been waiting for this question from him and had a ready answer, one that she had rehearsed at home many times. “I thought it would be pleasant to use my days—my days off that is, meandering about the land of my ancestors.” She put a finger up. “Now, let me ask you a question. “What made you hire me against your better judgment?” She stilled the obvious denial on his lips. “Don’t try to fake me out on this, as any idiot could see you aren’t comfortable about me being at Brionn Manor.”

  He grinned. “Ye are young. Chazma, ye must know what ye look like. I am a bachelor and didn’t want the obvious rumors to start making their rounds.” His eyes glittered in the dark, as though a feral thing lay behind the irises. “I originally thought to hire someone…more mature for the office.” Jethro frowned and stared straight ahead as he drove along the dark country road.

  She felt the lie hanging between them and wondered at it because he had looked disturbed the moment he had uttered the words. Something else was going on and she knew it.

  Bitterness tinged his voice. “Gossip seems to attend me no matter what I do, but this was something I really didn’t need to manage just now.” McBain looked toward her for a fleeting moment. “Ye are young and beautiful and we will be living in the same house alone. The gossip-mongers are going to have a field day.”

  She snorted. “Gossip-mongers? What century are we in here?” She laughed this off, “Anyway, people will talk. It’s what they do.”

  He laughed, “Aye that is a truth.”

  Chaz’s tilted a look at him and asked, “So what then, we danced? That’s bound to give them some more meat to chew.” Every instinct she owned warned her he sidestepped the truth. Jethro McBain didn’t give a rap for what the gossip mongers had to say. She didn’t want to directly challenge his response, but she did take it for a short ride. “And if you were worried about what people would say—then why hire me? My résumé gave my age.”

  He grinned and shrugged. “But not yer picture.” He added, “Besides, me grand ole lady”—he sighed and there was the sound of affection in his voice—“would not be denied. Ye see, she liked the sound of ye.”

  “‘Grand ole lady’?”

  “Aye, me granny.”

  “Oh. Does she live at the manor? I thought you lived there alone. And you don’t look like a man who can be forced to do anything he doesn’t want to do.” Chaz shook her head and added, “How could she like the sound of me from my résumé?”

  He chuckled. “Och lass, I’m not used to answering questions, but I will make an exception for the moment. Which question do ye wish me to answer first?”

  His deep, creamy Irish brogue melted her good sense as it swept through her body. If he touched her, she would fold herself against him…

  Stop, Chaz! She collected her voice from the recesses where it wanted to hide. “All of them.”

  He laughed again. “I’ll be picking the order then. Granny lives in the dowager cottage on the grounds. Ye might have noticed it when ye came up the drive. She gets—what do ye women call them? Ah, yes…feelings and she got one about ye. Thought ye were perfect for the job said she ‘felt it in her old bones.’” He shrugged. “Let me make it clear, I take orders from no one, but I do like to please her when I can.” Again he cast Chaz a quick glance. “Does that answer all yer questions?”

  She peeped at him, and could readily believe that he was a law unto himself, almost like an ancient feudal lord. “For now.” Oh, Chaz…keep away from this one—just keep away before you lose yourself.

  He had answered her questions but there was something he was not telling her that she knew fit into the equation. What it could be she hadn’t a clue. Did it have something to do with her own grandmother?

  “Now it’s my turn.” Something in his voice made her tremble. She still wondered if he had felt anything when they had danced. She had almost been lost in a dimension of dark passion, and she had been sure at that moment that something magical and dark inside of him had been the cause, but here and now, doubts collided in her brain.

  ****

  “Fire away.”

  Something about her constantly caught his interest. Damnation and brimstone—he had to find a way to stop this. A beautiful woman, yes, but he wasn’t a rutting animal. Still—he wanted to reach out and stroke her pretty cheek, touch her hand, but he knew better. He decided it was time for light conversation to set them both at ease. Bloody hell, he had a hard-on that wouldn’t subside.

  “Ye said you wanted to see the land of your ancestors. Where might they hail from, these ancestors of yers?” He knew the answer, but small talk was necessary. It would tell him many things without asking.

  “Dunglebury.”

  The soft lights from the dashboard displayed the thoughtful expression on her face.

  “Hmm,” he murmured. “Right then, ye know Dunglebury is less than twenty minutes from us at Brionn.

  “Yes, I know.”

  He eyed her sideways again and said quietly, “Ah, and so ye accepted employment with us because of that fact.” It wasn’t a question and he didn’t wait for her answer. He wanted her to keep talking—assuage hers and his rattled nerves. And he could see that she was rattled. “Is this yer first time in Ireland?” Again he knew the answer.

  “No. My parents brought me to Dunglebury when I was ten and then again when I was thirteen. We spent the summer each time. Those were my very favorite summers I had as a child. It was then I quite made up my mind to return as an adult and explore Ireland.”

  He stayed quiet. He already knew she left out the fact that her parents had been in Dunglebury six months ago, just before they were killed near their loft in Manhattan. “And yer father’s family, where are they from?” As soon as he asked the question he bit his lip. Just the kind of mistake he wanted to avoid.

  “How did you know it was my mother’s side of the family that hailed from Dunglebury way?

  “I didn’t,” he lied, looking into the dark night, away from her scrutiny. He shrugged. He hated lying. He preferred in-your-face, take-it-or-leave-it approach, and lying to this one rubbed him wrong. How many more lies he would have to tell Chazma Donnelly before they were done? How many would she believe? It was obvious to him that she didn’t believe him now. He answered casually. “Just a lucky guess.”

  She appeared to accept his answer, but he knew she had her doubts. A quick glance showed him her face was a mask of repressed emotion. “My mother’s husband adopted me—we weren’t blood, but we were closer than blood.” She released a long sigh and continued. “At any rate he had some distant relatives Killarney way, I’m not sure if they are still there.” Chaz’s voice trembled. She regained control. “My mother’s maiden name was Rathmore. My biological grandfather and my grandmother had”—Chaz smiled broadly—“an amazing thing, but after a year or so, they admitted to one another that their attachment wasn’t a ‘forever thing.’ However, he tried to stay in the picture for my mom, but she developed resentment toward him. In between, my grandmother met and fell in love and married my step granddad. I liked him a lot, but I absolutely adored my real grandfather.” Chaz blew out a sigh and hesitated, as though she were about to say more, but thought better of it. “And that is a brief history of Chazma Donnelly.” She made an obvious attempt to end the subject on a light note. “I don’t know why I told you all that, I usually don’t talk to anyone about my family.”

  His smile was soft. “Are ye Irish through and through? Was yer mother’s biological father—yer grandfather also from Ireland?”

  Her voice gained enthusiasm. “Not exactly. Though he spent a great deal of his time here.”

  “Ye don’t see him any longer?” Jethro asked carefully, his eyes trained on the dark road.

  Her voice saddened. “I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. Did ye lose hi
m, lass?”

  “He didn’t die if that is what you mean. It is a long, private story.”

  “Of course.” He changed the topic. “Yer résumé said ye were living with your grandmother?”

  “Yes, but only because I was going to UNC at Wilmington and Grams lives in Wilmington. My parents lived and worked in Manhattan and I used to go back and forth.”

  Should he ask? Was it too soon? He dove right in because it would have been the natural thing to do had he not known the truth. “Lived and worked…they don’t any longer?”

  She went rigid and he was sorry to hear the grief in her voice. He glanced toward her and in the dim light of the dashboard, he saw her stricken expression. “My parents were…killed six months ago not far from where they lived. They were on their way home. My dad was a professor of history at Columbia—my mom had an art gallery nearby. That night he met her at the gallery. They locked up the gallery together and were nearly home…nearly...”

  Jethro stopped the car in the middle of the road. He turned to her and took her hands. That circumstances had forced him to bring it up made him sick. Still raw from her loss, her wound lay open and bleeding. This was not what he wanted. “I am sorry. If ye don’t want to talk about it…”

  Gently she pulled her hands out of his. She looked afraid, as though she was frightened of his contact. She was right to be afraid of his touch—he was himself.

  Her willingness to talk about her parents’ savage murders surprised him. Talk? She looked as though she wanted to spill out her insides, as if doing so, would have them magically resurrected.

  “They loved New York. Everything about the city made them content to be there. It suited them so well. I visited with them all the time, and we always had such fun. They were so unlike normal parents. Growing up, they gave me firm lines, pointed them out, gave those lines meaning, and then told me that they hoped I wouldn’t find the need to cross those lines. And if I did, they told me to come running to them and they would help me repair the damage.” She shrugged. “Some of the narrow lines…I tested, you know, but I never wanted to cross the really wide lines because I loved them so much.” She sighed heavily. “Now it’s just my grams and me. Since it happened, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave her alone, but she decided to go off with her friend to stay in Myrtle Beach for a few months. I figured that was just what she needed, so this job was perfect timing for us both.”

  He hesitated and then asked, “And what about yer grandmother’s husband?”

  “We lost him when I was about fifteen. He wasn’t Irish, you know, and we teased him about it all the time. He was a Scotsman. Patrick MacNare. He was a good dad to my mom and a good second grandfather to me—I loved him with all my heart.”

  He parked the car in the front courtyard, and a few moments later, he watched as she hurried up the grand staircase to her room. He stood for a long while wondering what she was thinking—feeling.

  Good thing she had rushed off. A really good thing, because the heat radiating through his body would have made it difficult for him to keep from taking her into his arms.

  Chapter Five

  DUNGLEBURY LAY BEFORE her. Chaz slowed to almost a crawl as she approached the long, narrow road ahead. The road widened as it approached the charming village she remembered so well. Rows of pretty shops, quaint offices, and welcoming pubs lay at the heart of the busy country village.

  This morning the streets were nearly empty. Everyone must be at church since it was Sunday. She smiled as she imagined her grandmother wagging a finger at her and telling her it was where she should be as well.

  The quiet, empty street called to her. Her goal drove her. She needed to take the first step in her plan. She pulled into an empty parking spot and sighed as her mind clicked.

  True to his word, Jethro had been good enough to leave her his rarely used jeep, and gave her directions complete with a map. He made it clear he was concerned but resigned to her venturing out.

  Jethro McBain. His name tickled her thoughts and she questioned herself—and her good sense. Something built with him just out of her reach. Why had his grandmother wanted her to work at Brionn—because she was certain her grams was behind her employment.

  When she married, Grams had sworn off magic, but she had maintained her old friendships. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Fact: there was magic in Brionn Manor. Magic so strong, it vibrated off the walls, the antiques, the paintings, and the hunk that owned the place. Way too much coincidence for her common sense to accept.

  Would Jethro or his grandmother get in her way? She shook her head and put it out of her mind. At that moment, her goal demanded attention. Where to start? Of course, with her mom.

  Lately, when Chaz needed her mother, she called on her memories. She brought them up close and personal. She would start by asking her a question and then tried to figure out what her mother’s answer would be. This qualified as one of those times. What do you think, Ma?

  Go home, Chaz. Get as far away as you can. Don’t try and solve this. Leave it alone.

  Sorry, Ma, no can do.

  If you love me, my daughter, do it for me.

  It is because I love you that I have to see it through. You would, fact is, you did. You were after this monster—you wanted to stop him and I mean to take on your fight as my own. Ma, I’ve got to pick up your baton because I… “I am your daughter,” Chaz whispered in the wind.

  She could see her mother’s serene and lovely face. She could see her shaking her head, wringing her hands the way she was wont to do when Chaz couldn’t explicitly obey her. We are cailles—witches—my love, and more. If you must do this then call for…

  No! Chaz almost shouted out loud. I’m doing this on my own. You did.

  Baby girl—look what happened…

  Sorry, Ma, if I don’t make it, I don’t. At least I’ll be coming to you.

  Hush. Chaz, you have your whole life to live.

  Chaz sighed into the breeze and a tear spilled over. She brushed it away and said on a resolute note, “Sorry, Ma. Got to do this.”

  Other useful memories tickled her brain, like when her mother had finally divulged some of the things Chaz had always longed to know, for one. “Ireland is our mother home, Chazma, and the elements—never forget our connection to the elements.”

  “Earth, wind, fire, and water. Four elements.” Chaz was once again whispering aloud.

  The four essential elements can help you when you call on them.

  Why? Why didn’t you call on them? Would they not have protected you and Dad?

  Silence. Chaz had no answer. Did the demon take you by surprise?

  A scream lodged in her throat.

  She probably would never get the answer to that. There was an answer she could get right then. Clouds gathered over the street as she called the elements.

  Her mother’s voice reared in her head. No, Chaz.

  Told you, Ma, have to do this.

  Then become who you are and call for help.

  Oh right, like you did?

  I was wrong.

  It had been one of the things she and her mother had spoken about the last weekend they spent together in New York. The weekend her mother had decided to tell her so many things: Chaz, it will help you to remember that we—cailles—came into being because of the random mating of male Fae and human women a very long time ago. The Fae found human women more passionate than their own. They were the Tuatha Dé—a race that came from Danu—their home which they had destroyed in their Great War. They and Ireland will always be a part of who we are. The Fae instilled in us the wisdom of respecting the four elements. It is a part of their intricate science and magic. We are gifted by them. It is our birthright, but unlike them, we are not immortal, so we have to always remember that if we choose to use dark magic, it could turn on us.

  It was why she had had a two-inch spot inked just above her hip with the ancient runes: protection against some black magic she might have to use—black
magic she knew was in that deep well of hers.

  Why does Grams hate the magic? Tell me why she has no love for the Fae if they are responsible for all our gifts? Why?

  Grams put the witch in her aside because her husband was a glan—a clear human. He knew what she was, what we are, and he did not like it. She gave up magic to please him.

  It wasn’t right, Ma. You let him replace your own father, Chaz accused quietly.

  I thought I had reasons, now I am sure I was wrong.

  You sent him away and he let you, and then…he forgot us.

  No, he never forgot.

  Chaz thought about how her mother had taken the same path as her own mother when it came to love and men. They both had gotten pregnant out of wedlock—which was at their time still taboo. Chaz didn’t want that for herself or any child she might have one day. She wanted a forever love. She believed in a knight in shining armor charging through fire to save and adore her. She believed and wanted a love that would last her lifetime and if she ever had a baby, she didn’t want that baby to wonder who its father was.

  What kind of man did she want? She’d heard it over and over all through the years—about the modern knight being the one who could hail a cab in the rain and actually get one. Yes, that was definitely a knight, but she wanted something else, someone she was sure only existed in her fantasy.

  Her knight had to be able to take charge at the end of the day and make a really bad one better with a touch and a kiss. Her knight would make her knees melt and her blood sizzle and make her need him beyond imagination. Her knight would keep her safe from herself.

  Chaz looked around while a sigh escaped her. Burning need urged her forward, molded her future. It was a driving force. The need for revenge, or as Chaz thought of it: justice.

  The courts wouldn’t be able to give her the kind of justice she sought even if they were able to find and charge the murderer.

  No evidence was left to find.

  This demon would never leave behind forensic evidence. The police would never find proof to connect and convict the killer. This killer, this man, was a practiced black sorcerer. She knew her parents had come to Dunglebury six months ago to meet with her mother’s coven because the members had shown concern about a rash of animal sacrifices. They had believed the perpetrator would escalate his crimes to human sacrifices. They had been right. Her parents discovered something that put them into immediate danger.