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

by Mina Carter

  It was up to her to avenge her parents’ torturous last moments. Shaking off her thoughts, Chaz glanced around. The street was still virtually empty. As she gathered the dark clouds overhead and waited for them to take on force, she inventoried.

  She had a box full of skills at her disposal, which included her potent magic. She refused to discount good old-fashioned sleuthing, though.

  The image of her mother’s shattered remains swept her mind once more and she knew she should not have looked at her body lying there in a morgue in New York City.

  The memory tracked through her and she shuddered. They had stood there, she and her grandmother, who had collapsed beside her. The police had quickly covered the shredded remains of both her parents’ bodies while she tended to her grandmother.

  Since that day, she poured her efforts into caring for her grieving Grams. Chaz supposed looking out for her grandmother saved her—that and the determination that she would find and punish her parents’ killer.

  Chaz evolved into another being, and Chaz welcomed her. A dark demon force drove her. The dark, slumbering mana deep within her makeup was nothing new. It was a demon power beyond anything Chaz wanted to imagine. She had kept it penned up from fear of what it could do, but the time would soon come when she wouldn’t keep it penned up any longer. The trick was to keep it a secret, to only use her white magic until the very end. The trick would be to trick him.

  Chaz got out of her car and stalked deliberately down the avenue, her senses on alert. The scent of decay tipped her to the fact something dark had been in town.

  Black Magic left a strong residue that permeated the air with a foul stench. A glan would not smell it. The foul scent traveled the air on another level. She glanced around. There was absolutely no one on the street and that gave the entire scene a creepy feel. Chaz said on a hiss as she pumped herself up, “I am not scared. Not one bit.” Yeah, who are you kidding?

  She needed to follow the scent.

  Hatefully familiar, it matched the scent that had clung to her mother’s shattered remains. She would never forget the scent. She was sure it was linked to the black warlock—demon—that had clawed her parents.

  He was the big bad ugly.

  She had dubbed the beast as Dark X, and she knew how to get his attention. The morning had been touched with the sweet loveliness of late spring, but that was all gone (at least on that one street in Dunglebury).

  In ancient Gaelic, Chaz called for a storm. The clouds overhead rumbled with the rolling clatter of thunder. Unnatural torrents of rain burst forth at her bidding. Chaz stood apart, untouched by the downpour. If one looked, one could see bright sun past the street she stood on, her legs apart, her hands fists at her side.

  Chaz smiled, well satisfied with this start. She opened one hand and with a flick of her wrist, she brought it all to an abrupt stop. “Come on, you!” she raged, but if anyone (glans) were to listen, they wouldn’t hear her. Sewn in magic, her voice was meant for one alone. “Here I am, creep…feel my power? Do you wanna play?” Her voice pulsed on an airwave out of reach. Loud and ominous to the recipient, a normal human being still would not hear it. “You got it? Do you hear me? Like Rambo, I am coming for you!”

  She waited. All her senses registered a shift in the atmosphere. Someone had discerned her power on the airwaves. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she was being watched. What was he using? An orb? A mirror? What had he been doing in Dunglebury?

  Trace him back to his lair. She would find out who he was—what he was. She would call him by out and tell him the name of her parents just before she pounded him and his magic into the earth. By all that was heaven and hell, she vowed this.

  Without warning, as though straight from hell, spidery tentacles of mist and fog ensnared her. She felt the horrible slim encircled her with cold. She stood immobile as she gathered her wits. Should she submit to this? Should she appear stunned by his power? The jeep was only a few feet away. She could run. No. Instinct whispered he would lose interest and she needed to pique his curiosity. She chose to show some power of her own.

  This level of magic had been somewhat unexpected, unlike anything she had ever encountered. A swipe at the fog made the substance manifest enough to slip through her fingers, wet and cold.

  She primed herself in readiness for anything. The stench intensified, and became almost overwhelming. She put a hand to her nose. Ugh. She hugged herself against the cold. Freezing. Ice particles crawled over her jacket, her hair. Careful, she told herself, stay calm. These are parlor tricks.

  His voice, when it came, surprised her. Although it resonated with volume and force, it was at variance with the scent of decay that permeated the air. Soft and melodious, almost gentle with amusement, it didn’t sound like what she expected, the voice of the vicious thing that had destroyed her world.

  “White witch, do you think to stand against me?”

  Hatred filled her lungs and her lips jerked into a sneer. She spun in a circle and looked for any sign of his corporal being. “Show yourself, and I will give you a taste of what I mean to do,” Chaz snapped. He didn’t know who she was and that was a plus for her. The more secrets she could keep from him/it, the better.

  Evil rasped in his laugh.

  “There you are—the real you, a hissing snake,” she taunted him.

  Without warning, a serpent slithered toward her legs.

  Chazma curbed the urge to jump away from the slithering creature. It raised its head, forked tongue flicking in her direction. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a moment as she collected an inner strength. She couldn’t give herself away. Simple white magic—a quiet chant and a flick of the wrist and the snake went poof.

  The bodiless voice laughed again, and she pictured a superior expression curve his lips. Hatred sweated from her pores. She wanted to reach out and drag him inside the mist with her and destroy him. Scanning the mist, she checked to see if he was somewhere within. He was not.

  Her effort to find him obviously amused him, as he roared with laughter. And yet, she could sense he did not like the challenge. It occurred to her that a sorcerer with his heightened power had probably rarely been challenged. Good—this might catch him off balance.

  “Do you want to kill me, little witch? Use your power, find me, but may I suggest first you do something about the serpent?” Schooling herself to patience, Chaz froze as the serpent twined through her ankles. “This time, white witch, its bite is fatal. And it is not illusion, it is real.”

  He wanted to see the strength of her power. He goaded her, to see what she had. Basic white magic banished the snake once again.

  “Don’t play childish games with me.” Chaz hissed. “You must not want me dead—yet. You already knew I could eliminate the threat.” She waited for a response. “Want to see what else I can do? Give me something worthwhile, sorcerer.”

  The fog vanished. He was gone. Their first encounter was over.

  Chaz stood for a moment on the empty street. Limbs trembling, she fought the urge to get into the jeep and drive off at one hundred miles per hour. Instead, she sucked in air, blew it out, and held her ground.

  She needed to decipher today’s experience and use it to her advantage. She had found the demon beast that had taken her parents away from her. She would remember his voice, all facets of it. She would remember the pulse of his power.

  Every sorcerer had their own style, his or her own wavelength, so to speak, and this one’s was very distinct. Pitch-black, it crackled with a sharp, painful buzz that dripped evil. His essence was unmistakable. This thing with the human voice, perhaps even a human body, had no empathy with humans. Dead inside, he was also deadly.

  This time had been a test run. She wanted his measure and now she had it. Had he realized something like that? Was that why he had vanished so quickly?

  By all that she lived and breathed, she wanted to blast him to the heavens, bring him back, and do it again. She had managed to retain something more than his s
cent. It would stay in her senses until the day she faced him and took him down.

  And she had learned something important, something she could put to use. He has an ego the size of Texas.

  She couldn’t take a step forward or back. Had the time arrived to call on her magic to save herself? The savage woman deep in her libido had demanded release, telling her they had the power to go after him and tear him to pieces. That untamed part of her roared instructions, and she wanted to follow those instructions.

  It took everything she had to maintain her composure and her will. What was that creature inside of her? Where did it come from? It wasn’t Fae, it was too emotional. Her mother had not had a dark side, so why did she? Her mother knew what it was but had refused to discuss it. Why?

  The savage Chaz had been penned up by sheer willpower all these years, but it was getting more and more difficult to breathe without her. Its strength was growing. Any magic, even white magic, awakened the dark one’s power. She had to breathe on her own, gain control. She shook herself as though shaking off flakes of ash. Damn, she so needed to walk off her jitters.

  She crossed the avenue. The familiar village triggered her mother’s face, sweet and beautiful, in her mind. They had held hands and shopped in this village when she was young.

  “I’ll stop him, Mom. Count on it.” The same old question tormented her. Why had he killed her parents? Had they gotten too close?

  Power. Grams had told her once when the why question had come between them. Power, darling. Your mother had it…this creature wanted to usurp it somehow.

  But Dad was not a witch—he didn’t have power.

  He was in the way. Her grandmother sniffed at the memories this conjured up in her mind.

  How could this beast get power with her dead?

  I don’t doubt he wanted her alive. Something went wrong.

  What?

  I don’t know, but thank goodness he doesn’t know about you. When your mother realized the immense power you possess and contain, she kept you a secret from everyone who wasn’t a glan. She even kept you away from her coven.

  Her coven—yes, she told me her coven needed her. Why hadn’t they seen that she was in danger?

  It doesn’t always work like that. They only called her to Dunglebury when they had no choice. You see, there had been a sudden rash of unexplained animal slaughters, and then a ritual murder of a young woman. No blood was found at the scenes.

  He drained them of blood…but...but he didn’t do that to Mom and Dad.

  Her grandmother had shuddered and waved it away. Enough of this now.

  She hadn’t been able to get her grandmother to tell her anything further, so she had dropped the subject, and began investigating matters on her own.

  Every time she thought of her parents’ last moments, she cringed. They had suffered to their last breath. Their killer would suffer in return. One lead only—their killer had been a sorcerer of some power. And now she knew what he sounded like, what his scent was, and that his power was formidable.

  What did her mother’s coven know? How could she find them? Oh, Ma, why didn’t you tell me more?

  She needed to find the coven, speak with them, and see if they would tell her what they knew. Was that a safe option? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t want anyone getting in the way. She needed a controlled environment where she was in charge of her next move.

  Perhaps she would leave the coven out of the mix. Maybe she wasn’t ready to confront them and test their loyalty. After all, they must have known they had put her mother in terrible danger. They hadn’t helped her as far as she could see. Why should she ignorantly dive into something her mom had kept her out of all her life?

  Chaz pulled her blonde hair away from her eyes. A breeze whipped it back over her lips and with an exasperated sound she pulled it off and brushed it back. When she returned her attention to the sidewalk, people had started straggling out of the pretty church at the end of the road.

  The atmosphere shifted. She looked sideways to scan the street, now filling with light traffic. Again that breeze took her long waves and spread the locks over her face. Rummaging in her bag, she dug out a large black clip and adjusted her hair at the nape of her neck while she turned the corner.

  The impact was like hitting a wall. She bounced off the large man with some force. Reaching out, he caught her shoulders as she went backward. He steadied her with his strong grip, grin wide and gray eyes twinkling.

  “Oh!” Chaz exclaimed as she got her bearings and looked up at a ruddy, masculine, and handsome face. He had a shock of windblown auburn hair that pointed in many directions. Tall, he wore a dark blue sports jacket over a denim shirt and jeans. His smile slipped from amused to apologetic.

  “Soorrry…” He elongated the word but did not release her shoulders. He seemed startled by her face, momentarily captivated, and even as Chaz began to pull away, he didn’t let go easily. “For…give….me…please?”

  “Not your fault.” Chaz smiled warmly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  His hands dropped to his sides. “Glad I am that you weren’t.” He reached awkwardly for her hand and shook it. “I’m Dr. James Dunboyne.”

  Chaz laughed right out loud. Her entire body relaxed. “Chazma Donnelly.” She liked the look of him.

  She cocked her head and asked on a puzzled note, “Has the village grown enough to handle two doctors? Never say Dr. McGraw has retired already.” She shook her head, “I would find that hard to believe.”

  “Do ye know John McGraw then? But bless me, I took ye for an American.”

  His Irish lilt was enchanting and she gave him a warmer smile. “I am American—of Irish descent and but spent a couple of summers here with my parents. Being one of the clumsy sorts, I visited with Dr. John often.”

  He chuckled. “Aye then, ach no, John McGraw retire? I don’t think so, though I have been shoving a fishing pole into his hands whenever I can, and trying to make him do just that more often than not.” He sighed. “He decided time was he took on fewer patients, so here I am picking up the slack.” A wide grin spread over his attractive face.

  “Ah—a partnership. Brilliant—and how do you like it?”

  “I have only been here a month, but though it is very different than the life I led in Dublin, I am growing accustomed.” He glanced about. “Have ye had yer morning coffee yet? Would ye take a cup with me? I see the shop opening its doors and we can just beat some of the Sunday crowd if we go in now.”

  Chaz had left the house without indulging in breakfast. She hadn’t wanted to spend any more time with Jethro McBain than she had to. She didn’t have the time to or the inclination to follow her overwhelming impulse every time he was near to fling herself into his arms. Her hormones must be raging and for some inexplicable reason, her hormones liked his hormones.

  Nope, not doing that.

  Coffee would be great, she thought, and although she had never just picked up and gone off with a complete stranger, she sighed contentedly and wanted to do just that. “Fantastic. I could do with coffee.” After all, she excused herself, strong magic takes its toll and will not be denied coffee.

  Chapter Six

  BREAKFAST SOMEHOW TURNED into lunch and Chaz’s body stopped trembling. James Dunboyne provided the normalcy she needed. Easy to talk to, he had wonderful “bedside” manners, and he wasn’t hard to look at either.

  Information about school, graduation, her future job, friends, family, and then her parents tumbled out. He had been sympathetic and wise enough to allow her to just talk it out. When they parted company he took her fingers in his large hands and made her promise to have dinner with him some night soon.

  On the ride back to Brionn Manor she chided herself for giving him her cell number. He wanted romance. Even though any red-blooded woman would pursue him, she couldn’t. He couldn’t travel her route—it was a one-lane road.

  A monster with exposed, ever-ready fangs and claws lurked very near, and it was h
er sole purpose to find him and finish him off. She didn’t have time for anything else.

  As she parked the jeep in the paved courtyard just outside the manor’s front door, Jethro’s blue eyes lit up in her mind. Well, not quite lit up, as they looked dark and mysterious. Berating herself, she closed the vision down.

  As she reached the front door she realized she didn’t have a key and was relieved to find it unlocked. Closing the door, she stepped into the central hall and unclipped the hair at the nape of her neck. After dropping the clip into her serviceable denim bag, she hung it on one of the brass wall hooks that ran along the oak-paneled sidewall. Jethro McBain must be pretty confident his place was thief-proof, she thought as she looked around and ran her fingers through her long hair, took off her jacket, and hung it with her bag.

  Turning, she found McBain leaning against the doorjamb of the study. His eyes matched her vision, shaded and mysterious, his large arms were folded into themselves across his chest. White silk draped over broad shoulders while black pants encased long, muscular legs.

  Damn and double damn. Chaz bit her lower lip. Look at that, will you just look at that!

  “Aye then, lass, a good afternoon to ye.” He inclined his handsome head. Chaz sensed there was a great deal mulling around in his brain at that moment and wondered what it could be.

  Setting that aside, she took a gander at his chiseled face and the way his black, layered hair fell in spurts over his forehead and lapped at his ears. She liked the style of it. Right off the big screen—correction, he was the big screen. She had never encountered a man like him. He exuded an old-world style that was cool and endlessly sexy. Her heartbeat did a hard bump-bump-bump and butterflies swirled around her tummy. “Hi.” Wow, since when did she have such a low and husky voice?