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

by Mina Carter

  Mulrone moved away from Olivia and the cot. Jethro wondered if he had something planned. Chaz moved in and stood between Mulrone and the unconscious girl.

  Jared tried inching further away, and his amber eyes looked at Chaz warily. He shrugged his shoulders and said flatly, “Killing your mother was a mistake”

  “A mistake?” Chaz’s eyes narrowed and she hissed, “A mistake?”

  “A terrible mistake. I was after him—your adopted father. I meant to kill him. He had no right to your mother or to you. When I first saw him here in Ireland with her and realized she had chosen him—over me…” Vicious hate flickered in his eyes and crossed his face. “Soon afterwards I made up my mind to eliminate him.” He shook his head. “But not her.”

  “Enough, Mulrone. It’s over. The garda will be here any moment and your dark magic won’t get you out of this.” Jethro snapped as he stalked into the damp cellar, but Chazma reached for his arm and stayed him.

  “This time, this moment, this thing is mine.” Her cold, determined voice matched the threat in her eyes and that threat was aimed at Mulrone.

  Jethro eyed her for a long, thoughtful minute, and nodded as his expression told her, Come on, Chaz. Keep him talking.

  ****

  She looked at Jared and knew she had to keep him engaged. She needed to collect herself. Six months had not prepared her for the might of the emotion pummeling her. She needed to keep him talking, yet she was terrified of what she was about to hear.

  “You didn’t want to kill her—why?” She inched away from Jethro. He made it difficult because he took hold of her hand.

  “Your mother was all about heart—always about soul. That was what drove her away from me in the first place. She said my heart was too damaged to be repaired, and that my soul was turning black. She said I could not be saved because I would not be.” He opened his arms wide. “Chazma, I was young with a young man’s pride when she walked off without a backward glance. I let her go.”

  The calculating look in his eyes marred his handsome façade. He repositioned himself farther away from her. “I followed them to New York. She realized only at the last moment that I would not let her husband live. She knew there was only one last thing she could do. She called his name—she said she loved him, and she threw herself in front of him at the very last second. I was already full with the demon. I could not draw back, and he killed them both. It was not me.”

  “It was you!” Chaz shrieked. “You let the demon loose. You killed them. You are killing them all…for what? For power? Haven’t you enough?” Chaz crept closer. Jethro tugged and held her hand firmly, keeping her close.

  Jared sidled farther away from her. She would have to be fast, so very fast.

  “Not for power,” Jared said.

  “For what then?”

  “Immortality. It is our right. Witches and warlocks are descendents of Fae. We have powers, but only a few puny years. We age, we grow sick, we lose what we are and die. I want what is my right and you, Chazma, are going to give it to me.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” Chaz snorted, and tried once more to inch closer to him. Jethro held her in place. She tried to pull free but Jethro’s grip was firm. This posed a problem. She needed to be free for her plan to work.

  “You are Fae royalty, Chazma. You are entitled to the Elixir of Immortality. You must acquire it and give it to me. Your mother never wanted it, and she refused to obtain it from her father to give to me, but you shall.”

  “You are a hateful beast,” Chazma spat.

  He shrugged. “Think what you like, child. I discovered your mother one day while looking in the orb and thinking of her…and then I discovered you.”

  She heard Jet suck in a breath. It was obvious to Chaz that as much as he wanted to keep her safely behind him, he was allowing her space to confront her demon. She had to hurry. Tom and his men would be at the basement steps soon.

  “And so you started killing. Didn’t you once love my mother? You don’t make sense.”

  He grinned and it was full of evil. His good looks vanished, and his eyes formed dark flames. “Make no mistake. Such an absurd emotion can not touch me, but I needed the elixir.” He put up a hand. “She refused me, but you won’t.”

  “And why would I not refuse you?” Chaz scoffed. She yanked her arm, trying to free herself of Jethro’s grip. The knife hidden at her back chafed her skin, hot and deadly. She wanted to drive it through his black heart. “Tell me why.”

  “Because I am your biological father.” Jared stared hard at her. “And if that isn’t enough to persuade you, be certain I will kill your beloved grandmother if you don’t give me what I want.”

  Chaz froze.

  Biological father.

  Her darkness had come from him.

  Jethro sneered as he released Chaz and stepped forward. Chaz lunged to stop him and managed to snag his hand and grip it. She tugged at him and he frowned as he glanced back at her.

  Rage and confusion swayed her from her original purpose. My father? She couldn’t think. He was her real father? No. He had to be lying. She heard herself gasp as she realized it was the truth. What had he said? He would kill her grandmother. He was her father. Did it matter? Hell no. She was going to put an end to his evil life.

  Gunshots sounded above stairs.

  She glanced at Jethro. He said softly, “They’ll be here soon.”

  She concentrated on the door with her Fae senses and the lock bolted into place. “That will slow them down.”

  His eyebrow arched with his smile. “Aye, but they’ll be knocking it down.”

  Mulrone’s voice brought her back to the task at hand. “You can’t kill your own father. It isn’t in you.”

  “Watch me,” Chaz said as she prepared to shift. Jethro’s grip had loosened as he looked toward the stairs.

  A steel blade glinted in Mulrone’s hand. She knew what she had to do, and she also knew that if she didn’t land just in the right place, he would stab her through and through.

  The men above stairs pounded at the cellar door. Determined shouts filtered through the thick oak.

  The airwaves fogged and the atmosphere began to get murky.

  Suddenly, all attentions were locked on one thing—the atmosphere had suddenly burst into light.

  Jethro’s arched brow and grave expression told her he arrived at the same conclusion she did.

  Her royal Fae grandfather had arrived.

  She spun around, dived at him, and cried, “Now? Now you’re here? You weren’t there, you didn’t save them. You…you didn’t even come to the funeral when I so needed you, and now you show up? Well, I don’t need you now!”

  The handsome golden-haired prince flicked a finger at Jared Mulrone and froze him in place. He glanced at Jethro, nodded, and then turned to Chaz. “Hush, child of mine. I did not know. Your mother said she couldn’t have a Fae father popping in and out of her life—your life. She said it would confuse you as it had her when she was growing up. She told me I could stay until you were an adult, only if I did not return to Tir. I am Fae; Tir is my home. Hers was not a viable request. I could not give up who I am. I am a prince with duties to my race. I watched you when time allowed. Our time in Faery is so different than your time here. And then in the last six months we began having trouble in Tir with the Dark Realm…” He tipped her face to look up at his. “I only just came from your grandmother. She told me everything. Chaz, I didn’t know.”

  “Well, now you do, so get out of my way and let me finish this.” At her back she felt Jethro come toward her. She knew he meant to try and stop her, and she moved out of his range.

  “Please, Chaz. Allow me…to do what will serve much better than that knife you are hiding behind your back.” Her grandfather touched her face.

  She looked at Jared, and then back to her grandfather, who absurdly looked younger than Jethro. She bared her teeth. “He has to die…horribly.” She reached behind and into her jeans to take out the kn
ife and hold it up. “I want to drive this home and twist it…”

  “Hush, child. I have a better way.” Her grandfather held her hand and reached out for Jared, who was unable to move, and the next thing Chaz knew, she, Jared, and her grandfather were traveling through time and space and landing in another dimension.

  Outrage over her grandfather’s control faded as she absorbed his intent.

  Volcanic lava streamed, grotesque creatures of every size and shape slithered over a spiked and thorny dead, red land. A dimension of hell? He released Jared Mulrone to stand amongst twisted creatures.

  “Your new home, Mulrone, make of it what you will. Here you will have that immortality you killed my only daughter to achieve.”

  Chaz sank into her grandfather’s arms, and he shifted them back to the basement. Only a few seconds had passed. Jethro moved and Chaz turned to him and held up her arm to his chest while she still hugged her grandfather. “Grandfather, meet the man I love, Jethro McBain.”

  “I am very pleased to hear that you love this Druid priest, but my dear, we are already acquainted.”

  Speechless, Chazma’s mouth fell open.

  There was no opportunity for more. The door fell partially down the stairs and Tom Murphy and his men exploded onto the scene.

  Hurriedly Chazma’s Fae grandfather touched her nose. “I will see you soon. Both of you, very soon.” And he was gone.

  Chazma looked up, and watched Tom Murphy as he said, “Where the hell is Mulrone?”

  “In hell, Tom. You can bet on that,” Chazma said with grim satisfaction.

  He eyed her and then Jethro who nodded. “Uh-huh. In hell.”

  Epilogue

  THE DISAPPEARANCE OF Jared Mulrone would forever be a mystery in the towns of Dunglebury and Brionn.

  Dunboyne knew very little more than his belief that Jared had been the ritual murderer. Tom didn’t have enough evidence to put together a case to charge the young doctor with a crime. But the small town no longer held a lure for the ambitious doctor and Dunboyne left town, some said for Dublin.

  Tom Murphy believed Mulrone was indeed in hell. One look into Chazma’s eyes had been good enough for him.

  Chazma’s grandfather visited her the day after the incident, at Brionn, and they talked for hours before he paid a visit to Jethro, high Druid priest. Jethro and the Fae prince didn’t talk long, but when Chaz busted in on them, they were both smiling.

  Jethro had waited only until they were safely home, and alone, to ask Chazma for details about Jared’s final fate. “Tell me, Chaz. Just what did you and your grandfather do with Mulrone?”

  “My grandfather put an end to my plan of killing him. I had meant to shift behind him and stab and twist and stab…” She still sometimes thought that might have been more satisfying. However, she had to admit what her grandfather had done was far more torturous.

  “But...?”

  “But my grandfather shifted us to this awful hellhole and left him there…forever. He has his immortality now. It was what he wanted.” Chazma wasn’t smiling as she asked, “Do you think that darkness that I have in me…that is now a part of everything I am came from him…from Mulrone?”

  “Yes, but the difference is what you did with your life. We all have something in us that might be called dark, but we make choices. You chose to live your life in the light. He didn’t.”

  “I wanted to kill him. That was a dark choice.”

  “But you didn’t, and that was good, and right. Killing changes a person, even when you kill someone who needs it, and I like you the way you are.” He showed her just how much he liked her.

  Olivia Pratt had remained unconscious until Murphy and his men removed her from Mulrone Manor. Rumor said she experienced awful dreams that woke her screaming. A single, handsome therapist helped Olivia through her issues.

  Jethro advised Chazma the book cataloguing job would take years, maybe forever. The university job she had lined up for September didn’t compare. She had no choice—she gave them notice.

  The dowager McBain wasn’t up to travel so Chazma’s Grams made the trip to Ireland in the fall accompanied by a few of Chazma’s friends. They celebrated Chazma and Jethro’s wedding at Brionn Manor.

  Chazma’s Fae grandfather walked her down the aisle in the guise of an older man. She never knew a Fae could be so pained over appearance.

  Their families and friends were still celebrating as Jethro led Chazma onto his plane and whispered in her ear. “I mean to have ye as soon as we take off, me wee lass.”

  She laughed. “What, in front of the attendant and the pilot?”

  “Private cabin.” His blue eyes lit up and a wave of desperate, all-consuming love swept over Chazma.

  She hugged him and he held her tight, nuzzling her neck.

  “I love you, Jethro McBain.”

  “Aye, ye do, how could ye not?” he teased and then tenderly so tenderly, “But lass, I love ye more.”

  A word about Claudy...

  Writing for Claudy Conn is like breathing fresh air. She says she can't seem to put her "pen" down. Over the years she has written over forty mass market (Regency and historical) best-sellers; however, the lure of paranormal romance has opened up a new world for her to explore.

  When she isn’t writing, researching and reading, she is out in the garden, or fixing fences with her husband. Their horse, Southern Pride, and their wolf, Cherokee, and her hybrid son, Rocky the Man, like to tag along wherever they go. .

  http://www.claudyconn.com

  Frippe House

  Copyright © Eden Elsworth 2015

  This book, or any portion thereof, including cover art, may not be produced or used in any manner, whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review

  CHAPTER ONE

  PULLING UP OUTSIDE the house, Becky looked up at it and frowned. It was a lot bigger than she had been expecting. The solicitor she had spoken to hadn’t been all that specific on the details of the property, but she had got the impression it was at least bigger than the tiny three bed terraced house she lived in with her two children. Daniel was only a few weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, and Imogen was three months past her sixteenth. Now Imy’s exams were out of the way, they could consider whether or not they would be moving to the house they had inherited from Becky’s Great-Aunt Alice.

  All summer, Becky had been mulling it over. Her house wasn’t really big enough for them all, particularly now Daniel’s girlfriend was staying most of the time. Becky’s plan had been for her to check out Alice’s home on her own for a few days, and then have the rest of the family follow down at the weekend.

  Now Becky was here in Dorset, she was nervous about going inside the house. Built of stone and flint, it looked depressing, even though the sun was shining. The garden was certainly more than Becky could handle. All her life, she’d only had very small yards as outside space, but this place had a vast, sweeping lawn punctuated by immense trees. She knew one or two of them were oaks, but she wasn’t so sure about the rest.

  Pushing her greying blond hair back from her face, Becky sighed heavily.

  Ever since she had received the letter informing her of Alice’s death, she had allowed herself to think the future might be a bit more comfortable for her and her children. Now that spark of hope was fading to the same dull grey as the house’s walls.

  Perhaps she should just sell the place. That would give her more than enough to buy a bigger house in her home town of Reading. For now though, she had to wait for the solicitor and then look over this monstrosity.

  Rummaging in her handbag, she pulled out the packet of cigarettes that always ended up at the bottom and lit one, inhaling deeply as she closed her eyes. Once today was over with, she would know where she stood.

  The sound of a car on the gravel driveway behind hers had her stubbing out the cigarette hurriedly. She got out quickly and looked at the other car. With the sun reflecting off the
windscreen, she couldn’t see the occupant.

  It was several long minutes before the driver got out. He looked to be in his thirties. Dressed in a smart suit, his dark hair was trimmed neatly into a non-descript style. He didn’t approach her though. He didn’t even look at her. Instead, he opened the rear door on the driver’s side.

  Out stepped a tall, gaunt man of about seventy. With white hair and wearing a pale tan suit, he almost looked like a smart ghost, one that had decided death wasn’t a reason to neglect his appearance.

  “Ms Frippe? Alexander Kennet.” The old man’s voice sounded papery, fragile. The smile on his face didn’t look like it was overly familiar with his features. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  “Likewise,” Becky lied. She’d rather be at home.

  “It’s a beautiful house, don’t you think?” Mr Kennet asked as he crossed to her, leaning on a black walking cane. “Alice was always very happy here.”

  “As I told you before, I never actually met her. My grandmother only ever mentioned her once that I can remember, and that wasn’t in particularly flattering tones.”

  Mr Kennet nodded. “The rift between them was a great source of regret for Alice. She often said she wished things had been different. But they were two very different people. Agatha, your grandmother, was always very . . . spirited.”

  That was an understatement. Becky’s grandmother had been loud, outspoken, and rude, but also fiercely protective of her family, very loving, and more rebellious than many of Becky’s peers when she was a teenager.

  Smiling, Becky didn’t disagree with the solicitor.

  Mr Kennet held his hand out to her, but instead of taking hers to shake when she did the same, he placed a large bunch of ancient looking keys on her palm. “Perhaps we could go inside?” he prompted.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Becky took a guess that the largest key fitted the black metal studded wooden door and slipped it in the keyhole. It took her several goes to turn the key. It didn’t want to turn and it took a lot of effort to get the aged mechanism to shift. The loud creak as the door opened was almost comically predictable, like a dodgy sound effect from a B-movie.