Kiss Me Deadly
Page 1
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Kiss Me Deadly: Tales of a Paranormal Romance
ePub ISBN 9781742740867
Kindle ISBN 9781742740874
A Random House book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au
First published in the United States by Running Press, a member of the Perseus Books Group
First published by Random House Australia in 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Trisha Telep (unless otherwise indicated)
The moral right of the authors has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.
Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Title: Kiss me deadly: tales of paranormal romance/editor, Trisha Telep
ISBN: 978 1 86471 888 1
Target audience: For secondary school age
Other authors/contributors: Telep, Trisha
Dewey number: 823.4
Cover design by Ellie Exarchos
Cover photography © iStockphoto.com / Redemption
Internal design by Whitney Manger
Edited by Trisha Telep
Typeset in Beyond Wonderland, Caslame, and Caslon
Printed in Australia by Griffin Press, an accredited ISO AS/NZS 14001:2004 Environmental Management System printer
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction
The Assassin’s Apprentice by Michelle Zink
Errant by Diana Peterfreund
The Spirit Jar by Karen Mahoney
Lost by Justine Musk
The Spy Who Never Grew Up by Sarah Rees Brennan
Dungeons of Langeais by Becca Fitzpatrick
Behind the Red Door by Caitlin Kittredge
Hare Moon by Carrie Ryan
Familiar by Michelle Rowen
Fearless by Rachel Vincent
Vermillion by Daniel Marks
The Hounds of Ulster by Maggie Stiefvater
Many Happy Returns by Daniel Waters
Acknowledgements
Author Biographies
The Eternal Kiss!
Random House
Introduction
Love in the Time of ... Zombies?
Somehow that just doesn’t have the classic ring of Nobel Prize – winning author Gabriel Garcia Márquez’s famous novel, Love in the Time of Cholera (read it if you haven’t!), but my bet, after titles like Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters and Queen Victoria: Demon Hunter, is that this is likely in some publisher’s pipeline somewhere, probably slated for publication next year, or the year after that.
Welcome to the other side of love. If love has a dark side (and, thank the sweet heavens, it does), then this is it. We’re through the looking-glass here, people. This is where Alice got into all that trouble. And who can blame her? The other side of everything is always the best, and conventional love will only get you so far. (And don’t let the “deadly” fool you. It’s not all that bad. It’s more like “bad” in that good Michael Jackson – type way. But then sometimes it is ... bad—really, really, truly bad, in the horrifyingly not-so-good, totally unfun way.)
Deadly kisses are light and bright, and full of magic—light enough to dispel all the evil in the world, light enough to make you invincible and be your lifeline in a world of chaos and uncertainty. Deadly kisses are also pitch black, full of desire, deadly desire—dark as midnight, as dangerous as deception, as deadly as uncontrollable, heart-stopping, desperate addiction (that stealing-car-stereos-and- rifling-through-your-Grandma’s-pocketbook- for-spare-change kind of addiction). These are kisses given and taken in the shadows, anonymous and unsaid, locked away from prying eyes. All secrets. And you know what they say about secrets...
Better to just steal a kiss and head back to the light, to the land of the living. Best not to stay too long in your paranormal lover’s arms when the lights go out or you’ll never find your way home in the dark. This is the other love, the flip side of love, love with a capital “ L ”: Love. Who told you that it was all going to be so nice? Didn’t you realize that love is a trap, a lie, an evil deed, a spell woven by magical creatures for nefarious purposes to soften you up for the death blow?
Choose to dabble in a little paranormal activity and your home life will become intolerable. Your parents will probably frown on double dates with demons (“ Shouldn’t you be doing your algebra homework rather than learning to communicate with the dead, young lady?”). Everyone knows that pretty boys with glowing eyes only whisper words of love so you’ll taste better when they finally gobble you whole. Surely you’ve read enough fairy tales to know this by now? (Oh, but it’s not all bad. Remember Michael Jackson ... see above.)
After death, mortal love lives on in the lover’s memory, a sweet, gentle reminder of the life-affirming splendor of everlasting devotion (aw...). But, is that it? Is that really love? A love that can ... die? What kind of cruddy love is that?
Choose paranormal love and make your relationship last forever! I mean, shouldn’t all true loves be able to survive a reanimation ... or two?
—TRISHA TELEP
The Assassin’s Apprentice
BY MICHELLE ZINK
I made my way through the crowd, trying not to be jostled by the men around me. It was always difficult to get my thick, blond hair under a hat, and I was never quite certain it would stay there. If it came loose, I would be a beacon not only for the rough men in the room, but for the demon lurking among them.
And be revealed as both a female and a Descendant, either of which could get me killed—or worse—in company such as this.
The men were filthy, wound tight with an energy that rippled through the crowd. I could feel their agitation. Their rising excitement. Their despair. They would work their whole lives through and find little more than a meager wage, an occasional night at the street fights, and an early death. I felt a moment’s pity for them as I made my way along the outskirts of the crowd, but my sympathy quickly dissipated.
Perhaps these people would never rise above their station. Perhaps they would die young from breathing coal dust or in an accident at one of the factories in our New York town.
But they would never see their families executed by a demon like Bael.
And that, in my opinion, made them far better off than I.
The closer I came to the front of the crowd, the more the men pushed and shoved. Their shirts hung limply against their skin, sticking to their sweaty bodies as they angled for a better look at the makeshift ring in the middle of the derelict building. The first two contestants
had not yet entered the patch of ground reserved for the fighters, making this the best chance I would have of spotting Bael. Once the fight began, the men would surge forward and pack even more tightly together.
I made my way to the front, looking for a place to hide and finding it in the shadows that lurked near the wall. It was too far back to see the fight properly, but perfect for surveying the room in its entirety. Stepping into the darkness, I leaned back against the crumbling wall.
I scanned the crowd, my eyes skipping over the bearded, dirty men until I spotted Bael, standing against the wall opposite mine. He stood in the shadows, much as I did, his face only half-visible through the broad shoulders and bearded faces of the mortal men. Even so, it was easy to be certain of his identity, for his skin was as smooth as a child’s, his clothes crisp and unsoiled.
I knew it for the lie it was. There was no doubt in my mind that the demon who had murdered my family lay under the guise of the handsome blond gentleman leaning against the wall. Fury rose in me like a tide, beginning at my feet and continuing until my face was hot with it.
The time for waiting was passed. Now it was time to be done with it. With him.
Now it was time for him to pay.
My fingers found the hilt of my Blade without looking, and I had a flash of Father, standing near me as I assumed the ready position. I could still feel his hand on my shoulder, steadying my arm as I focused on the targets across the field in the distance.
Hit your mark, Rose. Hit your mark.
I stepped forward, itching to drive the Blade through Bael’s black, black heart.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” It was not the murmured voice in my ear that gave me pause, but the hand, tightly clenched around my upper arm, that made me stop in my tracks.
I knew better than to expose my back to Bael. Instead, I tipped my head so that my body was still facing forward, glaring from under the brim of my hat at the young man who had spoken.
“And I wouldn’t do that.” I let my eyes skip to his hand, still encircling my arm. “If I were you, I mean.”
In the noise and activity of the room, the young man’s face was a series of quick impressions. Angular cheekbones, dark hair curling at his ears, deep blue eyes flashing even in the dim light of the room.
“I understand,” he said, loosening his grip on my arm. “But he’ll kill you, too, if he sees you.”
For a moment, everything seemed to still, and all I heard were his words.
He’ll kill you, too, if he sees you.
As if he knew about the murder of my family.
I removed my hand from the hilt of the Blade, looking at him in surprise. “First of all, you don’t understand. Couldn’t possibly understand. And second of all,” I pulled my arm violently from his grasp, “who are you?”
***
“Let’s go.” The young man still had a hold of my arm, despite my best efforts at freeing myself.
I should have been frightened, for even now we were making our way to the entrance of the building. But he was moving me away from Bael, and this made me believe that we were somehow on the same side.
The crowd seemed to part as we moved through it, the young man commanding a strange, unspoken respect as everyone stepped aside.
“I can walk on my own, you know.” I tried one last time to wrench free of his grasp, but his fingers were like a vice on my arm.
“I have no doubt,” he said. “But I think you should stay close. It seems we may have company.”
It took me a minute to understand what he meant, but as we reached the door, I looked back to where Bael had been standing. Then I understood.
He was no longer there.
I felt a rush of utter fear followed quickly by shame. Fear could not co-exist with vengeance.
“Can you at least tell me your name?” I asked as the young man pulled me out the door and into the cold night.
He sighed, and I marveled that he could sound so bored when it seemed we were both on the run. “It’s Asher. Now will you be quiet until I think of a way to get us out of Bael’s sight?”
His words silenced me as nothing else could. They were confirmation that he did, indeed, know Bael by name. I had never heard the demon’s name spoken aloud except by my Mother and Father.
That meant the young man holding my arm could only be one thing.
I knew there were other Descendants, though they were scattered far and wide. Underground for their own protection against filth like Bael. And though we knew the Assassins were among us, attempting to quell the execution of the Descendants, we did not speak of them. They moved silently among the shadows of our world, doing their duty without worldly aplomb or association.
I was pulled from my thoughts when the young man named Asher hurried me down the crumbling stone steps and onto the darkened streets, smoke rising from the streetlamps that flickered every few feet. He looked back only once, cursing softly under his breath.
“We have to hurry. I think he might have spotted you. We have to find a place to take cover until we lose him.”
I stopped suddenly, forcing Asher to a stop as well. “I don’t want to lose him. I want to kill him.” I silently cursed the quaver in my voice.
“Yes, well, I’d say he’d probably like to kill you too.” He leaned in, his face mere inches from mine. I felt a blush heat my face, though I could not have said why. “And he’ll get the chance if you do not come with me right now.” He pulled me forward, grumbling. “We can debate your chances of killing him before he kills you once we’ve found a safe place to hide.”
His unwavering determination gave me pause. I wasn’t used to being strong-armed. Mother had once told Father that he was the only one who held sway over me, and I had been forced to admit on more than one occasion, if only in the privacy of my own thoughts, that I was not always agreeable.
But Asher did not seem intimidated by my stubbornness. His arm was strong on mine, and I had the sense that I could not escape him if I tried. It might have been frightening if not for the fact that he was so clearly trying to save my life.
Now, the knowledge of his strength held a secret thrill.
We passed two drunkards, singing loudly and off-key, and Asher pulled me into a dark alley, glancing around until his eyes settled on a pallet stacked high with wooden crates. As we made our way to it, I contemplated pointing out the obviousness of such a hiding place, but as soon as we stepped around it to the back, I knew why he’d chosen it.
“Here. It is far from perfect, but it will have to do.” His voice was quiet as he stepped into a deep door frame behind the pallet, tugging me back into the shadows, pulling my body to his.
I did not have time to protest. I could feel Bael’s presence in the alley beyond our hiding place. It was almost as distracting as the press of Asher’s body against mine, the faint smell of woodsmoke and spring rain clinging to his shirt. My hands came up against his chest, and in the quiet of the night, I felt the steady thrum of his heart.
It came as a surprise. I did not realize Assassins had beating hearts while in the mortal world.
He tipped his head, bringing his mouth to my ear. The kiss of his breath was soft against my skin as he whispered. “Don’t move a muscle.”
And then Bael was there, moving around the pallet, the sickly sweet stench of him seeping into our hiding place, making me want to gag. I fought the urge, burying my face in Asher’s shirt and calling myself a coward.
Take him now! You wanted him. There he is, I thought.
But I could not. It was all I could do to stand, immobile and full of fear, while Bael scoped the small space behind the pallet outside the doorway where we hid. His boot steps fell, heavy and purposeful, stopping only feet away. I was shocked when, a moment later, he spoke.