Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  I can’t hold back my cheek-splitting smile.

  Keller cradles my face in his hands. “We’re a team, Josephine Hawk. And I, for one, like the sound of that.”

  I shrug shyly. “Yeah. I kinda do, too. Sometimes.”

  He lifts both brows. “Kinda? Sometimes?”

  I roll my eyes. “Take what you can get, Irish.”

  Keller lifts my chin with his finger, leans down and kisses me long and hard. I’m breathless when he breaks away. “I’ll take your heart, Josie.”

  I nod. “I’ll let you try.”

  Chapter Six

  Six weeks later…

  Silence.

  Stillness blankets the night, casting an eerie hush over a normally boisterous street. The humans are tucked in their beds, some just now crawling in after a night of non-stop dancing and drinking. My skin tingles like I’ve been standing under the hot spray of a shower jet for too long. I welcome the feeling and roll my neck from side to side, loosening the muscles that have tightened into a knot while I’ve been playing the waiting game. As looming shadows extinguish the hazy light coming from the overhead streetlamps, I know it can only mean one thing. This hunt is about to go from bad to freakishly f’d up. My favorite kind.

  I draw in a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable fight. Crouching behind the garbage cans in the narrow alley, I place my index finger against my lips, the universal signal for ‘zip it or else’. Keller says nothing. Even in the pitch dark, I know he sees me from across the street. He’s becoming more powerful every day. I tell him it’s because he’s a hell of a lot older than me. Putting him in his place from time to time keeps us on even ground. He’s got more bragging rights than me and I might be a wee bit jealous.

  I imagine the grin sitting on his perfect face, full lips curling up at the corners and exposing his sparkly whites. I squirm a little. Keller smiles every time my heart rocks the jackhammer, like it’s doing now. He considers my pulse to be his beckoner. Maybe it is. Was it really only a few weeks ago that I was annoyed by his presence? Now, I’m comforted knowing he’s here and ready to fight alongside me. Being with Keller is like donning that oversized, rumpled, white t-shirt that smells like men’s sexy cologne. I’ve got it really bad for him. So bad, I get pissed at myself when I think about all the years I wasted telling him to get lost.

  Sage says she knew all along Keller and I were destined to be together. I still have my doubts—if I’m being honest, but for now we’re good together. Really, really good.

  A nasty wind comes out of nowhere and whips through the alley, forcing me onto all fours and sweeping away my wanton thoughts like scattering leaves. Mumbling a curse, I shove off the ground and swipe my palms against my shirt, brushing off the dirt and gravel. My hair thrashes around my face like flames in a hell storm, hindering my vision. I wish I had braided it. There’s no time now, so I shove the long red strands behind my ears.

  It’s only early May, but already the humidity has my shirt clinging to damp skin. The thick air carries the fetid scents of trash and the being lurking around the corner. He’s headed my way, and I’m ready. Sliding my hand up my thigh, I latch on to my short blade. It’s so quiet I can hear the faint creak of the leather as I squeeze my fist. Tension swims through my veins, lashing out until my body vibrates with need. The need to protect and destroy. I pull the blade from its sheath, gripping the handle tighter. Up close and personal is the only way to take down a murk.

  Murks, with their oversized bodies, gaping maws, and sharp black teeth, are disgusting and deadly. A noxious substance drips from their skin, leaving a stank, oily trail in their wake. Their rotten stench alone is enough to take down the average person. Thankfully, I’m not average.

  I’m a huntress. In layman terms, it means I’m a killer. If you fuck with my city and my people, you fuck with me. The residents of Nashville, whether born and bred or one of the thousands of tourists walking the streets every day, are my heart. I’ll do anything to protect them, anything to keep them oblivious to the creatures of the occult. The occult world, even the fantastical and lighter parts of it, is a very dangerous place to be. Plainly put: It ain’t pretty.

  Lucian and Matthew are less than two blocks away. They’ll approach from behind.

  I acknowledge Keller with a nod. What about Alex and Grant? Are they close? Oddly, I only sense one murk. But if I’ve learned anything about murks over the years, it’s that they aren’t solitary creatures. They tend to stalk their prey in groups. Picture a group of pitch black Jabba the Hutts. Now add legs. That’s what I’m dealing with. I’d seriously give my right eye for more backup.

  I’ve learned that Alex, Matthew, Lucian, and Grant all know how to do a lot more than play instruments and sing, though their skills in that department are enough to make the majority of females and a good percentage of males stand up and take notice. The five of them are as lethal as I am. But things are getting worse in Nashville for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, and we need more help. It all started with Ostara… I had thought booting Cross out of town would have given us a bit of a reprieve. That’s hardly the case. The six of us are having a hard time keeping up, and I know in my gut, things are going to continue to get worse. For the life of me, I can’t seem to remember how I ever handled this by myself. But I did. For a very long time. My near-death experience dealing with Cross permanently put the kibosh on my go-it-alone attitude. I’m no good to Nashville if I’m dead.

  No, Keller responds. They’re battling a handful of demons six blocks south. Alex says they’re a vicious pack. Reminds him of rabid, fire-breathing dogs.

  Shit. I hate fire-breathing demons. My ass has been scorched one too many times.

  Speaking telepathically is not something I’m not wholly comfortable with yet. I’m a private person, a loner who likes to be in a crowd, an extrovert who clutches her secrets like a toddler who refuses to give up the pacifier. I know that doesn’t make sense. I don’t make sense. I never have. I’ve given up trying to figure me out. You can blame it on my odd parentage. I do quite often. My father is a full-blooded hunter. My mother is totally human—was human. I’m not going there, though. To do so would be to completely pull my head out of this hunt. And that would be an epic fail.

  Back to Keller and I, which is not by any means a safer subject, but one that doesn’t swallow me in a sea of sorrow. At times like this, I can appreciate the need for our strictly mental communication. The more I allow Keller to feed off of me—and only me—the stronger our mental connection is. Not to mention the fact that his bite is better than an orgasm any day of the week. For that reason alone, if I ever find his fangs in another, I’ve got two knives. One for the giver and one for the taker.

  Keller chuckles in my mind, and I consider the rumbling caress a prelude to sex. Great sex. Mind-blowing, out of this world sex.

  The ground trembles beneath my feet, snapping me out of my little fantasy moment. Damn. I have got to pay attention. Keller’s got me all kinds of twisted. While the ground does its mini earthquake thing, I hear a low moan that would be inaudible to humans. Murks have trouble breathing. Because of their enormous size, each movement is labored, each breath a wheeze. They’re slower than slugs, but don’t count them out. I’ve made the mistake of being under one when it fell. Needless to say, that wasn’t one of my prouder moments. It was one of the most painful and embarrassing, though. I had to wait until the murk had completely deflated before I could wiggle out from under him. I’ve totally earned my Shimmy Queen rights.

  Another tremble, this one more intense, and I finally see him. One booted foot angles around the corner, kicking a can and sending it flying through the air. I never hear it fall. The boot is attached to a leg so fat it’s nearly splitting the seams of the murk’s pants. The threads hang on for dear life, stretching and unraveling with each heavy step. I’m not even sure why they wear pants. As far as I can tell, they have no outward genitalia, though the males are typically larger than the females. And really, c
lothing looks ridiculous on a bumpy blob with teeth. This murk is huge, so it’s a pretty fair assumption on my part to label him a dude.

  Murks get off on squeezing the life out of their victims like a boa constrictor before munching on them for dinner. Bones and all. Humans see nothing but a shadow. By the time they realize they should run screaming, it’s already too late. Their bodies are never found, and each name is added to the ever-growing missing person’s list.

  This murk is going to go hungry tonight. The dinner bell has broken. He’s already had his last meal. He doesn’t know it yet, and that’s where the fun comes in.

  Ready?

  Keller should know better than to ask me that. I’m always ready, and considering I’m already on the move, Keller’s the one who’s gonna be late for this party.

  I’m fast. Like super-fast. Like a track star on alien speed. Before the murk can take another step, I’ve got my blade embedded in his right knee. I twist. He kicks with his left leg, narrowly missing my chest. He’s not quick, but he is huge. Pulling the blade back, I spin and slice his abdomen open with the other knife. A nasty black substance I hesitate to call blood pours out of his gut and sprays my face. I jump back before the splatter can hit the ground, careful not to get any on my boots. That’s exactly how I went down last time. Slipped on murk juice and totally rocked the belly-flopping-face-plant dance.

  Keller leaps onto the murk’s lumpy shoulders, and with one arm around his neck and the other grabbing his forehead, he yanks hard. The murk opens his mouth so far his head is nearly split in half. He howls, the sound reminiscent of a train whistle, but stays on his feet, thrashing his arms about in an attempt to grab onto something. Like a dancer proficient in every genre, I dodge, bob, weave, jump, and spin.

  The black gooey substance drips from my forehead, hot and stinging as it leaks between my eyelashes. I wipe the ooze out of my eyes with the back of my hand. I attack again, my arm arcing widely before my blade hits its mark. The murk wails as his right hand plunges to the ground. I’ve left him with a stub. Score one for the Hawkster!

  “Stop playing, Josie. Finish him already,” Keller growls and twists the murk’s head. The creature’s bright green eyes bulge, but the neck doesn’t snap. That wouldn’t kill him anyway. There is only one way to kill a murk. Stake its black heart so the body cannot regenerate.

  “Fine,” I mumble. Seriously, Keller can be such a fun suck. I step back a couple of feet, take a deep breath, and launch myself into the air like a spider monkey, slamming my blade into the murk’s chest. Locking my legs tight against his body, I pull up, breaking ribs and ripping muscle. One more jerk and I know I’ve punctured his heart. The diamond-cut blade slides through the organ like a warm knife on hot butter. I shove the blade in farther and leap out of the way. Keller rides the murk all the way to the ground like a cowboy on a bucking bronco before he easily steps off. Dude has really taken to the cowboy way of things in Nashville.

  I roll my eyes at his theatrics. Okay, maybe he does have some fun in him. I hear the sound of boots on pavement. Matthew and Lucian round the corner. The air blurs around them as they slide to a stop and take in the kill. Tall and lean, with sinewy muscle women fawn over, they could be mistaken for brothers if you didn’t know one was two centuries older than the other.

  “For real? We missed it? This bites.” Lucian says, his blond hair nearly as white as the moon. His lips are turned down like he’s seriously upset. I want to offer him some cookies and milk and give him a big ol’ hug. Of course, he's sporting his trademark suspenders, which I happen to think is a fighting hazard. Luc claims no one will ever get close enough to grab on. To date, that statement is a fact. I’m thinking a little wager is in order. This girl needs a new pair of boots.

  I laugh. “You two are getting really old and really slow. We had this thirty seconds ago.” Yeah. Total fist pump moment.

  Keller nudges me with his boot. “Would have been faster if Josie here hadn’t been feckin’ around.”

  “All work and no play,” I say, though the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. This was too easy. No way in hell is it over yet. But my boys here don’t know that. They’re new in town and still have a lot to learn about my streets and the native creatures of the night. While some beings can travel anywhere, others are destined to remain in their birth region. Such is the fate of the murk. Lucky me.

  “Whatever. I hear the demons are putting up quite a fight—”

  Matthew’s words are cut off when the ground quakes under our feet like a caravan of army tanks are heading straight for us.

  I knew it. Hazarding a look around the corner, I groan. “We’re not done. Looks like you’ll get your hands dirty yet, Matthew.” I smile and point. “Dead murk’s family is here.”

  “How many?”

  “Ten. Maybe eleven.”

  “Shit, Josie. That’s not a family,” Lucian says, scratching his bearded jaw. His ice-blue eyes sparkle with excitement. “That’s a posse.”

  I shrug. “Either way, they don’t look happy.” Nor would I be if someone had slaughtered one of my people. “We need to spread out. You two go high,” I tilt my head toward Keller and Matthew. “Lucian and I will take street level.” I’ve really got to work on my free-running skills. Bounding off of buildings and flipping over obstacles like a gymnast would be badassery at its finest.

  Keller pulls me close and plants a kiss on my lips. Even though I’m covered in murk blood, I return the kiss for as long as I think is safe, completely ignoring the smack talk coming from the other vampires.

  After I break the kiss, Keller slaps my ass and gives an enthusiastic, “Let’s do this.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Keller and I are totally dragging ass and making our way home. Vampires are extraordinarily strong, and have more endurance than any other being I’ve come across. Keller’s obvious fatigue is testament to the heavy shit we’ve dealt with tonight. Ten filthy murks had turned into twenty and then twenty more, each one seemingly stronger than the last. Thankfully, we managed to exterminate all of them—any way we could. Then, joy of joy, someone sing a folk song, we still had the demons to deal with. Grant and Alex had taken down their fair share before we’d joined the fray, leaving us with only a few more to wrangle. It should have been easy, a quick slice-and-dice-it’s-been-nice moment. As luck would have it, the demons must have been amped up on steroids. I’ve got the cuts and bruises to prove it. Again, what the hell is going on?

  Now, I can barely keep my eyes open, and Keller’s complexion is reminiscent of a ghost. He needs to feed, but I’m too wiped to offer up dinner. One bite and I swear I’ll need a casket. Tonight is one of those rare nights when I’m actually considering getting a new job. I don’t entertain those dark thoughts for too long though. Like Popeye, I am what I am. And seriously? I love what I do.

  As we pass by one of several souvenir shops on the strip, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the store window. Holy fried catfish and grits. “I look like…”

  I can’t even think of a description bad enough for the catastrophe staring back at me. I have black smears of murk blood all over my face and arms. My hair, which is plastered against my cheeks and forehead, is a matted mess that looks like evicted flames from hell, flames that lost their heat and sizzle and were downgraded to faulty sparks after someone threw dirty water on them. My shirt is ripped and my skirt is at least two inches shorter than it was an hour ago. If I’m not careful, my other cheeks will be saying a great big hey y’all to the world.

  Keller touches my hand. His touch elicits a shiver that scurries over my body in electric waves. I blink away from my blurry image and turn to him.

  “You look tired,” he says, and offers a half smile.

  I snort at his attempt to be kind. He wipes something from my cheek and I imagine a combination of blood and guts, maybe even demon scale debris, sticking to his fingers. I look over my shoulder and see we’ve left a trail of exactly that. “Shit,” I say,
already feeling the weight of the task sagging my shoulders. “We have to clean up.” Humans excuse a lot of things, dismiss them as this or that with a wave of their hand, but evidence of a killing spree is not one of them.

  “I’ve got someone on it.” He tilts his head. “Let’s go back to your place and get cleaned up.”

  “Who?”

  Keller tugs a strand of my hair, pulling me closer, a sinful gleam in his jet-black eyes. “You and me. Who else?”

  I almost let myself get sucked in. Almost. I shake my head and bite down a stab of resentment. I have a feeling I know the direction of this conversation, and it’s not a good one. In fact, it’s pretty much the bane of our fragile relationship. One of them anyway. His unwavering need to possess me runs a very close second. “Who’s cleaning up?” I ask, keeping my voice even, if not my pulse.

  His gaze flits to my neck before he quickly looks over the top of my head. Now he’s the one staring at the window. I wonder if he notices the tic in his jaw. I sure as hell do.

  “Out with it, Irish. Who is cleaning my streets tonight?” I’m aware of the slight change in the sky, navy blue lightening just a fraction of a shade at the horizon. Keller rubs the back of his neck, and lets his arm drop. He feels what I see. Dawn is coming, but I’m not moving until he gives me the details. All of them. Even if that means someone is going to get singed.

  “Your streets?” He swipes a hand through his dark hair, fatigue settling deep and forming lines around his mouth. “Can we talk about this later, Josie?” he asks as he strategically moves under the awning.

  I pivot and arch one eyebrow, giving him a serious stare down.

  Keller leans against the storefront and nails me with his own stare—a sexy vampire-god stare. I’m not budging, though a teeny tiny part of me heats up. My other eyebrow rises and I cross my arms over my chest in an immature fashion. I know he’s irritated that I still call Nashville mine. Old habits die hard, and the truth is, I’m not one hundred percent ready to relinquish even a small part of what I’ve cherished and nurtured, protected and praised for all these years. Not yet, and maybe not ever.