Taming the Vampire: Over 25 All New Paranormal Alpha Male Tales of Contemporary, Military, Shifters, Billionaires, Werewolves, Magic, Fae, Witches, Dragons, Demons & More

by Mandy M. Roth

  Lyla grinned. “Nice to see you again, Chas. Even nicer to meet your keeper. I wouldn’t be surprised if Wayren had something to do with that particular job placement.”

  “Most likely you’d be right, but I haven’t seen Wayren to ask her…which is not really a surprise. She sure as hell”—he seemed to wince as the word slipped out—“knows how to make herself scarce. How about you tell me why you’re here—and without an appointment, or even a call.”

  “You never gave me your number,” she replied.

  He looked at her with thoughtful, narrowed eyes for a moment, then asked, “Is that from a song? Or was it a movie? Never mind. I’ll ask Miss Brick. She’ll be happy to set me straight. Now, what do you want?” As quickly as the distraction had come, it evaporated, and an intense expression darkened his eyes. “So…Barry Rudolph’s death. They found him early this morning. Drugs, of course—otherwise why would you be here?”

  Lyla saw no reason to beat around the bush. “I think Ren Tyroli is responsible—but more importantly, I need to get in to Gunnar Malkensen.”

  Chas shook his head, then settled back in his seat. “You want to see Malkensen? Is that any way to thank me for saving your life—going back into the den of that bastard?” His expression had turned hard.

  Lyla gritted her teeth. Now was not the time to tell Chas the whole story. Not until she talked to Gunnar first; he deserved to know. “What happened before—that was an accident. It wasn’t his fault. Besides, I’m prepared this time. Trust me—Gunnar’s just as likely to get burned as I am.”

  “I don’t deny that, from what I’ve seen of you.” He gave her a smile that would bring most women to their collective knees. Though Lyla wasn’t anything like “most women,” even she wasn’t completely immune to his delicious charm and the naughtiness in that grin. Her breath caught a little, and she knew the crystal embedded in her skin would be glowing infinitesimally brighter with her subtle intake of breath.

  “But what makes you think I can help?” he said, his smile easing. “You know Malkensen and I don’t see eye to eye on many things.”

  “How about on pretty much nothing—except the destruction of Cezar Moldavi?”

  “We definitely have that in common. But it’s rather difficult to forge any sort of alliance with a man who bristles at the sight of me.”

  Lyla snorted a laugh. “Possibly…quite possibly…it could be related to the fact that the first time you met, you were trying to shove a stake into his heart. Vampires tend to take exception to that sort of thing, you know.” She glanced briefly at the door, wondering if it was all right to speak so plainly if they could be overheard.

  Chas shrugged. “Hazard of the occupation, lulu. You know that.” He tracked her attention toward the door and added, “And don’t worry about Miss Brick. I have a bad feeling she knows more about the undead, the underworldly, and the rest of you mad lot than I do.”

  “You don’t include yourself in the ‘mad lot’?” But clearly he did her, which told Lyla he did know something about her origins.

  He shook his head. “I’m just a normal guy who has a vocation to rid the world of the undead—and any other demonic creature that wants to eat, maim, curse, or bespell mortals.”

  “You? A mere normal guy?” Lyla rolled her eyes. “That’s like saying Stephen Hawking is smart. I’ve seen you in action, Chas. You’re about as far away from normal as I am. But at least I don’t wear a belly ring,” she teased. Not that a skin-sunk crystal is much different.

  He touched his flat stomach through the fine cotton shirt. “It’s not a goddamned belly ring,” he growled. “It’s a vis bulla, worn by the Venators for centuries. It makes me exceedingly strong and fast. So you can just bite me.” Chas grinned, and Lyla nodded in acknowledgment of the very appropriate pop culture reference, even though she, at least, didn’t have fangs.

  “Nicely done.”

  “Right. Some day you and I can talk about what Joss Whedon got right, and what he got wrong when it came to vampire slaying. But he did fairly well, all things considered.” Chas folded his arms over his middle. “All right, you want to see Malkensen. Far be it from me to stand in your way—you clearly know what you’re doing. So we have to figure out how to make that happen.”

  “Yes. It’s fairly urgent—I have to get into his house. Tonight would be best.” She smiled hopefully.

  “Tonight? As in, within the next few hours? You’re mad.”

  “I’m on a time crunch,” she said.

  His face darkened. “Christ, lulu. You don’t ask for much, do you?”

  “I do have an idea.”

  “That’s helpful.”

  “Sabrina Frost.” As soon as she said the name, Chas’s startled gaze whipped to hers.

  She took that as interest and continued, “Gunnar has a standing appointment with one of her—um—associates every week on Tuesday night. That is, tonight. The associate goes to his house.” Even as she said the words, Lyla’s mouth dried. She felt both infuriated that Gunnar would have a regular “service” call arranged with the most elite escort service in LA, and terribly sad that he was reduced to doing so.

  Things could have been so different.

  “So you want to go to Malkensen’s house in the place of the escort. Tonight. Not a bad plan, I suppose. How do I fit in? Surely I’m not to be the lowly chauffeur.”

  “I need you to call Sabrina Frost and arrange it.”

  Chas eased back in his seat as if to put as much distance between himself and her—as well as her suggestion. “Not bloody likely. I don’t even know the woman.”

  “I find that hard to believe, but either way, she’d take your call. You are Chas Woodmore.”

  His lips flattened. “You needn’t flatter me. I know precisely who I am.”

  She noticed he didn’t sound all that pleased about who he was.

  “It’s just a phone call,” she said. “But it would make all the difference to me. I’ll pay the service fee for the escort,” she added wildly, then did a mental calculation about her bank account balance. How much could it cost for a few hours? Hell, Gunnar probably even got a volume discount, she thought as her stomach churned. Being a regular as he was.

  “You’ll pay?” Chas snorted.

  “It can’t be that much for just a few hours,” she replied, trying not to imagine the session lasting more than that. “Five, six hundred bucks?” That’d be stretching it—a lot—but she could go without food for a week, except for what she could bum off at work. Did Sabrina Frost take credit cards?

  “Try three grand. For the first hour.”

  Lyla felt faint. “By the depths, I’m in the wrong profession.”

  “Sex sells, lulu. Law enforcement…not so much. Especially when you work for the DEA—and especially with Team Z.” He fastened those dark eyes on her.

  “I’ll figure out something,” she replied. “I have to get in there, Chas. Make it happen. I know you can.”

  “At least tell me what’s the connection to Ren Tyroli and Barry Rudolph,” he said, picking up his mobile phone. He turned it over, looking at it thoughtfully, as she explained.

  “I need Gunnar’s help bringing in Ren. Now that Barry Rudolph is dead, he’s the only person who can help me. I can’t tell you any more than that. It’s confidential.” She hoped he couldn’t tell she was mostly bullshitting her way through this.

  Now that I know the truth, I just need to see Gunnar.

  Chas snorted, but didn’t look at her as he tapped on his smartphone a few times. His face was unreadable as he lifted it to his ear.

  “This is Chas Woodmore. I need a favor from you, Ms. Frost.”

  Chapter 2

  Declining to Do a Favor

  Bites As Well

  Sabrina Frost pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the display. That’s what I get for answering a blocked ID, she thought grimly. She hadn’t been caught off guard like this in…well, probably at least a decade.

  But she got s
o many calls from people who wished to remain anonymous that it wasn’t good business to let unidentified callers go to voice mail. Still, normally, she would redirect a call like this to Rubey for screening.

  Why had she even answered?

  Sabrina gripped the phone a little tighter, her fingers inside whisper-thin gloves suddenly hot and damp. She’d done her best to avoid meeting or even being in the vicinity of Chas Woodmore for three years. Now she was actually speaking to him—on her private line.

  “How did you get this number?” she said coolly.

  “The same way you get the numbers of the people you need to reach, I suspect,” replied a rich, mellow voice.

  She laughed in spite of herself. “That’s pretty dangerous.”

  He replied with a dark chuckle, and the implication was clear: he was a pretty dangerous man. Which she already knew.

  “Are you going to help me out?” he asked.

  “I’d like to,” she said, making a shooing gesture to let Rubey know she wanted privacy. Standing at the expansive window of her penthouse office, Sabrina looked out over the magnificent mountains, gilded by a pink sunset, in the distance. It was as close as she could get to the real thing, sunset: looking through the specially coated glass.

  Though the ground fell away sharply below, into a deep, rough canyon, it wasn’t a dislike of heights that had her heart thudding harder than she liked. Damn Woodmore.

  “I’d like to, but I’m afraid all of my appropriate associates are booked for the evening,” she continued. “And for the next week, in fact.”

  “You didn’t ask me what I wanted,” he replied, still in that easy, low voice. “How do you even know you can’t provide me what I need?”

  “I’m very intuitive.”

  There was a beat of silence, and Sabrina could almost hear him say, Oh, are you? in that rumbly tone…but he didn’t. Apparently, Chas Woodmore was not the predictable sort. Something inside her flickered.

  After that deliberate pause, he said, “I simply need the identity of your associate who will be—er—visiting Gunnar Malkensen tonight. Consider it the calling in of a favor.”

  Calling in a favor. Right. Oh, damn. She’d known this day would come.

  But Sabrina wasn’t playing. “As you must know, that’s confidential.”

  Once again, he didn’t immediately respond, but it wouldn’t be due to surprise at her rebuff. He was in a business similar to hers—in a broad sense, anyway, she thought with a twitch of her lips—and he wouldn’t give out that information to just anyone who asked.

  But you’re not just anyone, are you, Sabrina? a little voice inside her head pointed out.

  No. Unfortunately, she wasn’t.

  And damned if she didn’t owe Chas Woodmore a favor—this man whom she’d never met, never even spoken to before now. How had he gotten this number, anyway? Sabrina had her private number changed every other week, and there were only three people who knew it. Her clients knew to contact her via email or private message.

  Yet she wasn’t giving up without a fight. “As I said previously, Mr. Woodmore…I can’t help you tonight. Or next week. Or, in fact, ever.”

  She expected him to argue, to plead—even to threaten—in order to call in the favor.

  “Very well then, Ms. Frost. I’m sorry to have expected better of you. And I apologize for taking up your time.”

  The connection was broken, and Sabrina pulled the phone away to look at it so she could be certain.

  Huh. He really had hung up.

  She stared down at the screen, suddenly wary, suddenly prickly. What was that all about? She drummed her gloved fingers on the window glass in front of her, no longer noticing the scene spread out below.

  Then, with a sigh, she gritted her teeth and swiped the face of her smartphone. She was one of the few of her kind who could actually use a touchscreen even without her gloves, but the thin, specially made hand coverings made it significantly easier to do so. For a fully turned vampire, it was nearly impossible.

  Sabrina pressed on the screen a few times, found the number she needed, then lifted the phone to speak into it once more.

  “Tonja? Yes, this is Ms. Frost. I have some information you need to be aware of before your client call tonight.”

  Lyla looked at Chas as he set the phone down. “She said no, and that was it?” She’d expected far more from the man. Miracles, even. Hell, she could’ve made that call herself.

  “You’re partially correct. She said no, but that’s not… Mmhm.” He lifted his phone, which had made a soft chirp, then raised a finger to silence her as he looked at it.

  The screen had lit up again, but Lyla couldn’t see what it was.

  Chas picked up the phone, looked at it…then set it down. She had no idea what he was doing, but time was marching on. If he didn’t do something soon, she would miss her chance to breach the fortress that was Gunnar Malkensen’s hideaway.

  “Chas,” she began, but he held up a hand.

  “I’ll get you the information you want, but as I’m expecting to get something out of this as well, you’ll need to sit tight.”

  Lyla glared at him and began to pace. It was pushing seven o’clock, and if she didn’t get in to see Gunnar during the window of time for the escort to arrive, she’d have to wait another week. She was certain that would be too long.

  She glanced at Chas. Though he’d settled back in the corner of the sofa in a relaxed pose, he hadn’t taken his eyes from the mobile phone next to him.

  A discreet knock drew Lyla’s attention, but her companion didn’t move other than to say, “Yes, come in.”

  It was, of course, Miss Brick, and she bustled over to him, carrying a sheaf of papers. “Ah,” she said, looking at the mobile, which remained untouched and silent but for that single initial chirp. “I see you’re trying out the new app I installed for you. But, Mr. Woodmore, you see, the information is already there. If you touch right—”

  She made as if to press on it, but Chas stopped her. “I know. I’m waiting.”

  “Very well. While you’re waiting—for information that is already readily available, because I can see it on your phone—I need your signature on these contracts. The Pesaro agreement is on top.”

  He took them, pausing to glare at the one at the top of the stack as if it were particularly offensive, then scrawled his name in the locations indicated by a slew of hot-pink sticky flags. It was the choice of color that amused Lyla, for neither he nor Miss Brick seemed the hot-pink type.

  As he handed the sheaf of papers back to his assistant, he said, “So, Miss Brick, Keeper of All Knowledge…how long should one give a woman to do the right thing before one— Ah. Never mind.” He made a satisfied sound and picked up the telephone. “Ms. Frost,” he said into the receiver. “I can only assume the delay was due to your difficulty in tracking down my private line.”

  Lyla glanced at Miss Brick, whose brows had risen into two perfectly shaped arches, then shifted her attention back to Chas as he murmured into the phone. He’d turned away slightly, but the call was brief, and he set the smartphone on the sofa next to him once again.

  “Malkensen’s Tuesday regular’s name is Tonja. I’ll handle getting her out of the way, but the rest is up to you, Harris. I trust that’ll be enough to get you out of my office. It doesn’t look good for a DEA officer to be sniffing around a private security firm, does it? Especially a Z-Teamer.”

  “Right. Thank you. What about—what about the fee? For the escort tonight? How do I—”

  “I told you I’d handle getting it covered.”

  “Wow. Sabrina Frost must owe you some favor.”

  Miss Brick, who’d been standing there silently during the exchange, made a noise that sounded like a cross between a chuckle and a snort of surprise. Chas gave her a dark look, then turned said dark look onto Lyla.

  “That’s my cue, then.” Lyla stood. She wasn’t certain why her heart was suddenly pounding and her hands were clammy—well, hel
l, who was she fooling? Of course she knew.

  She was going to see Gunnar Malkensen again tonight.

  She just hoped she was right, and she wouldn’t die in the process.

  Chapter 3

  The Nose Always Knows

  Though he was tucked away in his study, Gunnar picked up the scent when she entered the house.

  Lyla?

  He stilled, sniffing audibly, gauchely for several breaths…for surely he was wrong. The stylus he’d been using for the mobile phone slipped from his grip as he rose to sniff once more. He felt like a fool, like a hound dog on a hunt, but—

  What the hell. He had to be wrong. How could she be here?

  Just wishful thinking—but he stopped that thought immediately. No. It was not wishful thinking. He did not want to see Lyla Harris again, and there was no bloody way she could be in his house.

  It was like a damned fortress, and no one was here but him.

  He was expecting Tonja, just like he had every Tuesday night since he’d cloistered himself away after the Incident. Two long years since Hollywood’s most accomplished stunt double had disappeared from the scene, leaving the likes of Skarsgård, Hemsworth, and Parrish in the lurch when it came to daring action sequences and fight scenes.

  He didn’t miss that world any more than he missed the warm beat of sunshine, and being able to walk along the beach during the day. Or to surf beneath the sun instead of the moon.

  His jaw hurt, and he realized he was grinding it. Gunnar forced himself back to his work. Yet the familiar female essence lingered, teasing him, and he felt a growing, gnawing uncertainty. He rose from his desk again.

  “Tonja?” Opening the door of his study, he poked out into the hall. She knew to let herself in, to prepare and to wait for him in the living room, and that he would join her when…if…he chose.

  But the very act of opening the door was like a blow to his midsection, for the scent was there. Filling the corridor.