Lyla shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he was just testing the effect of grit on an undead. Or—”
“No. It wasn’t that simple. I think he knew,” Chas said.
“Knew? Knew what?”
Chas looked from her to Gunnar and back again. “You were both on set at Belarus Showdown. It was pretty obvious there was something between the two of you—”
“The fuck? There was nothing between us until that night, you bastard,” Gunnar snapped. “And from what she’s saying, it wasn’t even me that—well—” He stopped and gave her a horrified look. “I mean, I wanted to, but—”
“Good Christ,” Chas said, shaking his head in exasperation. “I meant the tension was there—everyone could see it. Even if you weren’t sleeping together—which I don’t give a good fuck about anyway—it sure felt like you were.”
“We weren’t,” Gunnar snapped, then winced and rubbed the back of his shoulder, his face tense with discomfort.
Chas eyed him thoughtfully. “Your Mark bothering you, Malkensen? That’s the best possible testament to the good intentions of a Dracule that I know of. Congratulations.”
“Fuck you,” Gunnar replied, dropping his hand away and looking like he had murder on his mind.
Chas turned to Lyla. “Knowing that, I don’t need to stay while you two talk this out, but I have one more question before I leave,” he said. “Now that Ren is dead, who’s the new crystal grit kingpin? Who’s taking his place? Who do we have to watch out for?”
“That’s three questions,” Gunnar grumbled. But he seemed far more agreeable now that Chas had indicated he was leaving.
Nevertheless, the vampire hunter raised excellent questions. Lyla shook her head. “I don’t know, but obviously I’m going to have to find out.”
“Try not to get killed doing it,” Chas said, starting for the door.
“First rule of drug lord hunting: don’t die.”
She heard his laugh as he rounded the corner and disappeared. Lyla turned to Gunnar, looking up at him. “So, now that he’s gone…I’ve got a question for you.”
He looked wary. “All right.”
“Can I take your clothes off now?”
Epilogue
When The Slate Just Won’t Remain Clean
Sabrina Frost stared down at her mobile phone.
How the hell did he get this number?
As soon as she’d discharged her “favor” to Chas Woodmore by giving him Tonja’s information—something she’d never thought she’d be willing to do, for any reason—she’d had Rubey change her private cell phone number. A few days earlier than usual wouldn’t hurt.
So she and Woodmore were squared up. She need never talk to him again. He no longer had any hold over her, she no longer owed him anything, and that nagging feeling of Chas Woodmore always lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance to—well, to call in a favor or somehow make her pay him back for what he’d done for her—was gone.
But now, just after midnight, only hours after she’d spoken directly to Chas Woodmore for the first time ever, he’d contacted her again.
This time, by text message.
I got there in time. He meant to kill her, but she’s going to be all right. No one has to worry about Ren Tyroli again either.
Sabrina stared at the message as its meaning sank in. Tonja. She closed her eyes with relief. Thank goodness.
Then her eyes popped open. If he “got there in time,” it meant that telling Chas Woodmore about Tonja hadn’t endangered her, but had actually saved her life.
Her mobile vibrated again. Another text message.
This time it was a picture.
Sabrina’s breath caught, and she felt weak and a little lightheaded. It was a photo of Tonja’s cell phone—which would have all sorts of confidential information on it…including some of Sabrina’s client list. The phone, which could easily have fallen into the wrong hands if an enterprising vampire hunter and security expert hadn’t shown up in time. Oh, damn.
The phone was being held by a most definitely masculine hand, and the implication was clear.
Chas Woodmore had not only saved Tonja’s life, but he’d also rescued a very sensitive piece of electronics.
A third text came in, and she closed her eyes, the words printed on her mind with the finality of a gravestone.
I’ll keep it safe for you.
When she opened her eyes several minutes later, the screen had gone dark. No more messages.
But she’d received that last one, loud and clear: the slate was no longer clean. Once again, she was indebted to Chas Woodmore.
It was just a matter of when that shoe would drop.
The End
About Colleen Gleason
Colleen Gleason is an award-winning, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author known for the international bestselling Gardella Vampire Hunters series. With the short story IMMORTAL GLAMOUR, she is pleased to launch the Gotham Hollywood series--a contemporary spin-off of two of her most popular worlds that can be read as a standalone story.
www.colleengleason.com
Blood Music by Yasmine Galenorn
Blood Music by Yasmine Galenorn
Bewitching Bedlam Series
When Maddy Gallowglass moves to Bedlam to restore an old mansion and turn it into a magical bed-and-breakfast, the last thing she expects is to meet her match in the gorgeous vampire Aegis, a former servant of Apollo.
Chapter 1
I was attracted to the old mansion before I ever set foot in it. One night, exhausted and tired of pretending to be happy any longer, I decided to get the hell out of Dodge. Or rather, Seattle.
The condo wasn’t my home anymore, at least not in my heart, and I was getting really tired of the noise and the rules. I wanted a black cat. Every witch worth her salt needed a cat. And I wanted to paint my front door red to feng shui prosperity into my life. I wanted to carve a pumpkin, enchant it, and set it outside my door to delight the trick-or-treaters on Samhain Eve—or as the humans called it, Halloween. But all of those things were prohibited by my HOA. I felt like I was being regulated to death and I was ready to bust heads over it.
In addition, my ex still had a nasty habit of coming around to try to spy on me. He couldn’t give up that nasty control streak and I was ready to bust his head, too. It was only through great restraint that I hadn’t cast a hex on him. A few focused words and a flick of my hand and I knew I could get him fired. Or better yet, wither up his dick. Preferably while it was inside one of his many girlfriends he had cheated on me with.
“What the hell should I do? I can sell this place, but I haven’t the faintest idea of where I want to go. I feel at all sorts of loose ends right now.” I glanced over at Sandy, my partner in crime. Or at least, magic and partying. We were coven-mates, and right now we were brewing up our fourth batch of margaritas. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to debate serious questions when we were half-drunk, but then again, I’ve never actually been accused of being wise.
Smart? Sure. Wise? Not so much.
“Maudlin, you’re just smart enough to get yourself in trouble, and not wise enough to see why you shouldn’t,” my mother always told me. I would have taken offense but from the get-go, I knew she was right.
Sandy snorted. “Why don’t you rub Bubba’s belly and make a wish?”
I paused in my margarita-making venture. “You really think that’s a good idea?”
“I know, but hey…you’re drunk. I’m drunk. Bubba loves you too much to take advantage of you in this state.”
“Well, he does love me.”
What Sandy said made a certain amount of sense, at least through my alcohol-washed brain. Bubba was my friend. Next to Sandy, he was my best buddy. He loved me and I loved him. She was right—he wouldn’t take advantage of me, not when I was three sheets to the wind.
“Why not give it a try?” I leaned over the cat, who had already flopped on his back, exposing his massive fluffball of a stomach. “Oh, Bubba. Be
sweet to me.” I tickled his belly. “Help me shake off the dust I’ve acc…acc…” I paused, trying to remember the word. Finally I finished with, “I’ve managed to drown in over the years. I need to feel like myself again. Give me adventure. Romance. Something…different.”
Bubba let out a purp and a spark raced over my fingertips as I rubbed his fur. I closed my eyes, laughing as the sparkles tickled my skin. But they abruptly stopped and—apparently bored—Bubba raced off into the other room.
I went back to making drinks. “I think he took pity on me and ignored my request.”
“You’re better off. Dunno why you thought that was a good idea. I’d never ask him for anything.” Sandy was glued to the computer screen.
“What? Girl, you’re the one who told me to do it.”
“And you listened to me? I’m drunk. Never listen to a drunken witch. Hey—what about this?”
Sandy forced herself to sit up straight. She was slumped over her laptop, staring at the screen. We had been watching videos of a group of half-naked dancers—Australian men hot enough to burn tongues if we’d been close enough to give them a lick. But now, she had apparently navigated away to what looked like a click-bait site. Seattle’s scariest houses or something of that sort.
“What about what, and do you want another drink?”
“That’s a stupid question, and what about this?” She tapped on the screen. I leaned forward and found myself looking at a picture of a decaying mansion instead of a pair of oil-slathered abs and thighs.
“Why am I staring at a decrepit old house?”
“Because it’s in Bedlam. We could be neighbors! I pass this house every day, but I didn’t know it was up for sale.”
Bedlam was a small island out in the San Juan Islands, near Lopez and Orcas, located in Haro Strait, on the United States side rather than the Canadian side. Bedlam was also the home to all the local elite of the PretCom—the preternatural community. Sandy had been trying to get me to move there for months, ever since I had broken up with Craig, but I had resisted. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea. I just felt there was something missing from my life…from me. My spirit of adventure had vanished during the years I had spent with my emotionally abusive ex-husband.
I frowned, leaning forward to take a closer look. “Reminds me of the house on The Munsters.”
“The mansion is for sale. It’s a far cry from this sterile condo with the tight-ass rules you’re always bitching about. Why are you staying here? Your life with Craig is done—you don’t even like the friends you made together. Add to which, they’re all his friends. He got you fired from your job. There’s nothing tying you to the city.”
She hiccupped and I handed her another margarita.
“Think about it. You like to work with your hands. This is a steal—real estate prices are insane, but you could buy this easily if you sell the condo. There would be plenty left over to fix it up. The house was gorgeous once. It would give you something to do, and when you finish, you’ll have a palace fit for our coven. And best yet, you’ll be near your best friend.”
I stared at the picture. There was something appealing about the house. It looked…lonely. Like it needed love. And I could think of one other added bonus.
“If Craig finds out I sold this place and and plunged the proceeds into a house like that, it would gnaw a hole in his chicken-liver gut. He’d be furious.”
The thought of driving him into a fury appealed to me. He had emotionally beaten me down for years. For some reason, I had taken it, at least until the last day, when he pushed me one step too far and I broke out of my apathy. I had burned a hole right through his precious briefcase, melting the leather with one very-pissed-off wave of my finger. That it had been in front of his cock had been a plus. Scared him so much he ran out and hired a lawyer that day.
“He’d be so pissed, and too terrified to say a word.” Sandy was egging me on for all she was worth. I’d had to stop her from throwing a whammy on Craig when she found out what he had done to me.
“You know, that alone might be worth it.” As I stared at the picture, I realized Sandy made several good points. Through the tequila-colored glasses I was wearing, I could see totally decking the place out. I could create a beautiful, Victorian home that would be perfect for parties with the best of Bedlam.
Giggling, I said, “Craig would shit a brick, wouldn’t he? It would be better than any hex I could throw on him. Especially since there’s nothing I can ever do to get the past eight years of my life back.” A sudden wave of sadness swept over me. “How did I lose myself? How did I go from Maddy, the Mad Wonder, to a woman who knuckled under every time he let out a dissatisfied grunt?”
I tilted my head, staring at the photo. For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw something move in one of the windows, but that had to be the tequila talking.
Sandy nodded, her smile gone. “He would, indeed, and so would all his upper-crust lawyer friends. Craig doesn’t deserve the energy it would take to cast a hex on him. He’s pigeon food. But honey, this would be as good for you as it would be devastating to him. Living well is the best revenge, remember.”
With my mind’s eye suddenly filled with visions of Craig throwing a temper tantrum and being unable to do one damned thing about it, I slapped the table. “By gods, I’m going to do it. I’m going to buy myself a mansion!” Before I could change my mind, I reached for the phone and called Bjorn, a fox-shifter who was both a real estate agent and another member of our coven.
By early light—way too early, given the bender the night before—I eased into the graveled drive in front of the mansion. The ferry ride through the San Juans had been choppy. The wind had been whipping something fierce, and my stomach wasn’t all that convinced the trip was a good idea.
Now that I was sober and doing my best to caffeinate myself with a quint-shot mocha, I was prone to agree with my stomach. It wasn’t the idea of moving to Bedlam that made me question myself, but rather, the thought of buying this particular rat’s nest. And yet…and yet, there was something about the house that made me want to hug it, to pat its head and bring it back to life.
As I stared up at the house, something tingled in the back of my brain. I was picking up on something—though I had no clue what. It wasn’t witchcraft, that much I knew, but it was something belonging to the PretCom and it felt familiar—like a song I once knew but had forgotten.
On the passenger seat, Bubba hunkered down in his carrier. He looked like any ordinary cat. Well, any fifteen-pound fluffball red boy with a cowlick on the top of his head. He did a good job of passing. Most people wouldn’t have the faintest clue he was a cjinn by just looking at him. He liked to take trips with me, and I always made sure to consult him whenever I checked out a new place.
“Bubba, you behave while we’re in there. If I let you out, you’d better not run off. I want to ask you some questions when we get a chance to talk. And trust me, this time you are going to tell me the truth.”
Bubba liked to make out that he never led me astray, but the facts proved different.
Buy the leopard print pants, he said. They look great on you. I agree—your hair would be better off bleached blond á la Bridget Bardot circa mid-1960s. Don’t worry about telling Craig you’re a witch—he won’t mind at all. Yes, Bubba liked his practical jokes, and they were usually aimed at me.
Bubba stared at me then rolled over, exposing his belly in a come-hither gesture. His eyes were glinting, and he wriggled on his back, but I knew better.
“Oh no, I’m not falling for that one. I’m not opening the carrier and I’m not rubbing your belly, so forget it, Bub. Maybe later, when you’re not spoiling for some fun.”
He let out a little huff and rolled back over, resting his head on his paws.
I slowly got out of the car, staring up at the mansion. It could almost pass for a small castle. Reminiscent of some fading southern plantation covered with ivy and grime, half the windows looked like they had been br
oken out.
“What the hell was I thinking?” I whispered. But I was saved the trouble of giving myself an answer as Bjorn drove up. Bjorn drove a Jaguar, because he could. Bjorn wore designer suits, because he could. Bjorn the fox-shifter was a snobbish, elitist friend who had a heart of gold hidden beneath that flippant, bitchy exterior.
He jumped out, wearing all white. Apparently he’d either just come from a tennis game, or he was bent on bucking the no-white-after-Labor-Day rule. As he headed over to greet me, Sandy pulled up in her van. She had decked out her retro hippie-mobile to the max, upgrading and retrofitting it to turn it into some eco-green machine that only looked like it came from the circa-beatnik era.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, emerging from the driver’s side. She was wearing a floppy straw hat and sunglasses, and carrying a tote bag over her arm that was as big as a backpack. Sandy might look the ditzy blonde, but she was a street-smart cookie and one hell of an experienced witch, although her magic wasn’t as strong as mine.
“Maddy, you made it. Good. I was afraid you’d bail on the idea once you woke up sober.”
“I’m thinking of bailing now,” I said, staring up at the behemoth that faced me down. “What the hell were we thinking?”
“The same thing I’m still thinking this morning. This place is falling apart, it’s old and creaky, but it has a hell of a lot more charm than your condo. You need to get out of Seattle, and Bedlam is the perfect place. You’d be close to the coven here, and away from the gridlock and mess of the city. And…you’d be out of Craig’s reach. It would be a lot harder for him just to drop in to spy on you if your condo wasn’t on the way home from his office building.”
Taming the Vampire: Over 25 All New Paranormal Alpha Male Tales of Contemporary, Military, Shifters, Billionaires, Werewolves, Magic, Fae, Witches, Dragons, Demons & More Page 61
