The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

by Trisha Telep

  “Harsh,” I replied, wholly unfazed. The insult was based on reputation, more than fact. All of which served me just fine.

  As for my mother . . . it was harder to remain unaffected by the thought of her. She was killed years ago, when I was just a young girl. The nightmare of that day still haunted me, sometimes even when I was awake. Her death had haunted my father too, until his heartbreak had finally claimed him.

  The dock boss said nothing more, watching with me as the trolls carefully brought the crate off the ramp and set it down in front of us. The contents shifted slightly as the box came to rest on the ground, something metal clacking quietly from within. Whatever was inside must have been valuable, given that it was protected from the elements in an enormous sheet of rare, extremely expensive plastic.

  Guns, I guessed, having transported a fair share of munitions in my line of work. I stepped up to the corner of the crate to check the bindings on the plastic tarp. Although they looked secure, I wanted to be certain before I gave the okay for the trolls to load the container into the back of my rig.

  As I reached out to test the straps, something growled and began to move inside the box.

  Something big.

  Something mired by what sounded to be heavy chains and shackles, but something very much alive.

  A couple of hours later, I was sitting atop an empty grain barrel in the back of my truck, eating a tin of hydrated soymeal for supper while I waited for my client’s people to come to the private warehouse where I was parked and relieve me of my newest cargo. I had to admit, if only to myself, I was eager to be rid of it.

  I’d never moved live goods before and, despite my willingness to transport all manner of other things without batting an eye, I was suddenly wondering if the three diamonds waiting at the end of this job were payment enough. More than that, I was wondering about the contents of the container sitting just a few short paces away from me in the truck. Speculating on just what was shuffling around inside there and what my client could possibly want with it.

  I picked up the instructions the dock boss had handed me before I’d left Port Phoenix. They were written on a small square of dried animal skin that had been affixed to the container at its point of origin. I’d read the directions already – three succinct orders, penned in a bold hand:

  Keep the crate and contents dry at all times

  Do not insert anything into the crate

  Do not open under any circumstances

  I set down my empty soymeal tin and hopped off the barrel. From where I stood, I saw there were small tears here and there in the plastic tarp. I knew whatever sat inside the large box had been watching me the whole time I’d been in the back of the truck with it. I’d felt eyes on me – shrewd, predatory eyes. Now, as I walked closer to the covered crate, the fine hairs at the back of my neck rose in warning.

  “They say you are colder than ice,” came a deep, cultured male voice from behind the concealing plastic and confining wood. “No one ever mentioned that you were also very beautiful. As dark and enticing as night itself . . . Nisha, the Heartless.”

  I didn’t say anything at first. Shock stole my breath and I stood there for a long moment, dumbstruck and unmoving. I hadn’t expected to hear my cargo speak to me, let alone know my name. Oh, I’d assumed it was some kind of beast in the crate – even now, I knew that he was something Strange, more than likely – but the smooth tone and elegant voice took me aback completely.

  “What are you?”

  “Come closer and see for yourself. I have no wish to harm you, even if I were able.”

  I snorted, snapped cleanly out of my stupor by that treacherous invitation. “The only way I’d come any closer to one of the Strange is to put a pistol up against its head.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, exhaling a quiet sigh. Chains clinked and straw rustled as he moved about in his tight prison. “How you love your weapons, Nisha. Particularly when they are used against my kind. Many have died because of the weapons you’ve put into the hands of bad men.”

  “I do what I have to in order to survive,” I said, unsure why I felt the need to defend myself to him. “I’m in the supply-and-demand business, that’s all. My clients pay me to deliver things they want. What they do with those things is not my concern.”

  “Hmm.” He shifted inside the crate again, and I could feel that assessing stare locked on me still. “So, you’re saying that you would just as easily sell your weapons for war to me – to one of the Strange – if I had the wherewithal to meet your price?”

  I wouldn’t and we both knew it. I glared at the covered crate. “I don’t need to justify what I do, least of all to someone like you.”

  He released a heavy breath. “No, you don’t. And it was pointless to even ask it. My kind has no desire to wage a war against man. We never did.”

  “You’d never win anyway,” I pointed out flatly. “You have too few numbers, for one thing, and most of you are indentured, besides. Wars take more than guns, you know. They take vision and determination. They take leaders, and that’s something your kind has lacked all along. If the Strange were going to fight, they should have done it long ago.”

  “Yes. You’re right, Nisha.” I heard regret in his voice now, and told myself I had no reason to feel guilty for that. “But there are those among my kind who believe that, in time, there will be peace.”

  I exhaled a humourless laugh. “That’s why you’re sitting in a crate in shackles, about to be shipped off to who knows where and for what purpose.”

  “I know what lies ahead for me,” he replied, that velvety deep voice as calm as I’d heard it so far. “I won’t be enslaved. That’s not why they took me. My capture will have only one outcome.”

  “Death,” I whispered, ignoring the twinge in my chest. I wanted to see his face in that moment – whether or not it was Strangely hideous – to determine if the thought of dying scared him even a little. It didn’t seem to and I held my ground, fisting my hands at my sides instead of reaching out to move aside the tarp that hid him. “You know you will be killed.”

  “Eventually, yes,” he said, without a trace of fear or sorrow. “I feel my death might serve a higher purpose.”

  I shook my head, unsure if he could see me or not. For some reason, despite everything I knew and felt about his kind, his resignation bothered me. More than bothered me, it pissed me off. “You’re just giving up. Don’t try to pretend it has anything to do with honour.”

  “Sometimes, Nisha the Heartless, there is a greater good to be gained in dying than there is in living. For me, certainly. I go to my fate willingly.”

  I barked sharply. “Well, then, I guess that makes you either very courageous or very stupid.”

  I reminded myself that he wasn’t my problem. His fate – whether or not he welcomed it with open arms – sure as hell was not my concern. I walked over and picked up my empty soymeal tin, my movements tight with aggravation.

  “I’ve had enough thought-provoking conversation for one night,” I told him, more than ready to spend the rest of the wait up front in the cab by myself. “Get some rest. Your other ride should be here soon.”

  I jumped out of the back of the truck and closed the doors, sealing him inside.

  I fell asleep in the cab.

  The dream woke me, as it always does. Not the violent nightmare I’d had since my parents’ deaths, but the dream that started soon afterwards and visited me more often than I liked. This time, everything seemed more vivid – so real I felt as though I could sweep my hand out before me and touch it.

  Sunlit skies. Glittering azure ocean. And me, soaring high above it all, twisting and gliding on a gentle wind towards an infinite horizon.

  I jolted awake, trembling and breathless.

  It was the usual reaction. Just the thought of flying terrified me. The act itself was unnatural, whether achieved in the thunderous, now obsolete, metal machines of decades past, or as performed by those rarest of the Strange who’d neede
d none of man’s inventions to aid them. Flying was nothing I’d ever done, or ever wanted to know anything about.

  Desperate to purge the troubling sensations, I pushed myself up in the driver’s seat of the cab and fumbled for the wristwatch I kept fastened to the steering wheel. It was an ancient wind-up type, the only time-keeping devices that still functioned in the post-technology age. I checked the gloved hands on the smiling black-and-white mouse.

  “Shit.” I’d been asleep for more than two hours.

  The truck was quiet. No movement at all in the warehouse and no sign of my client’s people coming to take the Strange cargo off my hands yet.

  “How much longer before I can collect my pay and get out of here?” I grumbled, climbing out of my rig to go and check on things around back.

  I heard the dry, choking rasp as soon as I opened the doors.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, climbing in and stepping cautiously towards the covered crate. There was no reply, only a further round of coughing and a terrible-sounding wheeze. “Are you hurt in there?”

  I realized I didn’t even know his name, not that I needed to. Nor did I need to run for my water canteen when he started to dry heave, but that’s precisely what I did. I told myself it was only reasonable to make sure Mr Honour-and-Higher-Purpose stayed alive long enough for my client to kill him, since that’s what he’d claimed he wanted so badly.

  I returned and jumped into the back of the truck. He was gasping now, sucking in air, each breath sounding deathly parched. Canteen in one hand, I hurried to the crate and tugged loose a corner of the tarp. “I have water. You need to dr—”

  My voice fled as I lifted the plastic sheet from the front of the wooden container. A liquid gold gaze peered at me through a slim crack between the nailed planks of the box. It startled me, penetrating and intense, sending a swift, unbidden heat into the core of my being. Just as quickly, the golden eyes were shuttered as they turned back into the darkness of the cell and the prisoner’s wheeze grew more violent.

  “Stay away,” he rasped from deep within the shadows. His throat scraped with every syllable, sounding as dry as cinders. “Leave me. This will pass.”

  I muttered a curse, low under my breath, knowing he was in far worse shape than he wanted me to think. I walked around the crate, pulling off the tarp as I went. The few gaps that separated the wooden planks were so tight not even my little finger would be able to slip through them. No way could I get the canteen to him without breaking open the box. And that was out of the question.

  “Hold on,” I said. “I have an idea.”

  Slinging the canteen strap over my shoulder, I hoisted myself up on to the side of the crate and clambered to the top of it. I brought the canteen around and took out the stopper. Beneath me, his bright citrine eyes followed my every movement through the narrow breaks in the wood. Every nerve ending in my body tingled, warning me that something Strange and powerful lurked just beneath me.

  “Come closer, bring your mouth up to me,” I told him, more a command than request. “Stop being noble, and take a drink.”

  “Nisha.” My name was barely a whisper in the shadows below. “You know the rules.”

  I swallowed, recalling very well the instructions I’d been given for this job. Instructions that all my logic and experience told me to follow. But then he coughed again – a deep, shredding heave of his lungs – and neither logic nor experience had prepared me for the concern I had for him in that moment.

  I leaned down and brought the mouth of the open canteen to the largest gap in the top of the crate. “Drink.”

  I thought he might refuse again, but then I heard him moving – sensed him drawing nearer to where I waited. His eyes locked on mine. I felt a warm rush of breath puff through the crack and skate across my hand. White teeth gleamed as he parted his lips near the break in the wood and waited for me to pour the water into his mouth.

  I gave him only a trickle, not wanting to rush him before he was ready. His lips closed on a deep growl that vibrated through the crate and into my bones. And then the growl became louder. The crate rumbled beneath me, shuddering and shaking.

  I leapt off – just in time to watch the whole thing explode before me, wood planks splintering in all directions like nothing more than toothpicks.

  The Strange being within the container erupted out of the wrecked crate in a blur of gleaming, iridescent blue-and-black scales and immense, talon-tipped wings. The great head of the dragon swung toward me, massive jaws agape, those golden eyes looking far fiercer in the light of my rig than they had in the dark confines of the box.

  Terrified, I scrambled backwards, then pushed to my feet and fumbled for the pistol holstered on my belt. Hands shaking, I chambered a round and lifted the gun up in front of me to take aim on the beast.

  But he was gone now. In his place was a man. A shapeshifter. Breathtakingly handsome, and utterly naked. He was tall and muscled, his skin a warm, sun-kissed bronze. Blue-black hair fell down around his shoulders in thick, glossy waves. Ageless citrine eyes seemed to bore straight through me as he strode forwards, undeterred by the weapon I held squarely in line with his head.

  “Stand down, or I’ll shoot,” I warned him. “Don’t think I won’t kill you.”

  He gave a mild shake of his head and kept advancing, easy paces that devoured the distance between us. I didn’t fire on him, and I suppose he guessed I wouldn’t. With gentle strength, he brought his hand up and wrapped his fingers around the barrel of my gun, slowly lowering it to my side.

  “You tricked me,” I muttered, wondering why I should feel such a sting at that.

  “No,” he replied, his voice as tender as I’d heard it all night. “My captors had denied me water and I was dying of thirst. You saved me. You . . . surprised me. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been surprised by goodness, particularly in a human.”

  He smiled and stroked my cheek. When I turned my face away, ashamed of the pleasure that raced through me at just his praise and light touch, he caught my chin and gently drew my gaze up to his. “I think, Nisha the Heartless, that despite what you lead others to believe, you are, in fact, very kind.”

  His hands were warm and firm as he cupped my face and brought me towards him. He kissed me – a sweet, tender brush of his lips across mine. All of my senses reached for him as though I’d been starving for this – this Strange kiss – all my life. I could have kissed him all night.

  Perhaps I would have, if not for the sudden rumble of an approaching vehicle outside the warehouse.

  “My client,” I managed to gasp as I broke away from the shapeshifter I was expected to surrender to his would-be killers that very moment. I heard the crunch of gravel, the sharp squeal of brakes . . . the hard thump-thump of two vehicle doors being closed. “They’re coming for you.”

  He nodded solemnly and stepped back from me. Back towards the splintered remains of the cargo crate and the broken shackles that had fallen off him during his change. He wasn’t going to fight the men who were coming for him now. Wasn’t going to threaten me or attempt to bargain his way out of capture.

  He was noble and proud, and I’d never been so livid in my life.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” In truth, I should have been asking myself that same question. I had but a split-second to decide my next move – a decision that would set the course of my future, right then and there.

  Did I surrender my Strange cargo to his captors, collect my pay, then roll on to the next job and the next one after that? Or did I throw everything away to help one crazy shapeshifter escape a death he neither feared nor resented?

  I swore under my breath and ran over to grab some clothing from the personal supply chest I kept in the back of my rig. The wool tunic I found was moth-eaten in places, and the ancient blue jeans had last been worn by a dead man, but both were big enough to cover him. Whoever he was.

  “What’s your name?” I asked him, hastily pulling the clothes out of t
he chest. Outside the warehouse, I could hear my client’s men nearing the door. I threw a hard look at the Strange man behind me. “Your name, dammit!”

  “I am Drakor,” he replied, scowling at me.

  I threw the sweater and pants at him. “Get dressed, Drakor. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

  His golden eyes were grim with understanding. “You do not know what you’re doing, Nisha.”

  “Tell me about it.” I shoved my gun back in its holster as he shrugged into the clothing. “We need to hurry if we’re going to outrun these guys.”

  “Nisha.” He came to me, dressed like a pauper, yet his handsome face was serene. I was even tempted to call it regal. “This could be a very costly mistake for you.”

  I shook my head, hoping to dismiss some of my own misgivings, slim as they were. “We need to go now. Come on, Drakor. Follow me and don’t argue.”

  He growled something dark in a language I didn’t understand, but when I jumped out of the back of the truck, he was right beside me. I slammed the doors and threw the lock bar into place. I motioned him towards the cab as I ran around to the driver’s side. I hopped in, and he took the passenger seat.

  “You’d better hang on,” I said, glancing in my side mirrors. The men started to open the warehouse receiving gate behind us. I threw the rig into reverse and watched as their faces lit up with surprise – then fear, when they realized what was about to happen. I looked over at Drakor, sitting beside me in silent observation. He probably thought I had lost my mind. Heaven knew, I was beginning to wonder myself. “All right, here we go.”

  I stomped on the gas and the truck rocketed backwards out of the place, sending my client’s men scrambling for cover. I righted the rocking vehicle and put us on the road, heading off into the cold, dark night. The two of us . . . together.

  We were six hours north of Port Phoenix before I dared slow down even a little.

  The rig’s dim headlights piercing deep into the darkness ahead of us, I glanced out the side windows, trying to get some idea of where we might be. The night was fathomless on all sides. Nothing but stars overhead and vast forest wilderness encroaching on the broken pavement of the seldom-used highway.