Venom & Vampires: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by Casey Lane

  “How can I help you?”

  He frowned, shifting nervously. “My name is Wren Davies.”

  She stared at him blankly, waiting for him to continue. When he said nothing further, her eyebrows shot up. “So?”

  “Wren…Davies.”

  “I heard you the first time. What do you want, Wren Davies?”

  “Um, I’m the blood heir to the Black Thorne pack.”

  She continued to blink up at him. “Congratulations? Listen, I’m kinda busy. Is there a point coming soon?”

  “I’m your betrothed.”

  Isa frowned. “You’re my what now?”

  “Your betrothed. We are contracted to be married.”

  Isa groaned, dragging her hands through her hair. What had her life become? Seriously? What mirror had she broken to incur this amount of bad luck in her life? She didn’t have time for this. “Yeah, I have no idea what you are talking about, but I have a restaurant to run and three children trying to tear apart my kitchen. You’re very cute, but I don’t have time for your mental breakdown, buddy because I’m a little busy having my own.”

  She started to close the door. He stuck his foot between it and the frame. Isa’s eyes widened, and she tilted her head, letting her irises bleed red. “Move your foot.”

  “I’m really sorry, Isadora, but it’s important we speak-”

  “Isa,” Kai shrieked from the kitchen. “We don’t have any strawberry pop tarts, just the blueberry. I hate blueberry. They’re gross. You said you were going grocery shopping. I’m hungry.”

  “Move your foot before I remove it…permanently,” she growled, voice deadly quiet as her claws extended.

  “Please, if you’ll just give me a minute, I’ll explain everything. We need to talk about the betrothal.”

  If he said betrothal again, she was going to rip his throat out. “Last chance, Pretty Boy.”

  Rhys’s footsteps fell softly on the front stairs behind her. She knew he’d sensed her anger. She could sense his partial shift. Her heart squeezed. He’d come to protect her. She didn’t look at the boy but held up one clawed hand to let him know she had this.

  “Isa,” Tristin wailed from the kitchen. “We don’t like the blueberry pop tarts. We want waffles.”

  The man moved closer, leaning into her space. Her nostrils flared, and she clenched her teeth as his scent flooded her senses. Her wolf went crazy. Her stomach swooped like she was on a roller coaster, heart knocking against her ribcage. What was he doing to her? Was this some kind of spell? She just needed him to go away…far, far away.

  “If you could-” he started.

  She took a step back, fist jerking forward. The feel of bone and cartilage crushing under her fist was oddly cathartic given the morning she was having. At least until the adrenaline wore off and the pain exploded in her hand. She fought to keep her face neutral as her hand throbbed. Was his jaw made of stone? The scent of his blood temporarily blocked the smell that was just him, giving her a second to breathe, to clear her head.

  “I warned you,” she said, hoping her tone sounded casual.

  To his credit, he didn’t even look that shocked. Blood poured down his face dripping onto his snowy white t-shirt. He cupped his nose with one hand, staring at her with sad, disappointed eyes. She could smell his pain, his frustration and something else…fear. Her heart fluttered a bit. He made no attempt to retaliate just stepped back and peeled off his t-shirt, balling it up and holding it against his damaged nose, leaving Isa staring at his bare chest and perfectly toned abs.

  She swallowed hard. She tried not to look. She really did. But what was she going to do, all that golden skin was just right there. The need to peruse was practically pathological. She licked her bottom lip, noting how the tribal tattoo started at his knuckles, snaked up his toned arm and spread across his chest. Pale hair dusted along the muscles there and down his belly disappearing beneath jeans slung low enough on his hips for her to appreciate the deep groove of his hipbones. She licked her bottom lip, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Why was that so hot?

  When she finally dragged her gaze back to his face, he pulled his t-shirt away. His nose was no longer bleeding all over her porch. A slow smile spread across his face, and she knew he could smell her interest. She didn’t care. He was gorgeous. It didn’t mean anything. She wouldn’t feel bad for looking.

  She met his gaze, unflinching before crossing her arms, tilting her head. “That was a warning. If you show your face around here again, I’ll take it as an official challenge.”

  His brows shot up, but she didn’t wait to hear what he had to say, mouth dry as she slammed the door, leaning against it as if he might try to barge his way in again.

  Had she just threatened to fight him to the death for knocking on her door? No wonder she couldn’t get a date.

  She couldn’t handle anything else today. She just couldn’t.

  Chapter Three

  Wren

  Wren clenched his t-shirt in his hand, pine needles crunching beneath his booted feet as he made his way to the woods south of the large property. Once shielded by the trees, he stopped, taking a few deep breaths before looking back at the house. He had to put some distance between himself and the tiny alpha just so he could think, could remember why he was there, no matter how much his wolf fought the idea. He had no idea what just happened, but his wolf had struggled to stay as much as hers had wanted him to go.

  He leaned against a sturdy scrub pine, tilting his head back, willing his wolf to calm down. He was seconds away from shifting, and that couldn’t happen. He was in foreign territory with a clearly nonreceptive alpha. That had been a total disaster.

  She was nothing like he’d expected. He’d come up with a plan. He’d needed an army. He’d needed the legendary Belladonna pack he’d met as a child. But there was no pack, only her and the young wolf pup. There were no other wolves; he would have smelled them. The Belladonna pack he’d met had boasted at least three hundred members, not including the packs under Belladonna protection. Two of the children with the current alpha weren’t human, but they weren’t shifters either. There were also no wards or enchantments protecting the property. No soldiers. No guards. Where was everybody? Where was her pack?

  Shit. This was bad. He slid down the tree, crouching on his heels as he dug his palms into his eyes and tried to think. He could still smell her, could practically taste her on his tongue and it was clouding everything. He hadn’t gone there looking for a love match. He’d come looking for help. He’d been entirely prepared to offer Isadora any deal necessary to secure her agreement to their betrothal, but he hadn’t expected her to be so…perfect.

  She had to be a foot shorter than him, and she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and fifteen pounds, but his wolf had wanted to submit immediately…and it wasn’t just her looks. She was beautiful, sure, she had wide, moss green eyes with flecks of black and gold, high cheekbones and full lips. Her long chestnut hair fell in perfect waves down her back, and despite her size, she had generous curves that were hard to disguise even under her black t-shirt and jeans.

  But that wasn’t it. Something about her commanded attention, respect. She was a natural alpha, just like her mother had been. So, where the hell was her pack? Anybody in the supernatural world knew about the attack in Belle Haven six years ago, but even if the town’s wolves had perished, other wolves in the surrounding territories should have rallied to support the young alpha.

  Her mother had been an elder just like his father. At the time of Wren’s betrothal ceremony all those years ago, Isadora’s mother, Pilar, had more packs underneath her protection than his father, a fact that had irked the man to no end. That carried weight. It was important. So where had the other wolves gone? Isadora would have been only sixteen when she inherited the pack, had the other wolves left her alone to defend this town?

  He rose to his feet as he heard the front door open and close, voices carrying across the distance. As he watched, Isa exited the
house, four children following behind her to a late model Toyota. Two of them were still grumbling about pop tarts, and one of them dressed as if she was expecting a sudden storm. The other, the young wolf from the staircase, was the last in line. He walked with his head down, hands in his pockets. Despite his slumped shoulders, the boy was radiating aggression. He was clearly struggling to control his wolf, shooting hostile glances towards the smaller boys in front of him. He stopped suddenly, looking directly at Wren. There was no way the boy could see him, but he could smell him, could smell the blood.

  It was dangerous to watch her like this, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave yet. He smiled despite himself. She’d threatened to fight him. She’d challenged him right there on her front porch. His nose still throbbed from where she’d punched him. She was strong, but she was also reckless. She pretended to understand pack protocols, but he could tell she was making it up as she went along. That was going to make things much more challenging.

  He listened to the snatches of conversation as the kids piled into the car. They were all very disappointed that she hadn’t made them waffles. Despite her frustration and their recent confrontation, she still appeared perfectly calm as she explained to them that if they had done what she’d asked the first time, she would have had time to make them waffles.

  She was raw, but she had potential. Could he convince her to uproot her life for them? Was he an asshole for even considering going ahead with his plan, knowing the danger he brought with him? He’d been expecting an army, an alpha willing to negotiate, a pack whose name might be enough to cow his father. He’d needed somebody who would understand his situation and see him as an asset even if she didn’t see him as a love match.

  He’d been prepared to argue that loveless marriages often made sense when it came to strengthening bonds within the shifter community. He’d planned to highlight his years of military training, his extensive knowledge of pack protocol and diplomacy. He had thought of every possible argument she might have against marrying a stranger. But he never considered the possibility that they were bonded, connected by something more than love or obligation. He’d never considered that they could be soul bonded. A true match. He had no idea what to do with that. He knew she felt it too. She’d felt their connection, and she’d still punched him in the face and threatened to kill him.

  He needed a new strategy.

  A small hand wrapped around his and he looked down at Neoma, her wide eyes guileless as she gazed up at him expectantly. What was he going to do with her? It was clear somebody had spelled her, but he had no idea how to proceed. He’d been gone for so long. When he’d left, she was barely a toddler, and he’d just blindly assumed she’d be okay with his family, even though he’d had no reason to believe that was true.

  Wren crouched down beside her. “Hey, sweetheart, what did you get into?” Neoma shrugged, wiping a hand across her pale face, leaving a smear of dirt across her pert nose. She’d been playing in the woods. Dirt caked her small, bare feet and something greenish brown streaked across her once yellow dress, grass or maybe algae. There were leaves in her golden blonde hair. “I like it here. Everything sings. The dirt, the flowers, the leaves.”

  Wren smiled. Hearing that from anybody else might have sounded strange but Neoma was an elemental, she operated on a different plane than the rest of the world. “What do flowers sing?”

  Neoma giggled at his stupid question but didn’t bother to answer. Wren shook his head, wiping at the dirt under her eye. “Okay, munchkin, let’s go get cleaned up. I need to figure out our next move.”

  “She didn’t like you,” Neoma said, noting the bloody t-shirt in his hand.

  Wren ran a hand over her hair. “No, she wasn’t a fan.”

  “That’s okay. This is where we’re supposed to be. Everything says so.” Wren didn’t argue, praying that she was right. Wren smelled her anxiety just before she asked, “That doesn’t mean we have to go back, though, right?”

  Wren hugged her close. “No, honey. We’re not going back. I trust that we’re where we need to be. I trust you. We’re not ever going back. It’s going to be okay. I just violated pack protocol by not announcing myself to the alpha properly. That was my mistake. I just need to find a way to apologize, that’s all.” He kissed her forehead. “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.”

  Back at the motel, Wren had Neoma shower while he checked his messages. He had more than twenty missed calls, several texts, and a dozen new messages. They’d obviously discovered he and Neoma were gone. He took a deep breath and hit the number for his voice mail.

  The first was from his mother. “Wren, darlin’. Please come home. You’re upsetting your da’. You must see this for what it is. With your brother-” her voice hitched, and Wren’s jaw clenched, jabbing the button to erase the message.

  The next several messages were all from his mother, each more distressed than the last. He hit delete on each message before she could utter more than a few words. It didn’t matter what she had to say. He wouldn’t go back. He couldn’t. Cain had gone too far, and it was evident Wren’s mother would stand with his father no matter how far down the rabbit hole the man descended.

  He was about to hit erase on another message without listening when the odd cadence of his father’s brogue brought him up short. “You’re an embarrassment. I don’t know what you think you’re doin’ but you bring that girl back here, or I’ll drop you in a hole right next to your worthless brother, do-” Wren hit delete.

  The final message was from his sister. “Wren, its Bronwyn.” Wren closed his eyes at the sound of his sister’s voice. Wynnie would understand. His father may have twisted Dylan’s mind but not the girls—not his sisters—they’d realize that his father’s plan was madness. His relief was short-lived. “Why are you doing this? You’re breaking mom’s heart, and dad is punishing all of us.” Wren’s gut twisted at her words. Not her too. Had they turned against him too? “It’s going to rain, big brother. You should come home before the storm sets in.”

  Wren frowned, pulling up the weather app. It said nothing of rain. The knot in his chest loosened. It was a code. They’d created it years ago, to talk behind their father’s back. Back before text messages, they’d created secret email accounts, accounts only the two of them knew existed.

  He flipped open his email app, grateful he remembered the login to an account that was at least ten years old. He smiled as he saw the message waiting.

  Wren,

  What is happening? How could you just leave? We’ve already lost so much. Dylan was still our brother. He was still mom and dad’s son. Dad’s losing it. First, he lost Magna; now we’ve lost Dylan and Ezri. I get that dad’s a total bastard, but he’s lost two children in a week. He’s not thinking right. You know he’s not going to let you go, bro. I don’t know what he asked you to do, but we could have worked it out as a family. He’s got people looking for you. He’s having your phone tracked. What the hell am I missing? Why are there so many secrets in this family? You need to disappear, big brother. Be safe.

  I love you,

  Wyn

  Wren dropped onto the bed, flinging his phone onto the pillow beside him, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His family was always so quick to dismiss his father’s erratic behavior. There was always some explanation for his father’s crimes. He was angry. He was provoked. He was trying to build an empire. He was grieving. But Wren refused to excuse Cain’s actions anymore. Wren and Dylan didn’t get along, but Wren grieved for his brother too. He’d loved his brother, despite their differences, despite the horrible things his brother had done. He’d cared for Ezri, as well. She’d been his family too, whether his mother wanted to admit it or not. But there was no excuse for what Cain was asking Wren to do. Wren picked his phone back up and hit reply.

  Wyn,

  I had to go. Maybe Cain’s lost his mind with grief, or maybe he’s just doing what he’s always done, putting his needs and the needs of the pack bef
ore the needs of his family. He breaks everything he touches. I left Neoma with him, and now she’s broken too. I think Ezri did something to her and if she did, I can only assume it was on Cain’s orders. When I left five days ago, Neoma was inconsolable over Dylan’s death; now she acts like she’s never heard of him. It wreaks of witchcraft and behind every witch, I’ve ever met is our father pulling their strings. It never ends well for the person who falls victim to their spells or the witch doing the casting. Cain’s the only one whoever wins. He’s not winning Neoma. He’s not winning me either. I won’t do what he wants. Thanks for the head’s up, sis.

  I love you too,

  Wren

  He checked the time of his sister’s phone call. Three hours. His father could have traced them by now…but maybe not. He’d left his phone at the motel when they’d visited Belle Haven, and he’d chosen a motel an hour outside of the town just off the main highway…just in case. He knew his father too well. Cain couldn’t make the same claim. Wren had always been just his spare son, his backup plan. His father had no reason to suspect Wren would turn to the Belladonna pack for aid. As far as Cain was concerned, Wren’s betrothal to Isadora died six years ago, along with the girl’s mother. He gave one last glance at his phone before he dropped it on the dirty carpet, crushing it under his boot. “Shit,” he muttered to himself.

  “It’s going to be okay, you know.” Neoma stood in the bathroom doorway, staring at the remnants of the phone. She’d put on a pale pink sundress with thin white stripes, but her feet were still bare, her damp hair curling at her shoulders. He couldn’t help but smile. She was always barefoot. He glanced at the dirty motel carpet. That wasn’t always a good thing. He stood, sweeping her into his arms and depositing her onto the ugly paisley comforter.

  “How are you feeling, kiddo?”