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

by Casey Lane

  Neoma blinked at him, gaze serene. “About what?”

  Wren shifted, taking her tiny hand in his. “About everything. About what happened to Granny. To Dylan? About what happened to Ezri? I know she was your friend and you saw them…” Burn her at the stake. He couldn’t say it out loud. “You saw her die.”

  Neoma shrugged, gaze wandering over Wren’s shoulder. “I can’t be sad.”

  It was the first time she’d openly acknowledged it. “Do you want to talk to me about that?”

  Again, she shrugged, her voice emotionless as she said, “I was sad. I saw what they did…to Ezri. I saw it, and I was screaming and crying and begging Cain to make them stop. Then Ezri looked at me and said something and I wasn’t sad anymore.”

  Wren frowned. “What did she say?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t hear it over the fire.”

  Wren shuddered at the dismissive tone of her voice, a fresh wave of anger rolling over him. His father was a monster. How could he have watched them do it? How could he have let Neoma witness such a thing? It was barbaric. No child should ever have to see such a thing.

  Neoma looked him in the eye suddenly, her words more curious than concerned. “Did they kill Ezri because of me?”

  Wren’s blood froze in his veins. “What? Why would you say that?”

  “The night before the man in black came, I was with Ezri, but I can’t remember why. When the man came to question me, I couldn’t remember anything. I thought they wanted to talk about Dylan, but they wanted to talk about Magna. But I couldn’t remember anything about Dylan or Magna. It was missing like somebody had tunneled a hole through my brain. The man didn’t like that. He got angry and told Ezri to fix it, to fix me. She refused. That’s when they took her away. They said she killed her mom to inherit her magic. That she didn’t want to wait for her mother to die of natural causes, so she killed her.”

  This time it was Wren who looked away, glancing down at the remnants of his phone. He’d known something like this would happen. Ezri couldn’t have killed Magna for her powers. Ezri already had her magic. They’d just kept it a secret at their father’s behest. She wasn’t supposed to inherit her gifts until her mother died. That made her an anomaly. Anomalies brought the Grove’s attention. In the end, they’d gotten their attention anyway. The man in black Neoma referred to was the Grove’s high inquisitor, Axel Faulkner.

  The Grove ruled the supernatural world, and though they favored the witches over all others, even they weren’t above the rules. In fact, when a witch broke the rules they were punished far worse than any other faction. The druids never missed an opportunity to make an example of somebody.

  Wren blamed his father for this too. It was his father who brought the Grove’s attention by bringing a witch into their folds and placing her in a position of inferiority, using her to do his dirty work. If Wren’s father had cared about his family—if he’d cared about Magna—he would have sent her away. But he wanted to prove a point as well. He wanted to prove to the Grove that they didn’t control him, that he could do as he pleased without consequence. The treaty between the wolves and the Grove kept them from punishing him directly…but the Grove always found a way.

  But why would Ezri have erased Neoma’s memories of Magna? Of Dylan? Was Magna the one who’d hurt Neoma? If so, why would Ezri erase Neoma’s memories of Dylan? Magna couldn’t have killed Dylan; she’d been dead for two years.

  When he looked back up at Neoma, she waited, patient and still. It obviously had something to do with her but how could he tell her that? He couldn’t. “Ezri’s death had nothing to do with you. You’ve just gotten caught up in things much too grown up for you to understand. Okay?”

  She nodded, picking at the flower decal on her dress. Wren’s heart squeezed. She was so small, so fragile. He couldn’t imagine anybody hurting Neoma. He shook off the thought. This wasn’t productive. “Okay, munchkin, how do I get Isadora to give me a chance?”

  “Bring me with you.”

  “What?”

  “Your alpha likes children? So, even if she thinks you’re stupid, she won’t kick us out because she likes kids and I’m a kid.”

  Wren hadn’t thought about that. If Isadora collected strays, maybe that’s exactly what he and Neoma needed to be. He supposed that’s what they were. “That's a very good idea.”

  She nodded thoughtfully, gaze drifting around the room. After a moment, she looked at him and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like this place. It smells bad.”

  Wren agreed. Most shifters hated hotel rooms. There was no way to mask the layers of scents that accumulated in a space over time. But you didn’t need wolf senses to pick up on the smells in the low-budget motel. The Caprice Motel—the dilapidated, rent-by-the-hour hellhole he’d stashed them in—was far worse than the average hotel, but he’d needed a place that wouldn’t ask questions, and it had fit the bill. They hadn’t even asked for ID, just cash up front. Wren might not have much, but cash, cash he had.

  “Alright, kid, let’s get out of here. We’ll find someplace else.” They had to go anyway. Wyn’s email said the motel was compromised.

  He helped Neoma pack the few toiletries she’d used in the shower and hoped Neoma was right and he could get Isadora to listen to what he had to say. She had to be reasonable enough to do that. Right? He knew what he was asking of her was insane. Marry a total stranger and throw her whole world into upheaval…but there was no other option, not for them. If she didn’t agree to this marriage, he and Neoma would spend the rest of their lives running from Cain.

  Chapter Four

  Rhys

  Rhys’s gaze flicked to the clock over the teacher’s head before looking back at the quiz on his desk. He frowned at the question, trying once again to decipher the words, but it was useless. The answer wasn’t going to come. It just didn’t make sense. Whenever he tried to read this stuff it just felt like his wires got crossed. It was just a jumbled mess.

  He clenched his jaw, shuddering as his wolf flexed within and his insides burned, trying to fight his urge to shift. He fidgeted in his seat, gripping his pencil, always hyper-aware of the gazes of the other students. He heard their whispers scratching like tiny claws at his ears. They wanted him to hear them.

  Think he’s going to wolf out again?

  Maybe he’ll have to walk home naked.

  Don’t make him mad or he starts to talk with a lithp.

  That’s tho thcary.

  Rhys’s face burned, nostrils flaring. It was always the same girls: Stella Faulkner-Black, Astrid Talbot and Lola Vaughn, the three most talented witches from the Red Oak coven. As usual, they sat at the back of the class, heads together like some mythological multi-headed monster, their snide whispers enticing the rest of the class to join in. Somebody flung a piece of folded up paper at Rhys, and it landed on his desk with a dull thud. He pushed it aside.

  Alex Bishop, his earth science teacher, glanced sharply at the girls. As if a simple look would ever be enough to get them to fall in line. They ducked their heads, cackling as they pretended to go back to their tests, but Rhys knew it wouldn’t last. It never did.

  He slumped further into his seat, ignoring the ache in his gums and the tips of his fingers. Every fiber in his body wanted him to shift, to run, to escape the confines of the classroom. Instead, he gripped his pencil until the wood cracked within his grip. Alex raised a brow in Rhys’s direction, but Rhys looked away, gaze flicking down to his paper again.

  He tried to ignore the note on his desk, but it was just sitting there, taunting him. But when Alex went back to grading papers, he pulled the piece of paper closer, unfolding it quietly unable to control the low rumble that escaped, eliciting another set of giggles from the girls.

  The drawing was crude in every sense, a dog—which Rhys assumed was supposed to be him—was locked in a suggestive pose with a boy. While the artist was in no way good enough to depict the other boy with any discernable features, the robe, and scythe they’d a
dded made it clear it was supposed to be a reaper. There was only one reaper in the school. Kai.

  His claws pushed through his skin and his mouth filled with saliva as his wolf’s teeth erupted from his human gums. Kai was a little kid. Why were they like this? He’d never done anything to any of them. No matter how much they deserved it.

  “I told you that would do it,” Stella snickered. “He’s so in love.”

  “Gross, the only thing worse than dating a shifter is dating a reaper,” Lola chimed, voice dripping with revulsion. “They play with dead things.”

  “Rhys? You okay? You need a minute?” Alex asked. The class erupted in laughter. “That’s enough,” Alex warned, his tone leaving no room for argument.

  Rhys squeezed his eyes shut as beads of sweat broke above his lip. He didn’t want to listen to their nasty comments. He wanted to drown them out, to push their words away and pretend it didn’t matter but it wasn’t that easy. He could smell their hatred, their derision. He felt their need to humiliate him like a physical blow. To them, he was nothing, a feral dog, not even worthy of his wolf.

  “It’s a shame too because he's so beautiful,” Lola said, flicking her platinum blonde hair behind her shoulder, not even attempting to hide her leering.

  Stella’s responding laugh was harsh against his oversensitive ears, “If he weren't such a headcase, I’d make an exception. Our babies would be beautiful.”

  “And people wouldn’t even be mad if you put them in crates.”

  “But seriously, who’d want to have to give their babies flea baths?” Lola quipped.

  “At least two boys can’t breed. Or is that a thing with wolves?” Stella sniped.

  Rhys’s face burned under the scrutiny and the implication. They didn’t even know what they were talking about. They were always trying to sound so grown up, but they were both a year younger than him. He’d been held behind a year already. At the rate he was going, they’d all pass him, and he’d still be here in sixth grade Science.

  Alex slapped his pen down on the desk, looking at the three girls. “One more word out of you three and you’ll be sitting out at the full moon celebration. Do you hear me?”

  They fell silent, but it was too late for that. His heart was racing, his skin on fire as he fought without success to keep his bones from shifting beneath his skin. He jerked out of his desk, slamming out of the classroom and into the hallway.

  “Rhys! Get back here.”

  He ignored the teacher’s shout. There was no stopping now. Instead, he ran.

  He ran towards the woods, needing to clear the trees before his wolf tore free. His shift hit him like a bomb, shredding his human skin as his bones cracked, transforming him into his canine form. Once his wolf had control, he was bounding forward on four legs, pushing deeper into the woods, content to let his wolf take the lead.

  He tried not to let the witches’ taunts bother him. He did. Wolves were strong, powerful, revered throughout history. His mother had died a legend, protecting the town from a supernatural attack that had killed thousands. His sister would be a legend someday too. She was the perfect example of how a wolf should be. She always had total control, even when she was angry. He didn’t get it. Why had it skipped him? What was wrong with him?

  He tried to lose himself in the white noise of the rustling leaves and the scents of the forest surrounding him. He tried to give his wolf what he wanted. As a shifter, he carried many of his wolf’s traits, even in human form—superior hearing, enhanced sense of smell—but in his wolf form there was no comparison, he could hear a rabbit two miles out if he just stopped to focus. The world radiated its own frequency, a signal only his wolf could hear. In a million years, he’d never be able to explain it in a way any non-wolf would understand.

  Not that anybody wanted to understand him. Not even the people who were supposed to want to. Like his sister. She only cared about keeping everything organized and in its place…even him. And his place was last, behind Kai and Tristin and even Quinn it seemed. It didn’t matter what he did; she always looked at him like she was disappointed.

  He didn’t blame her. He was disappointed in him too. He didn’t want to be like this. He understood on some level that there was something wrong with him. But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his fault. It was his wolf. His wolf wasn’t like other shifter’s animals. His wolf needed the woods, the wide-open spaces and the freedom to roam and hunt and kill and he needed it all the time.

  Isa once said a shifter’s animal sleeps quiet, curled within their human until called. But not Rhys’s wolf, Rhys’s wolf was never quiet, never peaceful; he never slept. When Rhys was in human form, his wolf was always there, just under the surface, pacing and rumbling, clawing to break free, especially when it came to Kai.

  Even the thought of the boy brought his wolf up short, causing him to falter clumsily. He tried to push his human thoughts away, but it didn’t work. The three witches’ taunts echoed in his ears, lashing at him, driving his wolf to run harder. How had they even known about his feelings for Kai?

  What was there even to know? Kai was just always there, always in his space, in his way, always staring at him with those huge violet eyes and that scent of needing something from Rhys that he wasn’t giving him. It ate at him, ate at his wolf. Like he was trying and failing, always failing Kai, always failing his pack.

  His wolf wanted him to act as protector to the boy, but Rhys couldn’t give him that. He didn’t know how. He tried to keep Kai out of trouble, he did, but it wasn’t good enough. Rhys couldn’t give Kai what he wanted, and it made Rhys’s wolf furious, made him want to punish Rhys until his organs burned like claws were slicing through his organs.

  He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to think about any of it. He launched himself over a small fallen tree, the soil damp and warm beneath his paws as he landed on the other side and ventured towards the lake. Out here, Rhys didn’t need to be in charge; he didn’t have to try to keep control. Out here, his wolf was in control and Rhys could just…breathe. That’s all he ever really wanted.

  He just wished he could make people understand that he didn’t want to be like this. He wanted to feel normal. But how does one feel normal when there’s a living thing inside you clawing at your insides? It didn’t matter. Soon, he’d be old enough to leave, and they would all move on without him. He’d leave Belle Haven and live alone in the woods. Feral and free. An omega. Rhys the outcast. Rhys the unworthy.

  A quarter mile before the lake, Rhys stopped dead, a strange new scent drawing him up short. He sat back, sniffing at the air. The smell had a bite that latched onto Rhys’s throat and dragged him forward without conscious thought. It was acrid, thick and bitter, like iron, rust, and smoke. It tasted like danger, causing his hackles to rise as he prowled, following the scent away from the water to a small clearing in the center of the woods.

  Rhys had been there a thousand times. It was one of his favorite places. It usually sat empty but for the bed of pine needles and fallen branches and, sometimes, the remains of a dead animal. But not this time. In the center of the circle now sat six huge boulders, bigger than anything naturally made in these flat Florida woodlands.

  Rhys skulked closer, the odor of blood and soot and fire mixing with another scent…magic. Blood caked the rocks in symbols unfamiliar to Rhys. Within the circle of those stones, somebody had twisted thorny branches into a large doll or totem of sorts. Rhys pressed his paw against his nose, whining as the scent of body fluids and herbs assaulted him.

  He backed away, scanning the woods, pushing out with his senses, his body tensed, to fight or to flee. But there was no movement, no predator that Rhys could see. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. He turned in a circle twice, but there was nothing, only a sudden silence. The breeze had died, the air surrounding him now hot, thick and stagnant like tepid bath water. Once again, he whined, a shiver rolling over him. He gave one last weary glance before he turned and ran.

  He didn�
��t run towards the water. He headed for home. The silence, the scent…it had him spooked. He ran hard, driving himself forward as if he was being chased by demons, heart pounding as he pushed himself to go faster and farther. He didn’t stop until he was on his porch, shifting into his human form and looking for the spare key under the impatiens.

  Once inside, he locked the door and slid down it. He didn’t care that he was naked. He didn’t care that he was sweaty and filthy. He sat gulping air, miserable. What was he even running from?

  This was why Isa didn’t trust him to be her left hand. This was why she cared more about the others. He had no control over his wolf and now when his wolf could have stayed, could have investigated, he ran. He ran from nothing. He was useless.

  After ten minutes or so, he stood, looking out the window one final time before making his way upstairs to shower away the stink of sweat and fear before putting on clean clothes and walking back to school.

  He needed to tell Isa what he’d found. But telling Isa meant admitting he’d skipped school. Not that Alex wouldn’t tell her tonight when they patrolled together. He’d tell her if it came up. What was there to tell anyway?

  Chapter Five

  Isa

  “So, he just showed up on your doorstep and announced he was your fiancé?”

  Isa nodded, swirling her French fry in ketchup, before dropping it in her mouth. “Yep.”

  Genevieve Duvall, the diner’s evening manager, stared at her incredulously. “Like, no call, no text, no letter via carrier pigeon? Just showed up?”

  “Just showed up,” Isa confirmed.

  Isa sat on the last stool furthest from the door, keeping an eye out for customers, her laptop open before her as she pretended to work on the schedule. Gen stood across from her, leaning against the counter, working at half speed so she could listen to Isa’s story. Isa had an office behind the kitchen, but she preferred being up front where the action was.