by Casey Lane
Wren ran at Jaelle, claws out, hoping to break whatever hold she had over Oggie, but she was too quick. She forced him to his knees at her feet. “You were the good one, Wren. You were always too good for that family. It’s a shame.” He could feel his throat tightening like some invisible noose around his neck as she stared at him with those fathomless black eyes. He could feel Rhys, could sense him prowling closer, but he knew that there was no way she wouldn’t hear him coming. He wanted to tell him to stay away, to run, but no words would come.
Wren froze as Neoma’s voice rang through the clearing. “Stop!”
Jaelle’s head jerked up, a smile spreading across her face. Wren didn’t stop to think, he just drove his hand through her chest, gripping her rotting heart in his hand. There was the sound of sneakers bounding over the ground and a forced exhale. Wren could just make out Rhys swinging the blade, hands choked on the grip like a batter at home plate.
There was the sickening sound of flesh slicking over flesh, and then Jaelle’s head hit the ground with a dull thud. Wren ripped her heart from her chest, dropping it from his hand almost immediately, ensuring the thing was dead before running to check on Isa.
Oggie shifted back into his human form, looking down at the carnage before him, chest heaving and laughter in his eyes. “I didn’t think that bitch was going to go down. That was something.”
Rhys crouched next to his sister, while Wren checked her over. There was a deep laceration over her hip, but it hadn’t hit an artery. He just needed to get her home and cleaned up. Rhys nudged Wren, pointing to Neoma who still stood, hovering at the edge, finger in her mouth, eyes unsure. Wren’s heart twisted. “Stay with your sister.”
Wren closed the distance between him and Neoma, crouching before the little girl both relieved to see her and annoyed that she hadn’t listened. She could have been killed. “I told you to run.”
Neoma shrugged, eyes still on the corpse in the clearing. “I did…but then I ran back.”
Wren wrapped his arms around her, hugging her until she squeaked, before picking her up and carrying her back to the others.
Oggie came out from the woods, fully dressed. “I’ll take care of the cleanup. You tend to your family.”
Wren didn’t have it in him to argue. He just nodded.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Isa
Day 6
Isa refused to stay in her wolf form, despite her injury. She needed to talk, to speak, to wrap her arms around the children. She did concede to letting Wren carry her home, though begrudgingly. Rhys and Neoma didn’t say much on the walk back, but she couldn’t help but smile when she saw Rhys holding the little girl’s hand. He was a perfect choice for the pack’s left hand. He’d done exactly what was needed, even though she knew he must have been terrified.
The last thing Isa expected to see when they returned home, was a large black SUV sitting in their driveway. Wren immediately tensed, arms tightening around her. “Rhys, take Neoma in the house. Use the backdoor. Don’t unlock it for anybody but me, Oggie or your sister. Do you understand?”
Rhys’s eyes widened, looking from Wren to the vehicle. “Yes, sir.”
Two men stood on their front porch, in the middle of a heated debate, clearly unaware of their approach. She recognized the first. Allister. He stood, arms crossed, a smug smile on his face. She didn’t know the other man, but she knew based on Wren’s body language this must be his father.
He looked much like Wren, same height, build, coloring. Unlike Wren, his hairline had receded, and he’d let himself go a bit in the middle. He wore khaki’s and a button down shirt and was much angrier than Allister.
When his father spotted him, his eyes flashed blue. “Well, look who’s here.”
Wren set Isa down gently on the porch swing before turning to his father. “Cain? What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.” Wren said, voice wary.
Cain was red-faced and sweating, clearly infuriated as he glanced at Allister. “I told ya you’d be seeing me soon. I came here to talk to my own son. Instead, I’m being blackmailed.”
Isa’s heart tripped looking at her mate. He was exhausted. There were bags under his eyes, and his face was drawn. If Cain challenged Wren, Isa would have to intervene, and Wren would never let her do that for him, not with an injury.
Allister smiled at the other man. “This isn’t blackmail; this is a gift. You knowingly harbored a pureblood in your home for eight years. You used that child’s blood to supply countless witches with fae blood for the purpose of using blood magic. Each offense on its own carries a death sentence. Yet, the Grove has agreed to let you keep your pack and, most importantly, your head. In exchange, you forgo all rights to the child. You agree to never set foot in Belle Haven again. You relinquish all rights to the Belladonna pack. The Grove has been more than generous. But, if you feel this is an unfair request, I can simply have you arrested and put before the conclave.”
A shiver rolled over Isa at Allister’s words. What was he saying? Would he try to take Neoma? Would he turn her over to the Grove?
Cain stared long and hard at Allister before turning his eyes to Wren. “I knew you were a coward, but I never thought I’d see the day a son a mine would let a witch fight his battles for him.”
Wren sighed, shaking his head. “Go home, dad. We’ve all had a really long day, and I just don’t have it in me to waste any more energy on you.”
His father’s lip curled in disgust. “You’re banished. I’ll have you brought before the elders. I’ll make sure you never inherit the Black Thorne pack.”
Everything went quiet, all eyes turning to Wren, to see his reaction. But Wren only looked at her, a smile playing at his lips. Isa couldn’t help but smile back just a little. His father didn’t get Wren at all. “Go home, Cain. We’re done here.”
The man’s already red face went purple at his son’s casual dismissal. He stood there for a long moment and Isa’s pulse thudded heavy, muscles tensed as she waited to see what the man would do. He lifted his hand like he was going to strike Wren but then dropped it. “You’re not worth it,” he growled before storming from the porch and slamming his car door with enough force to rattle the glass in the windows.
With one threat taken care of, Isa turned to the other. “You can’t have Neoma. I’m too injured to fight you, Allister, but believe me when I tell you. You’ll never get her from us.”
Allister shook his head, tsking, “Isa, what kind of man do you think I am? Don’t answer that. I would never take a child from her family. She’ll stay right here, in this town—in only this town—just like Kai, just like Tristin. Do you understand? Everything will continue on as it’s been. Agreed?”
Isa looked to Wren. His jaw flexed, and Isa watched him swallow hard before he nodded.
“Agreed,” Isa confirmed.
“Excellent. Now, I’m off to check on my coven so we can go…deer hunting. Have a wonderful evening.”
As soon as they were alone, Wren fell into the swing next to Isa. “Well, after the week we’ve had, that seemed almost a bit anti-climactic,” he told Isa, tone conversational.
She kissed his shoulder. “Let’s go inside.”
Hadley and Gen waited in the living room with the kids, who were all chattering excitedly, talking over each other. Isa and Wren took turns hugging each of them, doing their best to listen as they each tried to recall their own experience of the events that transpired, none of them getting it exactly right, but close enough.
After a while, Gen waved the two of them off. “We’ve got the kids. We’ll keep an eye on them.”
Once upstairs, Wren led Isa into their bathroom where he undressed her slowly, almost reverently, placing open mouthed kisses to each part of her as it was revealed to him. He was making her crazy, her body responding to his maddening torture in as pain sizzled along her flank. She was sweaty and covered in dirt, but that was not deterring Wren in the least. She hissed in pain as he slipped her jeans and pant
ies down her legs, lifting one and then the other to rid her of the final remnants of fabric. He skimmed his lips across her belly, kissing each of her hipbones in apology. Isa’s hands clenched spastically in his hair, not sure if she wanted to pull him up or push him lower.
Isa shivered as Wren stood. “I think we need a shower,” he murmured, already reaching inside to flip on the water. Just his voice had her body aching with need. “You know, to clean that cut on your hip.”
She swallowed hard but smiled, her hands reaching for the button on his jeans. “Why, Wren Davies, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to seduce me.”
Wren grinned, clearly remembering their reading session. “Why Isa McGowan…whatever do you mean?”
When the water was the right temperature, he finished undressing with a quickness Isa found amusing and then he was walking her backward into the water, keeping his strong arms around her for support. As the liquid worked over their bodies, Isa couldn’t help but let her hands and her mouth roam over his chest. When she ran her tongue over one flat brown nipple, he moaned, turning her away from him but not before giving her a disapproving look. “We can’t. You’re hurt.”
She might have taken it personally if the evidence of his arousal wasn’t pressed against her ass. She reached behind herself, gripping his thighs, dragging him against her until he groaned. “I’m not that hurt,” she whispered.
She moaned as his lips brushed across his mark on her shoulder before he gripped her hair in his hand, pulling her head to the side to bite along the column of her neck. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered as he released her and stepped back. Isa’s shoulders sagged with disappointment, but it was short lived as rough soapy hands began to work over her body with a thoroughness that had nothing to do with hygiene. When his hand slipped between her thighs, she gasped, pushing herself into his touch.
A low rumble escaped his lips and suddenly all the panic, all the fear she’d faced an hour ago, came rushing back. She could have lost him. He could have died. They could have died, and she’d never see him, never touch him, never hold him again.
“I was so scared,” she whispered suddenly, leaning back against him, gripping his arm tight.
Wren’s growled at her words, then he was turning her, lifting her like she weighed nothing, his body sliding into hers in one graceful motion that had her crying out. There was nothing gentle or hesitant this time. She could only cling to him, her hands clenched in his hair and her legs around his waist as he drove himself into her deeper, harder, like he was on a mission, like he somehow needed to prove to himself that they were both still alive, still safe, still whole.
He was panting against her neck, his voice raw as he said, “Me too. Me too. When a heard you cry out, I thought…” He didn’t finish, his mouth finding hers in a bruising kiss.
“Your mine. Only mine. I thought I was going to lose you, lose my family,” she babbled, suddenly desperate to tell him everything, now that she still could. “I love you. I can’t picture life without you. I can’t ever lose you.”
“I love you too, so much,” he pressed the words into her skin, teeth closing over his mark on her shoulder. Then there were no more words, just the two of them clinging to each other, using their bodies to remind each other that they’d survived.
She didn’t speak again until they were both sated and out of breath. Wren placed her back on her feet gently, his arms still locked around her, mindful of her injury. She clasped his face in her hands, looking him in the eye, heart clenching in her chest as she asked, “So this is it? You and me…for life?” He’d said it so many times before but she needed to hear him say it again. She needed his words.
His gaze went soft, and he smiled, shaking his head. “Yes. For life. You…me…and five crazy kids,” he agreed.
She smiled too, picturing a child with her dark hair and his light eyes. “Well, five for now. Who knows what the future holds?”
He dipped his head, groaning against her neck. “I predict a house filled with kids and more chaos than either one of us could ever imagine.”
She sighed. “Sounds like a perfect life to me.”
Continue the Dead Things Series in book one, Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things.
www.martinamcatee.com
About the Author
Martina McAtee is a bestselling author and the winner of the 2016 Reader’s Favorite Gold Medal for her first book, Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things. She lives in Jupiter, Florida with her teenage daughters, her best friend, two attack Chihuahuas, and two shady looking cats. By day she is a registered nurse, but by night she writes young adult books about reapers, zombies, werewolves, and other supernatural creatures. She wrote her first story when she was five with an orange crayon on a legal pad she stole from her mom’s office. She’s been writing ever since.
Her influences include Christopher Pike, R.L. Stine, Joss Whedon, L.J. Smith, and even J.K. Rowling. Living in South Florida provides her with plenty of material for the weird worlds she writes about. When she isn’t working, teaching, or writing, she’s reading or watching shows involving reapers, zombies, werewolves, and other supernatural creatures.
Read More from Martina McAtee
www.martinamcatee.com
Death Times Two
Boone Brux and CJ Ellisson
Death Times Two © 2013 Boone Brux and CJ Ellisson
* * *
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Death Times Two
The Arctic cold isn’t the only thing with a bite.
The V V Inn has a ghost problem. When the lurking specters draw the attention of Constantine, head of Grim Reaper Services, he calls in the only local who can return the remote resort to its former tranquility, Lisa Carron--resident Alaskan reaper.
Still new to the death gig, Lisa accepts the job. After all, how much trouble could one ghost be? Once at the hotel, she learns that not only is the inn full of the dearly departed, she'll also be working for vampires. Throw in Asa, a young vamp hot enough to melt the Arctic ice, and Lisa realizes she's way out of her element.
Asa didn't know what to expect when told a reaper would be working on the property, but Lisa certainly wasn't it. Blond and curvy, she's very easy on the eyes. Tasked with helping her, Asa soon realizes that not only can she provide the dead a peaceful passing, but offer him solace in a way no other woman can.
Chapter One
Lisa
I stare at Constantine, certain I heard him wrong. “What do you mean I have to do this reap alone?”
He continues to scan the green blips on the radar. I still haven’t gotten used to the idea that those dots are people who are about to die. “Nate is on another assignment and this reap needs to get done—ASAP.”
Reaping, that’s my job. I’m an Angel of Death, a grim reaper of idiotic spirits for GRS, Grim Reaper Services. People who die in stupid ways are my clients. Lucky me. Nate, my partner, reaps violent criminals. Way more impressive than my job, and more dangerous. Admittedly, I’ve grown to depend on Nate and the thought of doing an important reap on my own is daunting. “Where am I going?”
“North of Fairbanks, near Coldfoot.” Constantine str
aightens and looks at me. “These are...special clients. I’m trusting you’ll get this done quickly and quietly.”
“Special? As in particularly stupid?”
“Far from it.” He steps past me and heads toward a desk. “The inn you’ll be traveling to is owned by a friend of mine.” He tears off a sheet of paper from a small tablet and hands it to me. “Finesse and discretion are mandatory.”
I give an unladylike snort. “I’m sorry, have we met? Finesse is not my greatest skill.”
He places his hands on my shoulders and slowly rubs. Sparks of electricity shoot down my arms. “I have faith in you, Lisa.” My heartbeat quickens. I’ll admit I’ve imagined Constantine and me in a few hot and heavy positions, but I’ve never told anyone. Not even my best friend Vella. There are two problems with my fantasy about Constantine. First, I’m not sure he’s human. Secondly, if he’s not, getting jiggy with him might be like supernatural crack. What if he ruins me for other men? It’s not a chance I want to take. Plus, he’s never offered.
A sigh slips from me and my shoulders slump. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
He lowers his hands. “Nope.”
I look at the paper. “The V V Inn. Never heard of it.”
“It’s very upscale. Only the most elite clientele stay there,” he says.
I’ve lived in Alaska all my life. There are a lot of expensive remote lodges that serve the wealthy, but I’m surprised I’ve never heard of this one. Not even a mention. “When do I leave?”
Constantine hands me another sheet of paper. “In three hours.”
My mouth drops open when I look at the electronic ticket and charter flight information. I give a huff of protest. “I’ve got to make arrangements for the kids. I can’t just drop everything.”
