Mystic Realms: A Limited Edition Collection

by Nicole Morgan

  I lunged for the security door and punched in the code to open it. "Even after my supposed death, I'm still putting my wife in danger." One never-ending wave of horror after another.

  "Stellan?" Ivan half rose from the lounge.

  "It's our son they're after!" I shouted at him, yanking open the door. "Once Vinny was turned, his sense of smell would have become extraordinary. He would have only needed to get within a few feet of her to figure out she was carrying something other than a human in her womb." Half breeds were unheard of. If Vinny had figured out she was carrying one, there was no telling who he would have told or what they were planning to do about it.

  Ivan leaped after me and we sped for the security department together.

  My mind raced over the timeline of events leading up to Grace's engagement to Vinny. "Didn't Bax say the guy moved in the apartment next door during her first trimester?"

  "Something like that," he confirmed. His features were set in stone. "I'll have security track their flight."

  We burst through the security lab door, where there was little more I could do but continue my frantic pacing, while Ivan's team did their techie thing.

  I waited minutes before speaking, but it felt like an eternity. "Where are they?" I grated between clenched teeth for the umpteenth time as I stomped back and forth behind the chairs of the technicians. I did not really expect anyone to give me an answer, though I longed for one with every cell in my body.

  I was nearly beyond the ability to think and act reasonably. To have discovered my wife was still alive was enough to drive any man insane with hope. To discover I was also a father was enough to drive a man beyond insanity with joy. And the anticipation of holding my son in my arms for the first time. To additionally learn a deadly enemy might right now be tracking their every move and plotting their demise was more than I could bear.

  I stopped and gripped the edge of a conference table in the center of the room in the attempt to regain some semblance of control. It was a slab of silver vein cut Travertine marble, and it crumbled in my hands.

  "I've got their location, sir!" Alexei shouted in excitement. His face was flushed from his high northern cheekbones to the roots of his closely shaven head.

  I spun to face him, stone dust and debris dribbling from both fists. He was speaking to Ivan who stood over him.

  Alexi twirled his chair in my direction. "The two passengers in question are airborne, sir. Flying over the central part of the Gulf of Mexico."

  "I'll take it from here." Ivan slapped on a pair of dark earphones and motioned for Alexei to vacate his chair.

  With a look of surprise, the young technician complied. He fisted his hands on his hips and leaned closer to observe his boss at work. The next words Ivan spoke made his mouth drop open. Mine as well.

  "How long will it take to scramble a pair of fighter jets? We have a flight en route to Limon needing military escort."

  Less than two hours later, I stood next to Bax at the edge of The Body Park's three white-paved runways. He held up a pair of binoculars and attempted to crane at the sky, but I knew his efforts were useless. Our fog machines worked round-the-clock to pump out tens of thousands of gallons of smoke and mist. The evening sun itself was shrouded behind many layers of mechanically generated fog. However, it's rosy brilliance still managed to encase the island in a hazy glow.

  I heard the rumble of the jets several minutes before they flew into view. Ivan was in communication with all three aircraft from his position in our air traffic control tower. The stone and glass tower rose from the tallest peak of the Welcome Center. His plan was to redirect the fighter jets only after he was certain Grace and Easton's private shuttle wasn't being followed.

  The jets rumbled close enough for Bax to hear them. He shot me a strange sideways look. "How many birds did you say were flying our way?"

  Not wanting to unnecessarily arouse his fatherly and grandfatherly concerns, I chose not to answer and pretended to squint at the heavens. It was hard to focus much attention on the impenetrable skies, though, with my zany father-in-law standing next to me. He was wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt in a sky blue color that made the pink flamingoes printed on it seem to be flying right off of it. If it hadn't been such a tense occasion, I might have found the contrast between his choice of shirts, hard features, and silvery buzz cut to be comical.

  And if it hadn't been for his combat boots, his beach shirt might have fit in to our surroundings a little better. Our expertly landscaped medians running alongside the airstrip flamed with tropical flowers. In the distance, the Caribbean waters surged and crashed against the shore, turning the white sand to glistening crystals. A few pockets of beachcombers strolled the water's edge.

  I wore my same black slacks from earlier and the same white dress shirt with my sleeves rolled. It hadn't occurred to me until just this moment that maybe I should have changed. That maybe seeing my wife for the first time in over a year — and meeting my precious son for the first time ever — was an occasion worthy of dressing up.

  It was a good thing my hair was cut so short, shorter than Grace had ever seen it, because I'd dragged my hands through it a thousand times in the past few hours.

  The roar of jet engines increased as the aircrafts finally burst through the cloud cover and started to descend. They flew in a triangular formation.

  "Well, I'll be damned." My father-in-law lowered his binoculars and hitched his thumbs through his belt loops. "There's a real good possibility you and I are going to get along just fine."

  The two fighter jets flanking the private shuttle veered off at the last minute in opposite directions, leaving the much smaller white pearlized craft to land alone.

  I would have to thank Ivan later from the bottom of my heart and soul. I'm not sure what favors he called in, as a former lieutenant in Vitaly's service, but I owed him dearly for the military escort to bring Grace and Easton home without incident. No words would be adequate, however. Their safe return to me was priceless.

  Home.

  The breath I no longer had in my lungs swirled around my nostrils in the form of a salty, evening breeze.

  Grace and Easton were home. My wife and my son. My family!

  My chest swelled with love and pride and longing. They were mine. I was never going to let them go again.

  The tiny aircraft shivered in the brisk coastal breezes as it made its final descent and popped smartly onto the runway at long last. The pilot raised the flaps on its wings, eliciting a screech of windy protest as it slowed.

  My legs started moving on their own.

  "Hold up there, son." Bax laid one of his warm, tanned hands atop my forearm. "My Gracie has no idea what she's here for. It's only fair I prepare her a little." His voice was infused with compassion and something more. Something I couldn't quite place, though it held an edge of bleakness.

  For several tense seconds, our gazes clashed and dueled.

  "Give me a chance to say goodbye at least," he pleaded. "I'll make it quick. You have the rest of your lives to spend together."

  In the end, I'm not a hundred percent sure what made me hold back and respect his wishes. Maybe for the sole reason he was father of my wife? Or maybe because he and Grace and Easton were the only real family I'd had in over a hundred years?

  He strode more than twenty yards away from me and stood at the bottom of the stairs as they descended from the door of the aircraft. The silhouette of a short and stocky man appeared first. The much slenderer frame of my wife appeared behind him. I would recognize the outline of her figure anytime, anywhere.

  I watched her in rapt fascination as she gingerly descended the stairs with the wriggling outline of a much smaller person held upright against her shoulder. The stocky man guided her carefully down the stairs, not dropping his hands from her shoulders until her feet touched the ground.

  She was wearing heels. More like stilettos! What kind of woman braved a day of air travel in stilettos? My wife, apparently. And he
r legs — her delectably toned dancer legs — were encased in a pencil straight, short black skirt. She wore a sleeveless top with a waterfall of lacy panels on the front, tucked in to a tiny waist. Way too tiny of a waist for someone who'd just delivered a child. Was she ill? My doctorly instincts went on high alert.

  She was both the same and different. The same silky stands of light brown hair came loose from her French twist and blew around her pale face. Her cheeks sported twin pink spots of irritation that seemed to be aimed at her father. The biggest difference was in her gaze. Her brown eyes snapped with anger against a backdrop of sunken, bruised skin. Every part of her demeanor and stance embodied that of a grieving widow despite her swanky choice of travel clothing.

  As her father's arms went around her, my chest constricted with a wrenching rush of guilt for all that she'd suffered on my behalf. All the evil in my life, all the darkness surrounding me, the truth about who I was and what I was — had brought her every ounce of suffering I ever feared it would. And then some. My guilt was coupled by mind-crushing dose of joy at the realization she was here — really here — on my island and about to discover I was still alive.

  I could pinpoint the exact second her father told her. Her head tipped abruptly back to allow her uncomprehending gaze to meet his. It was followed by a dazed sheen of mist as his words slowly penetrated the many layers of her pained soul. She disengaged herself from his arms, and I was grateful to see Bax was now holding Easton.

  I'm not sure it would have otherwise been prudent for her to make the tottering spin in her high-heeled sandals to face me. I uncrossed my arms, as she took the first few tentative steps in my direction. Our gazes clashed with wondrous fascination on both our parts. Then she froze. Not from uncertainty, it seemed to me, so much as from the enormity of her discovery that I was standing in front of her. In the flesh.

  I did what she couldn't seem to do. I closed the distance between us with several long strides.

  Her eyelids fluttered against her cheeks as I drew closer, and one hand flew to her chest. It slid higher and clutched her throat. She gasped once, twice, before managing to open her eyes again. They were clouded with tumultuous disbelief and fearful hope. It took several tries for her to choke out a single word.

  "Stellan?"

  Continued in Vampire Island, Book 2 — The Body Park

  THE END

  About the Author

  Jo Grafford is a lover of all things supernatural, fantasy, romance, mystery, and action. She adores alpha males, strong-minded women, humorous sidekicks, diversity, vampires, Vikings, dashing lords, zombies, cyborgs...you get the idea.

  She loves to stay in touch with readers on Facebook, Twitter, BookBub, and Instagram. Plus you can read free chapters of all her books on Wattpad.

  Sign up to Jo's New Release email list and you'll automatically be notified as soon as her next book is released: www.JoGrafford.com/More-Jo-Books

  Check out her website: www.JoGrafford.com

  Dark Heat

  Vampira

  Jan Springer

  Warrior Queen Megan Bloodrayne was betrayed by her two forced mates. Fleeing them, she hides within Vampira, a secret coven of vampires who live undetected among the humans.

  Recaptured, Megan is horrified to learn she’s been framed for crimes she did not commit. Her mates, kings Christian and Zane, believe she may be a traitor and they’ll try anything to get the truth out of her.

  Megan’s got a secret and she’ll do anything to keep it, including enduring scorching sessions of red-hot sexual torture.

  Chapter One

  Megan looked exquisite. Absolutely breathtaking, laid out on the padded table. Blindfolded with a shimmering blue velvet scarf, she had a pale-blue sheet draped over her and he had no problem making out the erotic curve of her breasts, the small juts of the nipple vibrators, or her wide hips and her long legs. Her hair was splayed out on the pillow, painting it auburn with those luscious shiny waves. Her skin was pale and ivory and he knew without touching her how silky soft she would feel beneath his fingertips. He had waited a night and a day after her arrival before coming to her dungeon. Had commanded her guards to summon him when she fell asleep. He wanted to look upon her without being sniffed out or gazed upon with crystal-blue eyes that melted his knees and turned him from an angry conqueror to a male who wanted to dominate her and please her at the same time.

  His Queen. A lethal bitch to his senses. She still smelled the same. Clean. Spicy and sweet. A tender, tasty morsel who made his mouth water and his body tense just thinking about dipping his head between her thighs, curling his tongue against her clit and drinking her warm pleasure juices.

  He knew beneath the sheet draped upon her body she would be naked. It was what he had instructed. He knew they had outfitted her with the gold jewelry he loved to see on his female. The butt plug, the vibrating nipple clamps and the clit stimulator — the latter which he hadn’t used yet — were all made of pure gold, the ancient metal of Kings.

  The toys were all standard procedure for a Warrior male who had captured the female he wished to mate with. The female was gentled with the use of toys, whether she wanted to be dominated or not. In the end, the female submitted to the pleasure. They always did.

  Except this one, his inner voice warned. This vamp had turned out to be his and Zane’s equal. Out of bed and in. He’d realized it shortly after she’d run away. The terrorist attacks against the Warrior Empire’s antique stores had started only days after her disappearance. They were well-coordinated attacks. Not against civilians, thankfully, because the bombings always happened when the stores had been closed. A calling card was sent to the castle after each attack. Free all females, the cards had said. The cards were written in what appeared to be Megan’s handwriting, as well as stamped with her Queen’s royal seal, which had disappeared the same night she had vanished. His ancient Seer had confirmed the cards were indeed written by Megan and that her seal was official.

  At first, he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Had convinced himself she’d been kidnapped and someone was setting her up for some reason. But then Seer delivered the disturbing news that his intelligence people had discovered his wife was indeed planning a rebellion against him. That she wished equal rights for females.

  Bahh! There was no such thing. A male was a male. A female belonged to him. It was as simple as that. It had always been the way of the Warriors. He could not permit females to be equal to males. If he allowed that abomination, then the next thing he knew the female would wish to be the male herself! A female could not be the male. She was feminine. Soft and succulent. Submissive. She gave pleasure and accepted it from the males who were raised to pleasure their females.

  He’d wanted her to bear his offspring. Many of them. He had never told her that. Maybe he should have.

  Anger sparked anew, bringing him back to his enemy. Over the years, she had done much damage to his kingdom. Had obviously infiltrated his ranks to get sensitive security information. He’d seen the information. But he needed to find out how much more she knew. The only way to do that was to break her.

  With sex. It was her weakness. Her hunger. His hunger.

  Another shot of red-hot anger roared through him as he pondered how many males she had spread her legs for to get her information. He knew she enjoyed ménages. The female runaways of the Crystal Clan mate quest always did. That’s why they ran from that clan, where only vanilla sex took place. Females who ran were rare, but when they could not decide on a mate, the need for a more intense sex life was where the problem lay. Those clan males could not share. It just wasn’t in their genetic makeup.

  But it was in his and Zane’s.

  Yes, he enjoyed ménages, but only if he was involved or watching. Not behind his back!

  He soothed himself by turning his thoughts away from her possible unfaithfulness and toward what he needed to do to get information out of her.

  Megan forced herself to keep her breaths calm and regular as she
feigned sleep. She knew he had come. Christian. The more dominant of the two.

  Oh, Sweet Vampire. She had requested Zane. With Zane, she could speak. With Christian, it was more difficult. He spoke in his actions toward her.

  He was angry. Fury wafted off him in stunning waves. Yet beneath the layers of hostility, his scent was rich with musk revealing his desire for her still existed, as it smelled as strong and as demanding as ever. The power of his scent tickled her nose and she fought the urge to unsheathe her fangs and feed on him. He’d always made her so aware of her sensuality and of her hunger for male blood. She had always loved the way his scent flowed into her nostrils, as if it were a powerful drug.

  His anger was understandably directed at her. Of course, he would be furious with her for running away. He’d expressed how much he loved her in bed, although never in the words she craved to hear from him. Yet she’d thrown it all back in his face by leaving him. Leaving them.

  The off gait of his footsteps on the floor as he circled the table made her realize he was fully aroused. He always had a bit of trouble walking when his shaft became enflamed with lust for her. He would grow so big and swollen, she could barely circle both her hands around the base of his shaft. And so long, was he… She stopped an excited shiver that threatened to race through her as she remembered the first time she saw his penis. It had been more than forty years ago. She’d been on her mate quest and they had captured her, quickly strapping her down on a log up on the Austrian mountainside.