Secret Santa: Secret McQueen, Book 2.5

by Sierra Dean

  Digging my forearms into the floor, I dragged myself forward, scraping all the skin off my elbows. I got a good grip on the sheath of my katana in the same instant something sharp punctured the skin at the base of my skull. I’d never felt a tongue under my scalp before, but it was impossible to mistake the slippery tingling sensation as anything else.

  A shudder convulsed through me and I bucked against the fae. I didn’t want to jerk too much and have it pierce the bone. I might have supernatural strength, but I doubted I was immune to paralysis if the creature gained access to my spine. That said, it was after something in my head, and I didn’t want to give it a chance to reach its target.

  I didn’t waste time unsheathing the katana. I simply swung it backwards and hoped like hell I was right about the fae’s position. The wet smooshing sound of a skull fracture and the tongue retracting from my head told me my aim was true. I rolled to the right, and the limp weight of the fae fell off me in the opposite direction.

  Holden had broken the lock free on the door where I’d seen the boy’s face earlier, and was hunched in the opening. There were whimpers, but his tone was soothing. I’d never prayed for Holden to enthrall anyone, but I hoped to God he could help these kids forget what they’d gone through down here.

  “Ewww beeshhh.” The monster was slurring worse than before, and when I turned back to look at it, the damage I’d done was evident. Thick black blood seeped down its face and coated its teeth with a dark veneer. All that mess and it still managed to call me a bitch.

  I unsheathed my katana and dropped the shiny black casing to the ground, then got a toe under my knife and kicked it up so I had a weapon in each hand. The creature snarled at me, spattering its dark blood across my neck and chest.

  Charming.

  From the corner of my eye I saw Holden emerge from the hidey-hole with his arms around the two younger teens, while two others tucked themselves behind him. There were only three teens reported missing, according to Mercedes, and I realized with a happy shock that the extra captive was Nolan’s missing shifter.

  But someone was still absent.

  My heart stilled and my pulse slowed to a near stop as the pressure of grief swelled through me. Then Penny came out of the hole in the wall, hesitant to emerge the whole way until she saw Holden with the other teenagers and darted out to stand behind him. She’d been crying and her dark hair was a mess, but she appeared unharmed. The kids got one look at the fae and the younger ones began to cry. I couldn’t blame them. He’d been scary enough when wearing his human suit, now he was a walking nightmare.

  “Take care of them,” I pleaded to Holden.

  “Miiiine,” the fae screamed, hurling itself at them with a shocking fervor.

  Holden spun around to block the kidnapped youths, leaving his back exposed. I dropped the knife and grabbed the fae by the neck, yanking it out of a midair strike the vampire couldn’t have defended against with his arms around the teens. If I hadn’t pulled the fae down, Holden would have let the thing jump on his back rather than let go of the kids. He could talk all he wanted about not caring if teens lived or died and the cycle-of-life bullshit he’d given me earlier, but I knew his true nature the moment he turned the captives away from the fae and left himself defenseless.

  I threw the creature into the floor and heard teeth breaking against stone. It was still muttering curses, but it wasn’t saying anything I understood. The tone was clear, though.

  “Yeah, well, fuck you too.”

  With both hands wrapped around the handle of my katana, I drove the blade into the back of the monster’s neck, right where it had bitten into the base of my own skull. I twisted the sword until the final pop of separating bones echoed through the chamber and the rattle of the fae’s last breath crossed its lips.

  Jerking the blade free, I looked back to Holden and the five freed captives huddled behind him. With a fine spray of black blood on my skin and hair and a blood-slicked sword in my hand, I couldn’t have looked like the hero they’d been expecting. Five sets of wide eyes were locked on me, showing shock but also gratitude.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I promised.

  Penny skirted around Holden and walked up to me, crouching at my feet to retrieve my fallen knife. She stood and fixed me with a steely gaze, the blade looking frightening and comfortable in her hand before she handed it back to me.

  “Can we go home?” she asked.

  I slid the knife back into its place on my thigh and collected the sheath for my sword, then hugged the girl to my side. I was afraid if I looked away for a second she’d cease to exist.

  “Yeah, kiddo. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The highlight of my Christmas night was discovering how to make the lights on the tree blink on and off.

  I’d made a nest of blankets on the couch and had a tower of classic holiday DVDs stacked next to the television. If the ornaments and tree weren’t here, it would be a traditional Christmas at Chez McQueen.

  In an attempt to let the Alvarez family mend after their horrific Christmas Eve, I’d opted out of participating in their Christmas Day festivities so they could be together without any intrusions. When I’d brought Penny back the previous night, I thought Grace Alvarez might hug me to death. The group love-fest I’d been in the middle of led me to believe I’d still be welcome there even if I didn’t come by to unwrap gifts.

  But it might have been hard for Desmond to explain to his mother why I couldn’t show up until sundown.

  Before we’d gotten to the Alvarez house, Holden had helped the kidnapped teens forget the worst of their trauma while I’d called Mercedes. When the police met us on the front steps of Desmond’s childhood home, I could tell Tyler was itching for an excuse to blame the whole thing on me, but I’d cleaned up by that point and put my nice white sweater back on. Without a sword in hand, I looked downright innocent. We explained how Penny had gone missing, which was easy to confirm with the local police, and I told him we followed a hunch. Then we lied our faces off about where we’d found the missing youths and claimed to have no idea who took them. We’d burned the fae’s body and replaced the grave covering his hole. The nightmare was over, but for the cops the mystery was unsolved.

  The case was no longer my problem, but I’d let Nolan fill me in on a few more details over the phone earlier in the evening. We’d been curious about why the fae targeted shifters, and Nolan had made some headway with an answer. Turns out shifters have hypersensitive amygdalas. The trait was especially acute during puberty as it allowed them to better adjust to the heightened stress and emotions of becoming active shapeshifters. It made sense that those predisposed to the change would have built-in coping mechanisms to make it easier on them. Who knew a monster would want to take advantage of something so unique?

  It sort of made sense, in a twisted way, why the fae was keeping the youngest of the teens alive. It was making them into its version of dessert, by keeping those with the most active fear centers captive and letting them build their fear into a frenzy. That same logic explained why it was willing to risk capture by displaying the body parts so publicly. Fear spread like wildfire in a city like New York, and terror was this thing’s bread and butter. To create panic on a city-wide level meant all of Manhattan became a buffet fit for a fae.

  The plan was demented but clever.

  With the worst of the crisis behind me and Nolan properly lauded for all his hard work, my night would consist of It’s a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street. Anything black and white with a clear-cut happy ending.

  I found some powdered instant hot chocolate in the cupboard and couldn’t resist making some to accompany my solo movie night. As I mixed up the cocoa into the boiled milk I realized how little I knew about hot beverages that weren’t coffee. Clumps of chocolaty dust refused to be broken down, and I was too enchanted by the tiny fake marshmallows to fight too hard with mixing the drink.

  I sipped the concoctio
n, and it tasted like liquid sugar. Not being a hot-chocolate connoisseur, I assumed that was appropriate and took the steaming mug out of the kitchen and into the living room where the flickering tree lights made it look like a disco.

  When I sat on the loveseat, I screamed and sloshed hot chocolate all over myself.

  My redheaded spirit guide sat beside me, glowing like a lightning bug, and I swear to God she was smiling. I hadn’t seen the ghost of Ashley Parsons since the night she pointed towards Long Island and in her wordless way had told me to go east, young assassin.

  I set the coffee mug on the floor and returned to the kitchen to get a wet dishtowel to wipe the hot, sticky liquid off my arms. She was still waiting on the loveseat when I came back.

  “So, which are you?”

  The girl cocked her head to the side and looked confused, but as before she said nothing.

  “Ghost of Christmas past, present or future,” I clarified.

  There was no mistaking the upward turn of her mouth this time. In the blinking lights of the Christmas tree her tiara looked extra glittery. She rose and floated up to me, reaching out her hand with the opaque palm facing up. I didn’t think I could touch her, but I tried to take hold of the offered hand. My fingers slid right through the space, but the air where I’d tried to touch her was colder than the temperature around us. The ghost frowned and dropped her arm to her side, then drifted by me and gave a look back before she passed through my front door.

  I hesitated but ultimately curiosity ruled over any qualms I might have. As long as she didn’t want me to climb any fire escapes I was willing to see what she wanted. After pulling on a pair of slipper-boots, I ran out into the hall and followed the girl into the street.

  She was waiting at the top of my steps with her face angled up to the dark sky. I was so busy looking down the block it took me a second to realize why she had brought me outside.

  The first snowflake landed on my cheek, then more joined it, sticking to my eyelashes and melting on my lips. The big fluffy flakes were tumbling down, illuminated like dust motes in the yellow glow of the streetlights. I smiled and tilted my head back, sticking my tongue out and catching the small, cold clusters in my mouth, where they dissolved like sugar.

  All the anxiety, pain and frustration of the last week melted away with each flake that wet my skin.

  “Thank—” I began to express my gratitude to the ghost, but when I looked beside me she was gone.

  I held out my hand palm up, and the cool brush of the snow felt like the girl’s ghostly touch.

  “Thank you,” I finished and closed my eyes, turning my face back to the sky.

  “Whatcha looking at?”

  I opened one eye and tilted my head sideways. Had I not recognized the voice I’d have sprung into a defensive pose, but Brigit had a distinctive cheerfulness that was impossible to fake. She was holding a stack of parcels wrapped in metallic paper and wore a fuzzy fuchsia beret. Her smile could have lit up the street.

  “Just playing in the snow.”

  “Wanna give us a hand?”

  “Us?” I dropped my attention from the sky entirely and looked past her on the sidewalk. A cab door slammed closed and the driver took off.

  Nolan shuffled up the path, trying to see over the stack of gifts he carried. “Hi,” he said, his voice muffled by the bulk of his burden. I grabbed the heavy boxes from him, and he was more than willing to let them go.

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  “It’s Christmas,” Brigit answered, as though that explained everything. Then she added, “No one should be alone on Christmas.”

  It was hard to say whether she meant me or herself and I didn’t ask. Nolan blushed a little, and I figured he must have told her I was spending the night by myself.

  “I was making hot chocolate.”

  “Ohh.” Nolan opened the door for us, letting the gift-bearers in ahead of himself, then locked my apartment door behind us. “Count me in.”

  Brigit dumped the gifts next to the tree and made a beeline for the television. When I returned from the kitchen with two new mugs of partially mixed hot chocolate, she’d put Elf in and was curled up in the armchair, beaming at me. Nolan had taken up half the loveseat and was giving Rio the greatest gift—that of the belly rub.

  I handed each of them a mug, then plunked down beside Nolan and propped my feet on his lap. My own cocoa was lukewarm and tasted like candy. The gifts under the tree were forgotten as I listened to Brigit giggle at Will Ferrell’s shenanigans. I wanted to say something, to thank them for being here with me, but nothing seemed quite right. So I nestled in and smiled so hard it hurt my cheeks.

  My family was home.

  About the Author

  Sierra Dean is a reformed historian. She was born and raised in the Canadian prairies and is allowed annual exit visas in order to continue her quest of steadily conquering the world one city at a time. Making the best of the cold Canadian winters, Sierra indulges in her less global interests: drinking too much tea and writing urban fantasy.

  Ever since she was a young girl she has loved the idea of the supernatural coexisting with the mundane. As an adult, however, the idea evolved from the notion of fairies in flower beds, to imagining that the rugged-looking guy at the garage might secretly be a werewolf. She has used her overactive imagination to create her own version of the world, where vampire, werewolves, fairies, gods and monsters all walk among us, and she’ll continue to travel as much as possible until she finds it for real.

  Sierra can be reached all over the place, as she’s a little addicted to social networking. Find her on:

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/sierradeanbooks

  Website: www.sierradean.com

  E-mail: sierra@sierradean.com

  Twitter: @sierradean

  Look for these titles by Sierra Dean

  Now Available:

  Secret McQueen

  Something Secret This Way Comes

  The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters

  A Bloody Good Secret

  You can’t keep a good Secret for long.

  A Bloody Good Secret

  © 2011 Sierra Dean

  Secret McQueen, Book 2

  After cheating death twice in one night, confessing her true nature to her werewolf soul mates and being asked to kill one of her closest friends, Secret took a much-needed vacation. By running away.

  Now she’s back in town—dragged kicking and screaming—determined to clear Holden Chancery’s name. Right after she finds out what he’s accused of. It shouldn’t be hard—Holden has a habit of using their new and scintillating psychic bond to break into her thoughts and dreams at some very, shall we say, awkward moments.

  Just a few things stand in her way: a secretive Tribunal leader, a group of would-be vampire slayers and two werewolf boyfriends who refuse to let her operate in her customary lone-wolf style. Even less amusing are the terrifying creatures that someone is using in an attempt to gain control of the council. Even for this out-of-the-ordinary bounty hunter, it’s a challenge with potentially deadly teeth.

  Warning: Contains an ever-plucky heroine with no shortage of weapons, super-hot mind games, an ever-complicated love triangle and one hell of a creepy amusement park.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for A Bloody Good Secret:

  Feeling restored once three days’ worth of blood, sweat and pool water had been cleaned off my skin and out of my hair, I towel-dried my curls and threw caution to the wind by not blow-drying them. Tomorrow my hair would be a mess, but I didn’t have the energy to dry it tonight.

  Wrapping a towel around me, I walked to my room with the carefree manner of someone who was truly alone for the first time in months. The second I crossed the threshold into my bedroom, I knew how wrong I’d been to ignore my initial instincts.

  There was no time for me to react once I realized I wasn’t alone. In one instant I was aware, and before I could open my lips to express shock, I was pushed hard against my be
droom wall with a hand covering my mouth and a strong, cool body pressed onto me.

  The dark eyes and pale face looking back at me were so familiar I swore for a moment I must have been dreaming. But there was nothing erotic about this situation. Holden Chancery was in my bedroom, but this time he was altogether too real. My eyes were wide, but my pulse was slow and even. I was surprised, but at this point I still wasn’t afraid.

  I was, however, wishing I had on more than a towel.

  When I didn’t struggle, he stopped holding me so hard, but still firmly enough I couldn’t get away. I may have been strong, but most vampires were still stronger. Conversely, I could kick most werewolves’ asses in a fair fight. Maybe I was the perfect pack protector.

  “Are you going to scream if I move my hand?” he asked.

  I glared at him as if to say you’re kidding me, right? He pulled his fingers away.

  I took a deep lungful of breath, now that his hand wasn’t blocking my mouth. I looked at him, trying to connect the man in my room to the Holden I knew. He was paler than usual. His skin had taken on a worrisome gray tone beneath the standard vampiric white. His brown eyes, which were always dark, were now almost black, and his pupils were huge. His hair, like in my dream, was longer than I remembered and too wild for him.

  “Holden?”

  “Welcome home.” There was more than a little sarcasm and anger in his voice.

  “Are you insane? You know Sig was here earlier, don’t you?”

  He took a step back, so he was no longer pressed against me, but he was still close and still holding me against the wall. He didn’t want me going anywhere.