“I think they’re old and stupid and send in dispensable agents like me to clean up their shit shows,” I grumbled.
“Smart girl.”
“Who else knows about this? Clark? Jones?”
“They know,” she said wearily. “They’re checking out agencies in New York and Miami.”
“Isn’t it conflict of interest to send me where I know everyone?”
“It is, but you’ll be able to infiltrate and get in faster that way. Besides no one has disappeared from the other agencies yet.”
There was one piece I still didn’t understand. “How are humans involved?”
She sighed and her head dropped back on to her broad shoulders. “Humans are running the agency.”
It took a lot to render me silent, like learning my Grandma had been a stripper in her youth and that all male Werewolves were hung like horses . . . but this was horrific.
“Who in the hell thought that was a good idea? My god, half the female Weres I know sprout tails when flash bulbs go off. We won’t have to come out, they can just run billboards of hot girls with hairy appendages coming out of their asses.”
“It’s all part of the Grand Plan. If the humans see how wonderful and attractive we are the issue of knowingly living along side of us will be moot.”
Again. Speechless.
“When are Council elections?” It was time to vote some of those turd knockers out.
“Essie.” Angela rolled her eyes and took another swig. “There are no elections. They’re appointed and serve for life.”
“I knew that,” I mumbled. Skipping Were History class was coming back to bite me in the ass.
“I’ll go.” There was no way I couldn’t. Even though my knowledge of the hierarchy of my race was fuzzy, my skills were top notch and trouble seemed to find me. In any other job that would suck, but in mine it was an asset.
“Good. You’ll be working with the local pack alpha. He’s also the sheriff there. Name’s Hank Wilson. You know him?”
“Yep.” Biblically, I knew the son of a bitch biblically.
***
“You’re gonna bang him.”
“I am not gonna to bang him.”
“You are so gonna to bang him.”
“Dwayne, if I hear you say that I’m gonna bang him one more time, I will not let you borrow my black Mary Jane pumps. Ever again.”
Dwayne made the international zip the lip and throwaway the key sign while silently mouthing that I was going to bang Hank.
“I think you should bang him if he’s a hot as you said.” Dwayne made himself comfortable on my couch and turned on the TV.
“When did I ever say he was hot?” I demanded taking the remote out of his hands. I was not watching any more Dance Moms. “I never said he was hot.”
“Paaaaleese,” Dwayne flicked his pale hand over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” he asked, confused.
“That shoulder thing you just did.”
“Oh, I was flicking my hair over my shoulder in a girlfriend move.”
“Okay, don’t do that. It doesn’t work, not to mention you’re as bald as a cue ball.”
“But it’s the new move,” he whined.
Oh my god, Vampyres were such high maintenance. “According to who?” I yanked my suitcase out from under my bed and started throwing stuff in.
“Kim Kardashian.”
I refused to dignify that with so much as a look.
“Fine,” he huffed. “But if you say one word about my skinny jeans I am so out of here.”
I considered it, but I knew he was serious. As crazy as he drove me, I adored him. He was my only friend in Chicago and I had no intention of losing him.
“I know he’s hot,” Dwayne said. “You’re far too beautiful to be hung up on a goober.”
“Are you calling me shallow?” I snapped as I ransacked my tiny apartment for clean clothes. Damnit, tomorrow was laundry day. I was going to have to pack dirty clothes.
“So he’s ugly and puny and wears bikini briefs?”
“No! He’s hotter than Satan’s underpants and he wears boxers,” I shouted. “You happy?”
“He’s actually a nice guy.”
“You’ve met Hank?” I was so confused I was this close to making fun of his skinny jeans just so he would leave.
“Satan. He’s not as bad as everyone thinks.”
How was it that everyone I came in contact with today stole my ability to speak? Thankfully I was interrupted by my door.
“You expecting someone?” Dwayne asked as he pilfered the remote back and found Dance Moms.
“No.”
I peeked through the peephole. Nobody came to my place except Dwayne and the occasional pizza delivery guy or Chinese food take out guy or Indian food take out guy. Wait. What the hell was my boss doing here?
“Angela?”
“You going to let me in?”
“Depends.”
“Open the damn door.”
Angela tromped into my shoebox and made herself at home. Her hair was truly spectacular. It looked like she might have even pulled out a clump on the left side. “You want to tell me why the sheriff and alpha of Hung Island, Georgia says he won’t work with you?”
“Um . . . no?”
“He said he had a hard time believing someone as flaky and irresponsible as you had become an agent for the Council and he wants someone else.” Angela narrowed her eyes at me and took the remote form Dwayne. “Spill it, Essie.”
I figured the best way to handle this was to lie—hugely. However, gay Vampyre boyfriends have a way of interrupting and screwing up all your plans.
“Well, you see . . . ”
“He’s her mate and he dipped his stick in several other . . . actually many other oil tanks. So she dumped his furry player ass, snuck away in the middle of the night and hadn’t really planned on ever going back there again.” Dwayne sucked in a huge breath which was ridiculous because Vampyres didn’t breathe.
It took everything I had not to scream and go all wolfy. “Dwayne, clearly you want me to go medieval on your lily white ass because I can’t imagine why you would utter such bullshit to my boss.”
“Doesn’t sound like bullshit to me,” Angela said as she channel surfed and landed happily on an old episode of Cagney and Lacey. “We might have a problem here.”
“Are you replacing me?” Hank Wilson had screwed me over once when I was his. He was not going to do it again when I wasn’t.
“Your call,” she said. Dwayne, who was an outstanding shoplifter, covertly took back the remote and flipped over to the food channel. Angela glanced up at the tube and gave Dwayne the evil eye.
“I refuse to watch lesbians fight crime in the eighties. I’ll get hives,” he explained, tilted his head to the right and gave Angela a smile. He was so pretty it was silly. Even my boss had a hard time resisting his charm.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
“Excuse me,” I yelled. “This conversation is about me, not testosterone ridden women cops with bad hair, hives or food. It’s my life we’re talking about here—me, me, me!” My voice had risen to decibels meant to attract stray animals within a ten-mile radius, evidenced by the wincing and ear covering.
“Essie, are you done?” Dwayne asked fearfully.
“Possibly. What did you tell him?” I asked Angela.
“I told him the Council has the last word in all matters. Always. And if he had a problem with it he could take it up with the elders next month when they stay awake long enough to listen to the petitions of their people.”
“Oh my god, that’s awesome,” I squealed. “What did he say?”
“That if we send you down he’ll give you bus money so you can high tail your sorry cowardly butt right back out of town.”
Was she grinning at me and was that little shit, Dwayne jotting the conversation down in the notes section on his phone?
“Let m
e tell you something,” I ground out between clenched teeth while I confiscated Dwayne’s phone and pocketed it. “I am going to Hung Island, Georgia tomorrow and I will kick his ass. I will find the killer first and than I will castrate the alpha of the Georgia Pack . . . with a dull butter knife.”
Angela laughed and Dwayne jack-knifed over on the couch in a visceral reaction to my plan. I stomped into my bathroom and slammed the door to make my point, then pressed my ear to the door to hear them talk behind my back.
“I’ll bet you five hundred dollars she’s gonna bang him,” Dwayne told Angela.
“I’ll bet you a thousand that you’re right,” shot back.
“You’re on.”
## Look for it Summer 2014 ##
Visit www.robynpeterman.com for more info.
Excerpt from “The Demon of Synar”
Book One of the Forced To Serve Series
By Donna McDonald
Onboard Liam’s ship and stashed out of sight, Ania felt depression settle on her as she unpacked, putting her meager belongings into the various compartments of the small room Liam had assigned her.
No—stop calling him Liam, she chastised herself. It was Synar or Captain Synar.
Before they had left her parent’s house, he had asked her to refrain from using his given name onboard. Ania saw no reason not to comply with his request regardless of how much it increased the emotional distance between them, or disrespected what they once were to each other.
Her former mate was making it very clear that even though he had helped her, she was no one important in his life. Why hadn’t he just said it straight out to her? It wasn’t like she hadn’t figured out their personal relationship was over.
There was a quiet knock on her door and Ania opened it to find a person she hadn’t expected to see so soon. Given her cool reception so far by the Liberator’s crew, she figured Captain Synar had issued an order for her to be shunned. She hadn’t expected Synar’s best friend to defy him.
“Greetings, Dorian Zade,” Ania said, bowing her head and closing her eyes. “It is a pleasure to see you once more. I saw you in the recovery crew who came to collect me, but you hardly spared me a look. I wasn’t even sure if you were going to be allowed to speak to me.”
“Greetings, Ania Looren, and apologies for my lack of acknowledgment until now. My interest earlier was in Liam and his reactions to what was happening. He was struggling to control—well, it is not my place to explain for him. Forgive me for rambling,” Dorian said, bowing his head, wishing he could embrace her. “I just wanted to see if you were getting settled and ask if you needed anything.”
Shaking her head to answer his question, Ania walked away from the open door to return to her unpacking. Dorian could make his own decision about coming in or not.
“Unless you came to offer me the information Liam seems unwilling to share yet, there is nothing more I need at the moment. My parents cried when I left as if I were dying instead of merely joining Liam—sorry—I mean, Captain Synar, on his ship. Even without my intuition working properly, it is quite obvious that the two of you have kept many secrets from me.”
“I swear by the Creators of All that peace will return to you soon,” Dorian said with conviction, stepping cautiously across her threshold even though the invitation to enter had not been given.
Ania turned her face away from the male she had taught to read her hundreds of years ago. She would never be able to hide her true feelings from Dorian, so it was just as well she did not currently feel the urge to do so. “Peace? I have not had peace since I met the one you still call your truest friend. Tell me, Dorian—did you ever regret setting aside your spiritual vows to take a life mate?”
Compassion flowed through Dorian for Ania’s emotional pain, which was much greater than Liam was allowing himself to know. He sent her all the vibrations of kindness the demon inside the woman would allow her to receive. Her sad facial expression eased a little as she absorbed the energy of his kind thoughts. The healing was surprisingly more than he had expected. Dorian silently thanked the Creators as he intuitively calculated the enormity of Ania’s pain. Seeing the extent of her personal devastation, his own role in helping cause it totally shamed him.
“Yes. I admit that after both times I mated I regretted setting aside my spiritual vows. Yet as contradictory as it seems, I never regretted a moment of the actual time I spent with my mates. It is a paradox that I often meditate on,” Dorian said, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Which reminds me of the second offer I wish to make to you. I have created a meditation space on the ship that you are welcome to use for your spiritual work. The room is guarded, so nothing will disturb you there.”
Ania turned away again and bowed her head. Of all her former students, she hated admitting her spiritual failures to Dorian Zade. He had once told her that her enlightenment was the ideal he sought to emulate. It was just one more reason to mourn what she had lost.
“I thank you for your consideration of my spiritual needs, but I no longer meditate. The moment I close my eyes, I fall instantly into a dreamless sleep. Projection is also impossible now. My spirit seems bound to my body in new ways, and true introspection also eludes me. I have come to see these as penalties. They are the price I paid for rescinding my vows and mating, though it only happened after Liam left for good. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that eight hundred years of my life are gone.”
“Of course it matters, Ania. Everything you feel matters. My spirit grieves for your spirit’s pain,” Dorian told her, coming fully into the room and easing the door partially closed behind him. “May I touch you to read you?”
“No one has touched me but my mother and father in a long time, Dorian. You may try, but do not be disheartened at the absence of my spirit. My parents say it is like I am only a shell of who I once was.”
Dorian walked to Ania and placed his hands on her arms. He felt the dark energy pushing back on him, but he sent only compassion and understanding into her body. To his pleasure, Ania closed her eyes and breathed out raggedly.
Amazed, Dorian felt the demon within her step aside and relinquish his hold enough to let Ania be comforted. He thanked the entity and immediately was shown an image of her spirit sleeping as if in a trance. It was sad, but also reassuring.
“I feel such an agony of longing all the time,” Ania whispered. “Why does all peace elude me, Dorian?”
Shame and guilt at her words enveloped him again. Dorian bent and touched his forehead to Ania’s, something rarely done by her people except by close mates. To match the third eye chakras was a very intimate experience for both Pleiadians and Sirens, yet he would hold nothing back from Ania Looren ever again that could help her genuinely heal. He was deeply sorry now that he had not forced Liam to do better by his mate.
“Close your eyes while I offer solace,” Dorian ordered, his voice a husky whisper in the near silent room.
Ania did as Dorian asked and felt his compassion warm her. It cleansed her body like a wave of full spectrum light passing over her. It was the first comfort she’d had in a long time. She whimpered at the relief, but refused to allow herself any further emotional displays. Tears hovered, but receded as she refused to let them fall.
Dorian felt both the demon and Ania ripple in relief. Extreme loneliness and fear emanated from both. It was most unexpected to learn that even the demon had missed Liam. There was obviously much his friend did not understand about the creature he’d inherited, as well as about the female he had mated.
Then unexpectedly, the Creators opened up Ania’s destiny to him with rolling images of what was to come. Knowing the demon could prevent him from seeing, Dorian had no time to process his own shock.
And there it all was—Ania’s most likely destiny suddenly laid out for him to read like most would read a com search. It was both marvelous and more frightening than anything Dorian had intuited in his life before that moment. He had to clear both awe and fear from his throat in orde
r to speak.
“There are great changes possible for you in the coming days, and many decisions to be made,” Dorian said carefully. “Know there are as many kinds of death as there are of life. Make choices that you can live with no matter how difficult they are for others to bear. And Ania. . .” His voice tapered off as he saw what Ania would become if she chose a certain path. The vision shook him as he held her. Did he dare reveal it?
“What do you see, Dorian? Is death a possibility?”
“I’m sorry. The words to describe what I see will not come to my tongue at the moment, but my instinct is that the Creators of All are the architects of these plans for you,” Dorian said solemnly, raising his head and opening his eyes. “I will selfishly ask you not to choose your own physical death regardless of how hard your new life seems.”
“My new life?” Ania repeated Dorian’s words as calmly as she could, though she felt anything but calm about them. Her new life, as he called it, was a trap from which she had found no escape for two years. Her frustration over that fact exceeded any emotion she could ever recall having before. “I have no life, Dorian. In all the ways that matter, I am already dead. I was dead to my mate when he left. Now I am dead to my parents as well.”
She made herself step away from the comforting touch of Dorian’s hands. It was hard to give it up because she could at least feel his sincere compassion. Most Pleiadians did not touch others routinely, and no one touched someone of her societal rank without express permission. It was Liam Synar who had changed her desire for even the most basic of physical contact—and almost from the first moment they had been introduced. What had she become because of the Norblade male who had abandoned her?
Ania shook her head as she stepped as far out of Dorian’s reach as she could get in the small space. She turned her face to his again, but there was no more comfort in it. His compassion only angered her now. It felt too much like pity.
“How much more death can there be for me, Dorian? I fear there is even too little of my spirit left for the Creators of All to want it, otherwise I would be gone from this life. Be wise and never sacrifice your spiritual vows for a mate again. It is not a good exchange.”
Fashionably Dead Down Under Page 27
