by Danica Avet
Two hours later, they were on the way back to Grant’s house and Fallon still wouldn’t believe about the killer nymphs.
“Impossible,” he told her in no uncertain terms. “Nymphs are not violent, and they do not steal bulls. Did you maybe insult them first? Or maybe hurt one of their elements?” He paused, frowning at the landscape. He shivered and muttered something in French. “This is a horrible place. So cold.”
“I didn’t do anything to those psychotic witches,” Izzy mumbled for the millionth time. “Why do y’all always think it’s my fault when I’m attacked?” She frowned, remembering the night before. She shook her head. “Nope. I didn’t do anything. She called me a fat ass. I can’t have that, Fallon. If I let one nymph get away with it, it’ll end up my inter-Tribal nickname. You know, Izzy “The Fat Ass” Malone. You know how these things work.”
He was shaking his head at her with a smile. “You already have a nickname, Izzy.”
Glancing at him out the corner of her eye, she saw his smile grow. Bastard was about to piss her off, she just knew it. Her hands gripped the steering wheel. She had to control her temper. She chanted, “Self-control, self-control, self-control” in her head while waiting for it. She’d just stopped the car in front of Grant’s house when he spoke again.
“They call you Izzy the Insane,” he said with a smirk.
She turned off the engine and they sat quietly staring at Grant’s house. Then she launched herself across the cab. The sly incubus opened the door so they fell out of the SUV. Not really wanting to hurt him, she went for his hair.
The crazy incubus laughed hysterically, grabbing handfuls of snow and shoving it in her face. She screeched at the cold, her hands curling into fists.
They rolled across the yard, locked together in mock battle. Izzy was having the time of her life. It wasn’t often she had a chance to tussle with Fallon. He was always too urbane and put together to get involved in scuffles, but he was doing an admirable job of keeping her from hurting him.
“Gods, Grant, they’re killing each other! I’m calling Ricky,” a woman’s voice screeched from somewhere nearby.
“I’m sure that isn’t necessary, Ma.” Grant’s rumbling bass sent a quiver through Izzy’s body. He sounded…pissed off.
Obviously the woman ignored him because she heard the woman say, “Ricky? It’s Aunt Bella. There are two…predators in front of Grant’s house fighting. I think they’re fighting over who’ll eat us. You need to come out here, now.”
Izzy looked at Fallon, whose eyes were wide in surprise. “Predators?” he whispered, a laugh building in his eyes.
“Wow, Fallon, all this fighting made me hungry.” She made sure to project her voice. What kind of stupid cow couldn’t tell the difference between an Amazon and an incubus and predators? Well, Izzy mused, she was partly correct. They were predators, but they didn’t eat people. Hells, they didn’t even eat humans.
“Grant! Get in the house!” The woman screeched, panic clear in her voice.
“They aren’t predators, Ma,” his voice closer, “although if she wants to make a meal out of me, she’s more than welcome to.”
Fallon’s eyes went from wide to the size of half-dollars. “Is that the couillon taureau you were telling me about, Izzy?” he asked, trying to peer around her head.
“Shut up.” She pushed off of him with her elbows and knees. He grunted as she pressed her full weight on his chest. He deserved it, the nosy bastard. “Hey, bull boy, what’s for dinner?”
Chapter Six
There was a red haze in front of his face. Grant swiped at it with his hand, but it remained. He could barely see Isola through it, but the man who’d been mauling her, he saw perfectly well. The man she kept calling Fallon had had his hands all over Isola’s lush body as they rolled on the ground. Now her hair was mussed, her cheeks flushed, and she had a sparkle in her eyes that had him in a killing rage.
“Grant! Come away from those monsters this instant!” his mother screamed at him from the doorway.
He’d just been about to send her home when Isola’s car had pulled up and she’d fallen out of it with another man. He’d watched them fight and knew it wasn’t serious. It was play. Foreplay, if he had to guess. And it seriously pissed him off.
Isola’s eyes peered over his shoulder at his mother. “Is she joining us for dinner?” The devil he knew her to be sparkled in her eyes.
Arabella screeched and the door slammed. Grant didn’t pay any attention to it. No, his entire focus was on the male standing behind Isola. He was almost as tall as Grant, but leanly built. He was also too fucking pretty to be real, Grant thought as the red haze deepened. His hands clenched into fists. This…Fallon wouldn’t be pretty for long. Gently lifting Isola and setting her off to the side, he started for the interloper with the single-minded purpose that had marked his whole life.
“Izzy? Why is couillon taureau looking at me like that?” the male asked with a remarkable lack of fear.
If Grant hadn’t been in the rage, he probably would’ve admired the man’s balls, but as it was, he just wanted to rip them off. The man smiled, and that was all it took to send Grant into the Minotaur’s Rage.
* * * *
Izzy blinked at the bull that picked her up and put her to the side as though she were fragile. What the fuck was with that, she wondered as she watched him approach Fallon. There was something weird about the way Grant was acting, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. It wasn’t as though she had much experience with minotaurs, and she didn’t know Grant very well, so she couldn’t say how balanced he was.
The way he was acting sort of reminded her of one of her Amazon sisters when she was warning off females from her mate. She blinked again. Was the stupid male jealous? She gaped at him as he launched himself at Fallon.
“Holy shit! Don’t hit him in the face!” she shouted as the bull tackled her friend to the ground.
She winced when one of Grant’s massive fists met Fallon’s breadbasket. The incubus’s breath left him in a loud whoosh. Fallon wasn’t going to let him get away with that, she thought a split second before the incubus rolled the minotaur over and began pounding away at him.
Izzy’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t help it. She’d never seen Fallon whale on someone before, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. The man needed to learn to follow through with his punches.
Grant’s big legs bunched as he used them to flip Fallon off of him. Izzy’s nipples tightened. This time she did fan herself. That man was sexy with a capital S, she thought, licking her lips. He grabbed a fistful of Fallon’s hair with one hand and reared back with the other.
“No!” She ran towards the brawling men. “You can’t punch him in the face.” She grabbed Grant’s fist, pulling on it with all of her might. Son of a bitch, he was strong! She panted. “You can’t punch him in the face, bull boy. I like his face!”
Grant shook his hand trying to free it from Izzy’s hold, but she clung like a limpet. His face was red, and a vein in his forehead pulsed with his heartbeat. His blue eyes were fully black with no whites showing. If she had been any other type of female, she probably would’ve peed her pants. Instead, she found him even sexier than she had before. Hubba, hubba!
“Izzy, get him off of me before I do something we’ll both regret,” Fallon gritted out, his silver eyes gleaming.
Get him off of Fallon? How in the nine hells could she do that? The only reason the bull hadn’t hurt Fallon already was because she was hanging off of his arm like a jacket. A very sexy, kick-ass jacket, but not very effectual.
Then, she remembered what Grant told her earlier. Without second thought, she grabbed the ring going through his septum. The instant her fingers touched it, she felt as though she were singed. A jolt of pure fire shot up her arm, through her body. Holy cow—bull.
* * * *
The haze left Grant’s eyes in a rush. It felt like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket from the rush of power that ran th
rough his body. He shook, his head going back as the charge slammed into his groin. Fuck! What was happening?
“You get your hands off of my boy, you harlot!” a high-pitched voice screeched.
“Ow! Lady, stop hitting me with your shoe or I’ll shove it up your ass…sideways!” Izzy shouted back.
Her hand left his ring and the sensation passed. Grant blinked rapidly, letting go of the male. He felt a bit woozy, as though he’d taken a two-by-four to the head. Trying to remember the fight, he was pretty sure the pretty boy hadn’t got a single lick in.
His head snapped back as the male punched him in the eye. Damn.
“Oh, don’t you hit my boy!” his mother shouted. “Animals in my baby’s yard. I hope Ricky locks you both away! Decent folk can’t—can’t—3
Her voice died away. Grant heard her sigh softly, almost dreamily. His eyes popped open to see his mother gazing at the other male like a lovesick calf. She dropped the shoe she’d been beating Isola with on the ground and approached Fallon on light toes.
“Well, hello handsome,” she cooed up at pretty boy.
“What the fuck did you do to my mom?”
“Easy, Rawhide, he’s an incubus. He’s just making sure she doesn’t go at him with her shoes like she did me.” She rubbed her head all the while glaring at Arabella. “I hope she shifts so I can shoot her and put her fat ass on the grill.”
Grant took a better look at the Amazon now that the red had faded from his eyes. Her eyes were wide and wary and the tips of her fingers were blackened. “You touched me when I was in a Minotaur’s Rage,” he told her needlessly. She had to have known she was putting her life in danger, yet she’d done it anyway. She was either stupid or brave. He was opting for brave, but you just never knew with some women. “What made you do that?”
She shrugged and wiped her black fingers on her pants. “You said it was the only way to control you during a rage, so I figured it couldn’t hurt.” Her eyes studied her stained fingers. “So what’s this then? Some kind of bad-ass booger? Why are my fingers black?”
Arabella snapped out of the sensual daze the incubus had put her in, looking between Isola and Grant. Her big blue eyes rounded. The horror etched into her round face made Grant sick to his stomach.
“Ma? What is it?” He reached for her.
“It can’t be.” She shook her head, backing away from him. “No, no, no! Not my baby! Not…her!” she screamed, pointing at Isola who looked just as lost as he felt.
“Not her what, Ma?” He frowned. Female bovine shifters, or cow-swans, were protective beyond belief. They would shift and kill to protect their young, but Grant was a grown minotaur and no longer needed that protection. His mother knew that and she’d never reacted this way before, so he didn’t understand it.
He watched as she pressed her shaky hands to her mouth. Her whisper was barely heard above the sirens of an approaching police car. “Mates.”
Chapter Seven
“Let’s just calm down now,” a deep voice said as Izzy went for the cow’s throat.
She couldn’t believe the old biddy had dared to say such a thing about her. Mates, indeed! If it wasn’t so scary, Izzy would have laughed, but the shock of recognition on Grant’s face had sent her spiraling into a full-scale panic attack. And when Izzy panicked, she hurt people.
Grant’s mother, since it was apparent they were related by the deep blue eyes, was built solidly. She wasn’t tall, but she had the kind of build that only came from corn-fed, country living. Her steel-gray hair was curled within an inch of its life, but had not one strand out of place. She had softly rounded cheeks and a little rosebud of a mouth. Wearing a respectable floral dress, she looked like she should be playing the organ in a church instead of hitting innocent people with shoes and throwing the word “mate” around. Izzy almost hated to hurt her.
Just as her hands touched the cow-swan’s soft throat, she was yanked back. Snarling, she turned on Grant. It was his damn fault anyway, he should suffer.
Using one of her favorite moves, she hooked her foot behind his knee and jerked. Predictably, his knee buckled and he fell to the ground with a grunt. She grabbed a handful of his thick, beautiful blond hair and tugged his head back. She was going to break his perfect nose, she thought. Then, she was going to rip that damn ring right out of it.
“Now, now, missy, you don’t want to do that,” the deep voice chided before she was plucked off her feet yet again.
“You damn people need to stop picking me up like a suitcase!” she shouted, kicking her feet to get free. “I’m going to kick all of your asses!”
“Izzy, ma fouine, don’t ah, kick the officer.” Fallon’s voice was lazy and amused. The asshole.
Cop? A cop…shit. She went limp in his hold. If Queen Albreda heard about her going ape-shit on a couple of cows and then attacking an officer of the human law, Izzy would be out of the tribe so fast her hair would smoke. The first rule every Veilerian member learned was never to trouble humans. It was a cardinal rule and those who broke it were in for a world of hurt.
“Now, why don’t we all calm down,” the deep voice rumbled again as Izzy was set on her feet several yards away from Grant and his mother.
Izzy kept her head down, trying to look contrite. It usually worked on human males. Even with her great height, they tended to go easier on a woman who looked helpless. So instead of looking up at the man, she stared at his feet. His gigantic feet. She frowned. He had feet that probably required separate seating on public transport.
“What seems to be the problem here, Aunt Bella?” The cop’s voice was steady and soothing, but something in it set Izzy on edge.
The cow started talking, but Izzy ignored her. There was something about this cop that made her Spidey senses tingle. Her eyes traveled up the very long length of his legs. He was freakishly tall, she thought with a gulp. She squeezed her eyes closed. This was no human cop. Her stomach soured and her head began to spin. No, please, not a bear. Please, please, not a bear, she chanted in her head.
“Is this true, miss?”
There was no help for it now. She had to look at him. Her gaze followed the center line of his uniform—pale blue polyester that would’ve made Rosetta vomit in her mouth. His chest was bigger than the bull’s, thicker and much more muscular. Shoulders blocked out the sky leading to a neck she knew was too thick for her hands to wrap around. He had a neatly trimmed beard the color of earth. Beneath that beard though, he was an attractive male. Sharp cheekbones, similar to Grant’s, eased into lean cheeks and a full mouth. Deep brown, nearly black eyes, twinkled with humor, but Izzy was a far cry from laughing. The thick hair on his head was like a pelt of fur, the same dark color of rich soil. But it was all the confirmation she needed. He was a bear and closely resembled her old lover.
“Miss? Can you tell me what happened?”
Izzy’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she fell right at his feet.
* * * *
Grant scooped the Amazon into his arms and strode into his house. “What the fuck did you do to her, Ricky?”
His mother trailed behind him, shooting sultry looks at the incubus while Ricky brought up the rear. Once inside, Grant crossed to the sofa, laying Isola on it.
Her face was pale as snow, her breathing shallow. He smoothed the hair from her cheeks, not sure how to help her. He’d never seen an Amazon faint before. They were the fiercest Veilerian females, they weren’t scared of anything, but Isola had dropped at Ricky’s feet like someone had pulled her spine right out of her back.
“I didn’t do anything, cuz,” Ricky drawled, leaning over the back of the sofa to look down at the woman. He squinted at her. “She’s cute. Are you keeping her?”
“He is not!” Arabella squeaked, pushing between them to force Grant away from Isola. “She is not staying here. She doesn’t belong here, Grant.”
He frowned at his mother, not sure what her problem was. She should be thrilled the Amazon might be his mate. Hell, that ha
d been a shocker for sure, he thought with another glance at Isola. But it did explain the reaction he’d had to her touching his ring. He’d had the ring tugged during fights, during sex, even brushed by some of the sexiest women he’d ever met, but never had he felt as though his body was a lightning rod from a simple touch on the gold.
“Your mère is correct, taureau, Izzy does not belong here. She is only staying for a little while then she will go home to her family.” The French-accented voice reminded him of the incubus.
“And what the hell are you doing here anyway?”
The male shrugged. “Mais, I am Izzy’s friend. Her family sent me to check on her.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Ricky said in full cop mode.
If there was anyone in the world Grant could trust to keep things calm, it was Ricky Davis. A Kodiak bear related to the Strickland family through some very convoluted lines, he’d settled in Eustis, Wyoming when his family kicked him out of Alaska for being too passive. The Stricklands had accepted Ricky with open arms, voted him sheriff of their small town, and let him handle most of the problems that came through. He was good at his job and the best at handling difficult people.
Grant looked down at Isola. Maybe Ricky was too good at his job if this is what he could do to an Amazon.
“I’m Fallon Plaisance, Master of the Louisiana Sin Den,” he said mildly, bowing to Ricky and Arabella.
Grant seethed. Fallon wasn’t just an incubus, he was a fucking Master, which meant he had more power in his little pinky than some backwoods minotaur had in his whole body. Oh, sure, incubi weren’t known for being fighters, but they had connections with some of the most powerful people from every walk of life, and a Master incubus would have even more.
