by Sierra Dean
Desmond paused, but I wasn’t so willing to stop.
“Ignore it,” I begged, my teeth worrying at the sensitive skin of his throat.
He began again, but the second knock came. Followed by a much louder third.
“Fuck,” I breathed hotly against his neck. “Hold that thought,” I directed before climbing off him and smoothing out my wrinkled dress the best I could.
My hair was in disarray, and even with the blanket pulled over his lap my disheveled boyfriend and I left nothing to the imagination for whoever had come calling. Oh well, I wasn’t going to pretend they weren’t interrupting.
I yanked the door open in the middle of the fourth knock with an unimpressed, “What?”
Holden, hand still raised in the air, stood smirking on the other side of the door. Being a vampire, he knew perfectly well what he’d interrupted. Smug bastard.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said, his voice sweet with charm.
“No you’re not.” But it was difficult to stay mad at him. Seeing him in my doorway, his hair cut and his clothes clean, looking like his old self and no longer a wanted man, made me joyful. Unable to contain myself, I wrapped him in a fierce hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
He hugged me back, then pushed me away. He gave Desmond a polite nod from the doorway. The werewolf waved halfheartedly. “Sorry, chap. I need to borrow Secret. Won’t be but a minute.”
“Sure?” What else could he say, though? Holden had already pulled me through the door and shut it behind us.
Outside the apartment the wall of heat I’d been hiding from in the air conditioning sucked at me like a hungry ocean, threatening to drown me. Holden walked me up the short staircase to street level where, parked in front of my BMW, was a long, sleek, black stretch limo. The overhead streetlights reflected in each of the glossy windows.
I looked questioningly at Holden.
“What’s this?”
He opened the door for me. “Just get in.”
I followed his instructions and he climbed in beside me. Sitting opposite us against the driver’s window and half-hidden by the low lights inside the cabin were Sig, Juan Carlos and Rebecca the French vampire I’d met at Havana.
I shot a glance at Holden, but he leaned back in the leather seat and laced his fingers behind his head like he was settling in for a good movie. I looked back at the trio of vampires, all of whom were watching me patiently. I didn’t have much to say to them, so I watched them right back.
Sig broke the silence. “We want to thank you for the excellent job you did.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied. Something was wrong with this. The Tribunal had never come to thank me in person for anything. Come to think of it, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been thanked, period.
Silence again. Juan Carlos was looking especially unhappy, his jaw clenched so tight I thought he might break his own teeth. Rebecca was staring at Holden.
“Well.” I slapped my hands against my bare legs. “If that’s all.” I moved to climb over Holden, who stayed put, letting me attempt to clamber over his lap.
“Not quite,” Rebecca said.
I sat back down.
“I want to thank you personally,” she began. “You see, I may have neglected to mention when we met that Holden is of my line.”
I turned from her to Holden. He gave a small nod. “Must have slipped your mind,” I mumbled.
“I am grateful to you for saving his life and restoring his reputation.”
What she didn’t mention but must have known was that I was also responsible for killing one of her other vampire children. A few years earlier I’d been tasked with killing the actor Charlie Conaway, who turned out to be a vampire rogue using the thrall to feed from and kill his young female fans.
No one mentioned this because the whole event was a rather ugly history that was better off not being discussed. I appreciated that Rebecca didn’t bring up Charlie.
“It was my pleasure,” I said. “Your help was…instrumental.”
“There is one more reason for our being here,” Sig said, and Juan Carlos groaned. The others ignored him, but I’d definitely heard it.
“You are aware there is now an open seat on the Tribunal since Daria’s death,” Sig continued. “This, of course, is unacceptable, as a Tribunal of two is no Tribunal at all.”
“Right.” I didn’t see what he was getting at.
“Another must rise to fill the position, and we have been dealing with this matter since the night of Daria’s passing. We have now arrived at the natural conclusion, and a third member has been chosen by the elders of the council.”
“Oh.” They made a house call to introduce me to my newest boss? I looked at Rebecca. “Congratulations. You’ll make a great—”
She’d already begun chuckling before my words were formed. Even her laugh sounded highbrow. “Non, non, Secret. I am not the one. I am here as a representative of the elders to ensure our decision is properly carried out.” She shot Juan Carlos a meaningful look, then smiled back at me. “You see, dear, there has been much discussion among the elders about this situation. If Daria had passed by her own hand or been executed in another fashion, a member of the elder council would be chosen to replace her. In such a case I might very well sit before you as that replacement. However, according to tradition, the only true way for a vampire to become a member of the Tribunal is if they kill the existing member in a declared fight. That night at the park, I understand Daria initiated the fight against you, which qualifies it as a declared fight.”
“A declared fight which you won,” Sig said.
Once again an unsettling quiet filled the limo. Four pairs of vampire eyes were locked on me, and I was painfully aware of the sound of my own heartbeat.
“So…”
“So…” Rebecca concluded, “…the elder council agreed succession should continue in accordance to tradition. We have made our choice for the new Tribunal member.”
“Wait.” I gaped at them, unable to believe it even as understanding settled in, and I knew their words could have no other meaning. “You mean me?”
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: [email protected]
Twitter: @sierradean
Look for these titles by Sierra Dean
Now Available:
Secret McQueen
Something Secret This Way Comes
The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters
Coming Soon:
Secret McQueen
Secret Santa
Are blind dates supposed to be this bloody?
The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters
© 2011 Sierra Dean
A Secret McQueen Story
They say it’s impossible to find a man in New York City. Secret McQueen needs to find two in one night. Of course, it’ll mean pulling off the impossible—find and kill a displaced rogue vampire without disrupting the first promising date she’s had in ages. As a werewolf hybrid used to walking
a fine line of survival in the vampire world, though, Secret eats impossible for breakfast.
Somewhere between hello and the first round of drinks, Secret makes her move. Her target, Hollywood’s biggest star, shouldn’t be hard to spot. Just look for swarms of fans. Except every time her vampire liaison, Holden, helps keep her mission on track, her date runs further off the rails.
Either Holden has a hidden agenda, or he knows more than he’s letting on about her quarry. One way or another, Secret is determined to get her man, and meet Mr. Right. Or die trying.
Warning: This book contains a sword-wielding assassin whose barbs are sharper than her blade, a vampire with serious brooding issues but a skilled tongue, and an A-lister with a bad habit of eating his fans. This novella takes place approximately one year prior to the events of Something Secret This Way Comes.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters:
We crossed the street on a Do Not Walk, narrowly avoiding an overzealous cab, and Holden guided me onto East 33rd by placing his hand on the small of my back and motioning me in the appropriate direction. We must have looked for all the world like one of those beautiful couples people love to hate. He made us pretty, I just helped make us a pair. It didn’t hurt that the dress gave me the illusion of being more stunning than I actually was.
When we were angled the right way, his hand lingered below my shoulders in a protective gesture. His fingers were level with my hair, and from time to time he would catch and hold one of the curls for a second, then release it.
“You realize we’re almost there, don’t you?” I asked, running out of patience.
It wasn’t his touch that bothered me. It was the delay in his narrative. Vampires have no sense of urgency, which drives me mental. They’ll forget what they’re saying and muse silently to themselves for hours if you don’t remind them to resume their story. I guess living for centuries must make time feel different.
He dropped his hand, as though touching me was part of his distraction, then licked his lips as he prepared to speak.
“It would seem, according to the West Coast Tribunal, one of their rogues has crossed into our jurisdiction.” His hands were now stuffed in the pockets of his gray dress pants. Summer or not, Holden Chancery would never be caught dead in shorts. Climate control isn’t really an issue for vampires.
Plus he was already dead.
“Oh?” I didn’t want to say too much, just wanted him to continue speaking.
Holden reached into his blazer and withdrew a familiar white envelope. The paper was a heavy linen finish and smelled sweet but faintly peppery. It was closed with an honest-to-God wax seal, stamped with Sig’s personal insignia.
My heart always caught with butterflies when Holden brought me one of these deliveries, and tonight was no different. With the slightest tremor of excitement, I took the envelope and held it close for a moment. Here it was, the promise of the hunt. The reward of the chase. The killer inside both my monsters lived for this.
I got down to brass tacks. “How much?”
“Ten.” Thousand. Wow, this guy must have been pretty naughty. The average rogue was worth five hundred if they were part of a sect, a thousand if they ran solo.
Yup. I’ve killed vampires for a mere five hundred dollars. But considering rogues would always be an issue, and I had a menacing reputation to uphold, five hundred bucks for a night’s work wasn’t too shabby. The most I’d ever earned on a single job was ten thousand, so this was a pretty nice number to hear again.
The warrant in my hands would cover almost seven months of rent.
Or five months and some new clothes to replace what Holden had insisted I throw out.
I popped the seal with a satisfying crack and was unfolding the paper when Holden’s attention shifted. A second later I knew why.
“Secret?” The voice was low, comforting and masculine without being overwhelming. It did happy things to parts of me I rarely acknowledged. He also didn’t stumble over my name, so he scored points early in the game for that. With a name like Secret McQueen, it was easy for people to make a mess out of it.
I turned away from Holden, the envelope still in my hand, and was pleasantly surprised by what greeted me.
Detective Tyler Nowakowski lived up to Mercedes’s designation of handsome. He was tall, at least six foot two, and lean without bending towards lanky. His eyes were a little too large, but it gave him a look of attentive curiosity. In contrast, his mouth was small, giving his face the appearance of an inverted triangle. His nose and jaw were strong, alluding to the Slavic heritage hinted at by his name. His hair, short and black, was styled with a minimal amount of gel.
He wore dark jeans, about half a size too big, based on how low they had fallen on his narrow hips, and he’d topped it with a white dress shirt fresh from the dry cleaner. I could smell the chemicals under the scent of his nice, but inexpensive, cologne.
Tyler looked at Holden apprehensively, and his thick black brows drew closer together. When he looked back to me, they went the opposite direction, and I accepted I’d made the right choice in agreeing to wear the dress.
“Yes. Secret. That’s me,” I managed to reply, struggling to shove the envelope into my purse.
Why are clutches so small? What’s the point of carrying a bag if all you can fit into it is your cell phone and a lip gloss? I could have found room for those in my bra.
Feeling foolish, I stuck my hand out to him and flashed him my brightest smile. “You must be Tyler. Cedes has told me all about you,” I fibbed.
“Likewise.” He shook my hand, and while I could tell the firmness of my grip surprised him, I was pleased he matched it in return. More points for Detective Tyler. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”
“What?”
Holden cleared his throat dramatically behind me.
“Oh, him?” I gave a dismissive wave at the vampire, who proceeded to stand next to me, far too close, and offered his own hand to Tyler.
“Holden Chancery,” he said, and Tyler winced when Holden shook his hand. “Secret and I are—”
“Work colleagues.” I wasn’t sure what Holden was up to, but I wasn’t about to let him ruin my night. Not now that I saw what I had to look forward to.
The bewildered look on Tyler’s face softened, but he didn’t totally relax. A good detective never takes anything at face value, and Holden had placed his other hand on my back again, which wasn’t very businessy of him.
“Holden was just leaving.” I stared at the vampire with pointed ferocity.
“I don’t know.” He eyed the fetching brunette hostess standing inside the door. “This place looks pretty tasty.”
He released Tyler’s hand, and the detective flexed it next to his side, making me wonder how hard Holden had squeezed. I would have expected this kind of a territorial pissing contest if Holden had been a werewolf. Not that I knew any werewolves personally, but the theatrical masculinity seemed to be more their style.
Vampires were a little more cut and dry about claiming their property. All one had to do was announce that someone belonged to them and boundaries were respected.
But I sure as hell didn’t belong to Holden, or to anyone else for that matter. I also doubted Holden declaring mine right before Tyler’s and my date would have gone over well.
I gritted my teeth into what could have passed for a frustrated smile, but below the register of human hearing I growled at my liaison. I may not have been a huge fan of my furry brethren, but sometimes my lupine DNA really pays off. Vampires can snarl, but no one growls like a werewolf.
“Sadly, I have a date elsewhere.” He stopped touching me and tipped an imaginary hat towards us.
The whole encounter had been entirely unlike Holden. He had been almost…playful. He was usually so serious. His unusual behavior tonight made me wonder about the envelope in my purse. My new target had to be good.
“Good night,” Tyler said with more politeness than I wo
uld have managed.
I stepped away from Holden and was about to speak to Tyler when the vampire got in his last word. “Don’t forget to have a look at the contract, Secret. Wouldn’t want that one to get away.”
I turned to say something that promised to be painfully clever, but Holden was already gone.
He’s going to be the love of her life…if they survive the night.
A Cop and a Feel
© 2011 Vivi Andrews
Karmic Consultants, Book 5
With a single touch, Ronna Mitchell can catch stolen glimpses of the future and separate truth from lies. But life as a human polygraph machine can be lonely. Craving human contact, she moonlights as a palm reader whenever a carnival comes to town.
Officer Matt Holloway is intent on trailing a hit man when he ducks into a palm reader’s booth to avoid being spotted by his quarry. The beguiling Jamaican fortune teller is definitely intriguing, but she’ll have to wait. He’s close on the assassin’s tail.
When Ronna takes his hand, a startling vision of the future flashes in her mind’s eye. Matt isn’t a typical client, he’s The One. Before she has the chance to introduce herself as the mother of his unborn children, he’s gone, leaving her with a terrifying vision of her soul mate covered in blood. And dead certain she’s the only one who can save her happily ever after.
Warning: This book contains carnies, cops, chases, chance encounters and love at first touch.
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Cop and a Feel:
Ronna’s panic level reached a new high when Matt’s sandy head disappeared around the back of the Ferris wheel. The image of the gears of the Ferris wheel splattered with blood replayed vividly in her mind’s eye. The crowds swarmed around her, and her heart thudded loudly in her ears. He was going to be killed, and she couldn’t get to him.
