Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

  And then he closed the door.

  "One week," I mumbled, feeling numb. "One damn week."

  I'd saved lives – feline and human, I suspected – but I wasn't going to have anywhere to live. Hey, at least no Chupacabra would come and drain my blood.

  The little black cat jumped up onto the table and tapped its paw on my hand as if telling me that things would be okay, and then the huge dog walked awkwardly over the windowsill and into the apartment and lapped at my other hand.

  Maybe it was time to get out of town for a bit. I could hardly secure an apartment with these two anyway.

  I reached for my phone and dialed the one person who might be able to help me out. He didn't answer but I left a message.

  "Hey, big brother! I, ah, I've had a little trouble in the city. I need a place to crash for a bit so I was thinking... I could come and hang at yours? Call me back when you can." I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the couch.

  I could mention the cat and dog later. For now, we all needed some sleep.

  I was so grateful I had a queen-sized bed.

  The End

  * * *

  Enjoyed this story? Be sure to leave a review! You can also preorder Nova’s next release The Archer Queen, a Royal Celestial novel.

  * * *

  About the Author

  Nova Blake is a writer of urban fantasy, paranormal romance, and cozies, though she dabbles in other things from time to time. She was raised on a healthy diet of horror, science fiction, and fantasy, and despite many attempts by various English teachers has refused to budge on her position that these are the best genres ever.

  When she’s not raising her horde of wonderfully creepy children, or dreaming of the day she’ll have an army of ninja kittens, she’s writing, reading, or playing games.

  Want to hang out with the author, see cool covers first, and support Nova’s books on social media? Join Nova’s Circle on Facebook.

  You can also sign up for Nova’s newsletter here.

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  Read More of Nova’s Books

  The Envy of All series

  Hexes & Vexes

  Sekhmet’s Desire

  BEGINNINGS

  A Holloway Pack Prequel

  J.A. Belfield

  ABOUT BEGINNINGS

  Take a trip back in time and discover love strong enough to bind for eternity.

  INSTINCT

  Werewolf Sean Holloway treats the village marketplace like a sexual buffet, though his charm does little to win over his latest entrée of choice. Whether because of Jem Stonehouse’s unique scent, her headstrong nonchalance, or the fact he is forbidden to see her by his pack’s rules, Sean wants her.

  When Jem is nothing but flippant toward his advances, he pursues her with vigour, stealing moments alone with her without a libido-driven agenda.

  The new and heady experience for him drives their relationship beyond romantic interest, and straight toward love.

  That is, until Jem learns the truth about Sean’s heritage. Because knowledge of the existence of werewolves leads to only one outcome: death.

  Will Sean defy his own pack to save the woman he loves?

  ETERNAL

  An unmarried woman living in a house of men breeds hearsay and lore.

  If only the villagers knew the truth.

  It’s not Jem Stonehouse’s marital status that brings unwanted strangers to town, however. It’s that she is the only female werewolf in existence — a prize to any pack.

  Sean Holloway, the love of Jem’s life, has gone to great lengths to protect her. As a new attack becomes imminent, Sean realizes he must take greater measures with Jem’s safety, or risk losing her forever.

  His first task must be to marry her, but a force greater than the largest werewolf stands in his way.

  Her mother.

  BEGINNINGS

  Published by J.A. Belfield

  www.jabelfield.com

  Copyright © 2019 Julie Anne Belfield

  Originally Published as Instinct [January 2012] and Eternal [July 2012]

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, locations, or any other element is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Aimee Laine.

  First published: August 2016

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  For Newlyn, Nevyn, and Bethyn.

  Just because.

  INSTINCT

  1

  The marketplace had to be the best venue to pick up females. At the age of twenty, I would have been happy to visit every day, but James would not permit me. As Alpha, his commands were followed without question, so my visits were limited to once a week. I had to admit, it worked out better that way.

  From fruit to art, to lace, to the blacksmith’s stall, I walked. Paintings of marketplaces often depicted them as cheery, colourful, and bustling with activity. The latter conception may have been correct; although, they leaned more toward grey and dreary than bright, and the air often filled with yells of anger and bitterness, as opposed to joyful greetings.

  At least there were the scents: hams and boars’ heads, fruits, wines, the steam of cooking soups, and, my most favourite of all, the freshness of ripe women. Lorna Rushford, Helena Longbarrow, Matilda Thornberry named only a few, each of those alone bringing with her a memory.

  The females noticed me as much as I did them, even though my past catches never approached, never asked why I had not called to visit, or if I would tend them again. Of course, my refusal to conform to the current trends in attire ensured I stood out from the other males who bothered to arrive. Whereas the women’s glances would be appraising, perhaps even hopeful, the men’s glares offered nothing but scorn for my dark trousers tucked into knee-high leather boots, and for the shirts I never bothered to secure with their woven laces. Men had been hung for far less than inconsiderate fashion sense, yet I did not care. I was not like them and never pretended to be.

  A whisper drifted across, as I meandered through the crowd: “’Tis Mr Holloway, Eleanor.”

  With a tilt of my head, I spotted the speaker leaning into her sister, who fluttered her lashes in a clear attempt to catch my attention.

  Eleanor had turned out to be a worthy virgin. The scent of her blood had driven me wild as I had plunged into her.

  I smiled to myself as I turned away.

  Farther along, pausing to sample the crisp apples, I caught Mrs Lawson’s scent. The older ladies may not have been as pure, but they could not be denied their eagerness to please. For that reason alone, they made for an entertaining afternoon.

  My nose lifted to track her, and I found the woman beyond a table stacked high with fresh loaves, hidden behind her fan, which she waved with vigour. I recalled that her petticoat had held many layers, and the removal of them turned out to be almost as much fun as the act itself. I wondered how she had explained the damage to her pompous husband.

  At a new aroma begging for notice, my step faltered as my nostrils flared.

  Strong, yet understated, alluring and seductive, the unsullied flavour carried the exceptional deliciousness of womanly musk. Possessed by a need to find the source, I tilted my head and allowed my nose to lead.

  It should have been difficult, impossible even, to locate such subtlety amongst the overpowering wafts of food and body odours, yet the strong pull beckoned to me, drawing me on.

  Whispers continued, as I passed one stall after another
, but they no longer held my interest. My mind seemed only able to focus on the unfamiliar scent. Although it intensified with each step, I half wished for a stronger breeze to invade the clear morning, to bring me a more wholesome dose and appease my sudden and unbidden greed.

  My eyes shifted, as I moved, searching. I skimmed over those who held no appeal, the ones whose flavour had already been tasted, until, at the end of the row ahead, I spotted two young women.

  From the angle of their positions, I doubted they could see me. The purchasing of herbs distracted the darker haired of the two. Animated, she possessed a flamboyance which showed in her movements, and in her pleasant tones, as she bartered with the stall owner.

  I imagined she would get her own way with the price.

  To her side stood a fairer female, with a quiet calm that showed in the relaxed set of her shoulders. Taking a step closer, I studied her.

  Appearing younger, almost lacking in confidence, she was also somewhat taller and certainly far more beautiful. I did not recognise her, yet could not mistake her scent. I had been tracking it for the past five minutes.

  Leaning across the jewellery on the stall beside me, I caught the proprietor’s attention. “Who is the girl?” I asked, pointing toward the one who held me so rapt.

  “Regular of mine.” He nodded and smiled. “The Stonehouse sisters often purchase my quartz and amethyst.”

  As he spoke their name in a conspicuous overtone, the females turned.

  Blue eyes, as dark as sapphires, appraised me from beneath wisps of blonde, and a smile widened the girl’s lips, as my own mouth curved at the corners.

  Beside her, the darker girl leaned into the fair tresses of her sister. “Sean Holloway is a ladies’ man and not to be trusted,” she hissed, her words carrying to me with ease, before she walked off. When her sister remained, gaze locked with mine, the seemingly older girl called out, “Come along, Jem. Mother is waiting.”

  My eyebrow twitched upward. Jem?

  With her attention tugged back toward her departing sibling, she dipped her head and followed behind.

  Still, the essence her body had left in its wake lured me, and, unable to do otherwise, I trailed after her.

  As I did so, her head tilted, almost turned a few times as she walked, leaving me wondering if she could have been aware of my pursuit. Once or twice, she even hesitated over offered wares, until her sister urged her along again.

  From one stall to another, I shadowed them through the marketplace, pausing only when they were greeted by an older woman, whose blonde hair and oval face matched that of the one called Jem. Her mother, perhaps?

  Ducking off to the left took her from my sights, as I concealed myself within the folds of hanging shawls and bonnet stands. When I peeked back out between the fibrous fabrics, her mother and sister returned to my visibility, but not the one I desired.

  A shift to the left preceded another to the right. Neither way showed her, and I moved to the next stall, checking around the butcher, as he sharpened his blade. Still nothing.

  She could not have gone far, though. I could still smell her.

  “You were following me.”

  I spun at the voice to my rear and found the lass who held my interest so standing before me. It was unusual for another to catch me unawares, and I studied her before inclining my head in admittance.

  “Why?” Her dark eyes held defiance.

  “You intrigue me.”

  “There are tales told of you, Mr Holloway.”

  My lips twitched. “Good ones, I hope.”

  “All bad, if the truth be told.”

  I gave a quiet laugh. “Then, I’m afraid you cannot have been given the stories in their entirety.”

  A spark of life visited her eyes for a half second, as though she considered allowing a smile, but none arrived. Instead, she bid me, “Good day to you,” before she disappeared into the throng of patrons.

  Whilst my mind urged me to give chase, my feet remained stationary, secured there only by the knowledge that the encounter would not be our last.

  Because I would see her again. I knew it with certainty. Until then, I would hold tight to her aroma and the vividness of her eyes as a reminder of the one named Jem.

  ***

  The blonde girl, with her steady stare, refused to leave my mind. I sniffed a couple of times at the clothing I wore that day, hoping for reprieve, but none arrived, and it left me confused.

  I had never craved anything before. If I wanted something, I took it.

  On any other day, I would have given chase, persisted until my goal relented—not that much convincing was ever necessary.

  Not with Jem. She had walked away. And I had allowed it.

  I just had no idea why.

  In eagerness, I arrived the following week at an earlier hour than usual. My senses sought her presence but produced no evidence that she had come. After almost three hours, I believed my efforts to have been wasted and went in search of another source of relief.

  I found it in the form of Elizabeth Wells.

  Her too-tight corset forced the bounce of her bosom into plain view, providing a visual delight with each step she took, and her smiled approach saved me the effort of the chase. “Mr Holloway.”

  “Good day to you, Miss Wells.”

  Her index finger twisted around her bronze ringlet, as she peered up at me. “It is a lovely morning.”

  I nodded and smiled. “Yes, it is.”

  “Have you heard of my father’s latest purchase?”

  I had hoped for more amusing entertainment but, not wanting to appear rude, shook my head. “No, I have not.”

  “He has been offered the ...”

  I found few topics quite as tedious as talk of business dealings and my attention quickly drifted. My head offered the occasional nod, whilst my ears pricked in the hope of more flavoursome fun around the constant bumps and clatters of stalls being set up, and my eyes absorbed the too bright gowns of those insisting on overdressing for market day.

  Thanks to the perfumed self-drowning of the young lady before me, my olfactory senses went on a temporary strike—which meant I almost missed the one I sought, as she entered the marketplace.

  Ambling past us, Jem caught my eye for a moment, whilst Elizabeth continued on about details of no import. Her lips twitched at the corners, as she held my stare, but when her attention shifted to my companion, her expression altered, darkened, something akin to disappointment moving in. With a flick of her loose hair, she continued on her way, her shoulders bathed in sunshine as her hips swayed her past the market seamstress, the cobbler ...

  My heart raced when I realised she would soon be out of sight. I turned my attention back to Miss Wells.

  “... of course Father wouldn’t—”

  “Excuse me,” I cut in. “I have to go.”

  Racing off to her outraged, “Well, I never!” I followed the scent teasing on the breeze all the way to the door of the bank.

  I had never entered before—had no reason to. All of our monetary requirements were taken care of by James. With a deep breath, I leaned against the heavy oak, swung the door open, and stepped into the poorly lit space.

  Jem’s head turned at my entrance, and something glinted in her eyes before she averted her gaze from me.

  “Miss Stonehouse,” I said, taking a place I didn’t need beside her in the queue.

  The scribble of a nib came from beyond the counter, but I only had interest in any sounds Jem might have to make.

  After a long breath in, she said, “Following me is becoming a habit of yours.” She kept her voice low, as though afraid of being overheard by the two other patrons.

  Chuckling, I ducked my head to get closer. An inhalation filtered in treated wood and polish, mustiness and soap, yet concentrating on Jem’s body alone, I detected nothing artificial. Her body enticed me without assistance. “Maybe you should not look so appetising,” I whispered, sending my breaths across her cheek.

 
; Her shoulders stiffened. “I shall not be a conquest of yours, Mr Holloway.”

  “Why do you insist on such formality when you speak to me?”

  “Your name is Mr Holloway, is it not?”

  “My name is Sean. I would very much like it if you called me as such. Jem, yes?”

  Her head twitched a little. “Not to you.” With a rustled lift of her skirts, she stepped forward to the teller.

  I moved away to the side, as the grey-haired clerk provided currency, his eyes tracking the coins from over his low-hooked spectacles. Opposite him, Jem stood at ease, little anxiety apparent in the set of her shoulders, as though faced with a task she oft dealt with. Females were not usually found in establishments such as banks, and I could not help wonder why no male existed to take on the family’s responsibilities.

  After scooping her coinage into her purse, she turned toward me, her eyes widening when she met my gaze once again. “Have you no business of your own to attend to, Mr Holloway?”

  “Yes.” I smiled as I failed to include that said business stood before me.

  “Then, I suggest you run along to it. If you wish to keep good company, you have to play by their rules.”

  I frowned as she walked on, and chased behind when she opened the door, stepping out into the bright morning with her. “Company?” She could move fast, I granted her that. Catching up to her before she could round the next corner, I grasped for her arm. “Jem, wait.”