Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  "I'm sorry it's a snail." He gave me a quick high-pitched laugh. "My grandpa bought it for her, because she always stepped over snails, and she picked them up and moved them to safety when they were in the middle of the path."

  "I do that too."

  "I know."

  I snuggled into Glynn's neck. "It's beautiful, and I will treasure it forever."

  "I love you too, babe," he whispered.

  I pulled away from him and lifted my eyebrows. "Are you still sending me home on the first train back to New Maidstone?

  He threw his head back and laughed. "As if I ever could. You’d have found a way around, over or through me."

  He had that right. We stayed wrapped in one another’s arms until Owen came to tell us the train was ready to take us back to the city of Brimbank.

  Aidan gave me a stiff hug and pushed a folded page into my hand. "I wrote to Mom like you said. Tell her I’m doing okay here."

  "I’ll tell her you are doing great, and learning lots." If she ever spoke to me again that was.

  "Assuming I don’t get chucked in prison, stay with me a few days in my rooms on the base? " Glynn wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we walked behind Owen.

  "If you do get chucked in prison, I’ll have the ley lines suck everything except you into a vortex of crumbled brick and cement. "

  "Is that yes? " Glynn stopped walking to face me. "Can you do that?"

  "Yes, and I’d give it my best shot."

  He laughed softly. "Did I mention I love you?"

  I kissed him again. "I’ll never tire of hearing those words. Say it again."

  * * *

  The End

  Want to read more of Meagan's and Glynn's adventures? Find more books and sign up for great offers.

  www.kimcleary.com

  About the Author

  www.kimcleary.com

  Kim Cleary is the award-winning author of Path Unchosen, the first title in the Daughter of Ravenswood series, which earned a bronze IPPY award in 2015. She grew up in Birmingham, United Kingdom, studied medieval history and psychology at Adelaide University in Southern Australia, and has worked all over Australia and in London.

  Forced to leave a successful career in marketing after multiple sclerosis damaged her hands and prevented her from typing, Kim learned how to write using voice software.

  A self-described chocoholic, Kim loves writing, gardening, cooking, playing with her dogs, and spending time with friends. She lives with her husband and two dogs, an adorable Cocker Spaniel and a mischievous Moodle, in Melbourne, Australia.

  City Stalker

  Maria Monroe

  City Stalker © 2017 Maria Monroe

  * * *

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  City Stalker

  Theadora makes a living capturing vicious creatures, but for the first time ever she may have met her match.

  Theadora Ashcroft is independent and tough as sin. She likes her drinks strong and her men to leave before morning. Her job is hunting cryptids. Chupacabra? Easy. Hellhound? No problem. Giant, venomous spider? Just another Friday night.

  But when she's suddenly assigned to stalk the sexy vampire Foster Graham, her world turns upside down. He's too human—and too sexy—for her comfort.

  Suddenly she's no longer sure who's on her side and who's against her in a vicious battle to save the entire city of Chicago, and possibly all of humanity.

  Preface

  Cryptid:

  A hidden animal, such as the yeti, Loch Monster, chupacabra,

  or other creature whose existence is questionable.

  Derived from the Greek word krypto, meaning “hide.”

  Cryptozoology:

  The study of cryptids.

  “There are things known and there are things unknown,

  and in between are the doors of perception.”

  Aldous Huxley

  1

  His eyes roll back in his head as he pants above me, sounding not unlike a dog after a long run.

  I was way off on this one. In the bar, he seemed suave. Sexy. Like he’d know a thing or two about how to please a woman. Instead I’m bored, running over the list of things I need to do tomorrow while he grunts and groans on top of me.

  “I’m so close, babe. Did you come yet?” He’s sweating hard, his eyes wide and desperate.

  “Nope.” I shift my head on the pillow, hoping none of his sweat drips down on me, and glance at my phone on the nightstand to see what time it is. Two in the morning.

  “You sure?”

  Idiot. “Positive.”

  “Do you mind if I just go ahead . . .”

  He’s interrupted by my phone ringing, the three-chime alert I’ve set up for calls from The Center. I push him off me. “Gotta take this. Work.”

  “Jesus. You serious?” He sits back against the headboard, staring at me in disbelief, but I only glance at him for a second before answering my phone.

  “It’s Thea,” I say. “You got something?” Marcus never calls unless he needs a capture.

  “Check your email.” That’s all he says before hanging up.

  “Get out.” I dredge the floor for the guy’s jeans, boxers, and button-down shirt, realizing it looked classier under the dreamy black lights at the club than here on my bedroom floor, where the polyester blend looks nothing but cheap. I toss the handful of clothes at him.

  “You’re kicking me out?”

  “Got stuff to do.” I pull on a fresh pair of panties from my dresser, slip on my jeans from the floor, then grab a tight black T-shirt from my closet. It’s my standard outfit, almost like a uniform. I like to keep things simple.

  When I sit on the bed to pull on my black boots, the guy is still staring at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. “What part of get out didn’t you catch?” I grab my laptop and turn it on, tapping my fingers impatiently as I wait for it to start up.

  The guy, whose name eludes me, starts getting dressed, grumbling under his breath as he does. “Can I, like, call you?” He’s putting his shoes on as he asks.

  “Nope.”

  “Are you for real?” He’s clearly not used to being turned down.

  “Honestly? I don’t even remember your name.” I open my email, balancing the computer on my lap.

  “Bitch,” he mutters under his breath before stomping out of my room.

  When I hear the front door slam closed, I laugh out loud. You better fucking believe it.

  I prefer to take my own car, but driving’s not a good idea after the few shots of whiskey I had at the bar, so I text Leon one word: Ride. Then I slip on my black leather jacket and head out my front door, locking it behind me.

  Mrs. Bachman, the old lady who lives in the apartment across from me, sticks her head out, brow furrowed. “Your door slammed before. Woke me right up.” She scowls.

  I don’t have time for her, but I manage a smile. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bachman. It won’t happen again.” This is probably a lie. I’m not a careful or quiet person.

  “Hmph.” She pulls her head back inside her apartment and closes her door, quietly, like she’s trying to show me how it’s done.

  I take the stairs down to the first floor quickl
y, heading out onto the dark Chicago street. My neighborhood’s what some call rough, but I like it here. Not too many families or kids. People stick to themselves. No block parties or get-togethers or neighborhood associations. I can come and go unbothered and as I please, except for the occasional complaint from my elderly neighbor.

  Like usual, Leon’s quick, pulling up in the white Center van, the only windows those in the front seat. Something a serial killer would drive. But Leon’s a sweetheart.

  “Ready?” he asks as I jump in and shut the door.

  “Obviously.”

  The van sits, unmoving.

  “What are we waiting for, Leon?”

  “Buckle up. It’s the law.” Stretched over his ample belly is a faded T-shirt with a Rorschach design on it.

  “Oh fuck you,” I mutter, clicking the seat belt into place. As soon as I do, Leon starts to drive down the dark street. The street lights aren’t on tonight, which is the case more often than not. But I don’t mind. I like it dark.

  “Drinking tonight?” Leon glances over at me, his shaggy red-blond hair and beard lit up from the dashboard’s illumination. He knows the only reason I call him to drive is if I’ve had a few.

  “I wouldn’t call you otherwise.” I stare out the window, watching the dark forlorn buildings fly by.

  “I see you’re filled with your usual sunshine.” Leon turns on the radio to some pop station.

  Immediately, I turn it off. He laughs. We both know he only put it on to fuck with me.

  “Oh. Here.” On my phone’s maps app I bring up the address Marcus emailed me and press the arrow so the phone starts reading directions to Leon.

  “You could just tell me where we’re going,” he says.

  “That would mean conversing.”

  He rolls his eyes. “How did I get so lucky to be your chauffeur?”

  “Marcus trusts you. I trust you. And I don’t trust anyone.”

  “She trusts me. Wow.” He suffuses his voice with obviously fake excitement. “I tell Francine that, she’ll surely forgive me for leaving in the middle of the night.”

  “Comes with the job.” But I feel a little sorry for Leon. I don’t mind the unpredictable hours, or the call to duty when the rest of the city is asleep. I’m okay with kicking out guys before I even learn their names. I don’t like attachments at all, so it’s fine for me.

  But Leon? He’s a romantic at heart, working up the nerve to propose to Francine, his girlfriend of eight months. And I know this job makes it hard for him.

  I want to tell Leon that if she really likes him, she’ll understand, even if he can’t explain to her exactly what he does. I want to tell him to hold out for someone who truly deserves him. But that would be sentimental, and I don’t get mushy. Instead, I punch him on the arm, lighter than I normally would since he’s driving.

  “Ouch,” he says. For the rest of the drive the car is quiet, except for the choppy female voice of the maps app telling us where to go.

  Leon pulls the van into a gravel driveway that just sort of ends, a vast sea of trees on one side of us, abandoned railroad tracks on the other. No house or building or anything suggesting humans frequent this location.

  He shrugs and turns the engine off, then leans over me to open the glove compartment, retrieving a flashlight and a beat up paperback book, some vintage pulp science fiction novel with a tentacled alien hovering over a swooning woman on the cover.

  “You should invest in an e-reader. You wouldn’t need the flashlight.” I pull the door handle.

  “Eh.” He shrugs, then scratches his neck. “I’m old-fashioned.”

  “You’re a programmer. By definition you can’t be old-fashioned.”

  “I’m not programming right now, am I? I’m chauffeuring.”

  “Whatever. Stay here,” I remind him unnecessarily, then push the door open and let the blackness swallow me.

  We’re in a semi-rural suburb outside of Chicago; here there aren’t any street lights, even broken ones. Hell, there aren’t any streets, except this vacant and unfinished gravel driveway. It’s a strange location, but Marcus has a gift for figuring out where a creature is likely to appear based on the most recent attacks and the nearest and densest forested areas. I think he has some sort of algorithm, a program designed by Leon, no doubt.

  Apparently, the cryptid I’m capturing today has killed two dogs nearby, and Marcus predicts the chupacabra-like creature will be close.

  To get near enough to capture it, though, takes someone with an extra sense, with the ability to feel the creature, the ability to know precisely where it is within a small area. A tracker with a special innate gift, the magic to sense otherworldly beings. That person is me.

  My eyes adjust to the pitch blackness, but all I can see are the dark splotches of trees, thickening into a mass of deep intertwined branches, practically impenetrable. I close my eyes and breathe out slowly, making my body empty and light, focusing on nothing, on simple blankness.

  Until I begin to feel something.

  It’s like a mixture of a buzzing and a rushing sound, but not in my ears; the signal, as I’ve come to call it, is in my brain. I’m tapping into something, connecting, and I need to focus on that connection, making it as strong as possible. That’s how I know I’m getting closer.

  I barely need to open my eyes to know where to go; the only thing I need to see is the ground, and that’s just to make sure I don’t trip on something. Under my feet the terrain is uneven, uncut grass tangling around my boots as I make my way forward toward the trees.

  I’ve been walking for mere seconds, my mind listening, tuning in to the creature—which also means it’s aware of me—when pain pierces through my head like an electric shock.

  With a snarl the animal leaps out of the woods, yellow teeth glinting in the moonlight, eyes red and pissed off.

  I jump to the side just in time, but one of its claws catches in my leather jacket.

  “Fucking asshole,” I hiss. I love my jacket, a perfect find at the thrift store down the street from my house.

  The scents of musky earth and urine rise off the creature’s dark, mangy fur as it struggles to release its claw from my jacket, growling and snarling as it does. I grasp the stuck leg with one hand, and then grab the other front leg, securing the two of them quickly with a heavy-duty nylon zip tie. It’s pink. Leon got a pack of them for me as a joke. He knows pastels aren’t my thing.

  The beast howls in anger, louder than I’d imagined it could sound. Momentarily I feel sorry for it, even though it’s snapping its jaws at me, trying to take as big a bite out of my arm as possible. And it would suck my blood and leave my carcass lying here for Leon to find after I’d been gone from the truck long enough.

  On the ground, the creature is struggling to get its paws out of the zip tie, snarling as I approach from the side. Now, though, my job is easy. I secure its back legs together, avoiding the razor sharp and angry teeth. Once it’s hog tied, I shove a muzzle on its mouth, fastening it tight at the back of its greasy head.

  Easy fucking peasy.

  The tranquilizer gun at my hip gives me comfort during captures, but I pride myself in bringing in the creatures without using it. Impressing Marcus is part of the game for me; I know he’ll sedate it himself, but I enjoy the glint in his eyes when he looks at me. He knows I’m invaluable to him. Nobody else can do what I do.

  It doesn’t weigh much—maybe seventy pounds, about the same as a medium sized dog. Thanking myself for the pushups and pull-ups I do daily, I heft the creature up and head back to the van.

  “Dude. That’s a record for you.” Leon looks at his wrist, even though he’s not wearing a watch.

  “It’s the middle of the night. I’m tired and want to get home. And this one’s small.” I won’t acknowledge the pride I feel in my chest.

  He opens the back door of the van, where a metal cage is waiting, then holds the cage door up while I shove the creature in. As he secures the locks, I shine my flashligh
t on it.

  “Ugly fucker.” Leon shakes his head. “What is it anyway?”

  I shrug. “Marcus suspected something similar to the chupacabras his colleague found in south Florida. But it’s different. It’s got a much smaller snout. And wider jaw.” I bend closer, and the animal growls through its nose at me, eyes feral, both angry and terrified.

  Another tinge of guilt. Except for the fact that it would eat me the fuck up if I freed it.

  Leon and I stare at it for a few seconds. In the light I can see it’s a dark brown, almost black. Its ears are small, shaped like those of a pig, and its snout is much shorter than a dog’s. Underneath the muzzle, though, I know its teeth are bigger than any dog’s I’ve ever seen. Tiny, beady eyes, yellow with red lines running through them, glare at us. Time alone in the woods hasn’t been good to it, and patches of fur are gone, revealing strange gray skin underneath.

  “You want me to tranq it?” Leon nods in its direction.

  “Nope.”

  “You know Marcus is just going to do it himself as soon as we get there.”

  “Yup.”

  Leon shakes his head and scratches at his beard. “You’re a nutcase, Thea. You know that, right?”

  I grin. “And that’s exactly why everyone fucking loves me so much.” I punch his arm again, harder than I did earlier in the car.

  “Oh yeah.” He slams the back door of the truck shut. “You’re definitely a people person. Get in, sunshine.”

  Leon pulls up to the security gate at The Center. A scanner recognizes a sticker on his van, and when he holds up his key card, the metal doors swing open. Double security.

  “Marcus is trying to talk me into implants.” Leon tosses his key card into the cup holder.