Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  Really, what did he have to be upset about?

  I was the one almost eaten by a werelion. I was the one who had a shitty childhood. But did you see me moping? No, because life sucks donkey balls most of the time—it’s a given—and the sooner I accepted that the better. There was nothing I could do to change it. The only option was to roll with the punches.

  I rubbed the base of my skull, feeling a killer headache coming on. Being slammed on the floor by a shifter was going to make for a rough morning I suspected. Making a mental note to try and run a bit of healing on myself once we reached Dane’s house, I reached for the radio to fill the silence.

  Portland-era grunge was just what the doctor ordered. I glanced at Dane, who was still ignoring me, then up to the rear-view mirror—out of habit mostly—but I was glad I did.

  The car came out of nowhere, one minute the road behind me was dark and vacant, the next high beams threatened to kiss my bumper.

  “What the hell?” Dane angled to see the car better in the side mirror.

  I shrugged, then realized he wouldn’t see it. “Everyone’s always in a hurry.”

  I put my foot on the gas and eased the car up to a respectable 60 m.p.h., hoping they’d back off. They didn’t. In fact, the car crept even closer. I gritted my teeth.

  “If I was in this car by myself, and it wasn’t already being held together with duct tape and prayers, I’d let ‘em buy me a new one.” I said, tapping the breaks as a warning.

  The asshole driver responded by tapping my bumper with his.

  My car lurched forward, putting my head on a swivel and causing Dane to bang his on the door panel. We cursed and looked to each other, with matching wide eyes.

  My adrenaline spiked. “Oh, so that’s how they want to play it.”

  “Speed up,” Dane said.

  I shook my head. “Nope, I’ve seen enough television to know that’s a bad idea. If shit’s about to go down, would you rather it happen at 40 m.p.h or 70? Physics, Dane.”

  I took my foot off the accelerator and braced for the rear impact once more. “I’d suggest you put on your seat belt.”

  The impact was greater the second time, and the steering wheel jerked beneath my hands. I gripped tighter, fought to control the skid. I managed to right us, but just barely.

  A string of obscenities flew from my mouth—the kind that would make a pirate blush. What can I say, colorful expletives are a hobby of mine.

  Dane looked at me with a pale face. “Who’d you piss off this time?”

  “No idea. But we’re about to find out. Get my 9mm out of the glove box, would you?”

  Dane didn’t answer, but the little light came on telling me he was doing what I asked. The head-lights of the car dropped back a bit and for the briefest second I thought it was over, that the driver had come to their senses. I was wrong.

  The car accelerated once more and hit us with enough force that my forehead tapped the steering wheel. A clunk in the floor board told me Dane had dropped the gun. It was good that I always kept it unchambered and with the safety engaged.

  He bent to retrieve it as the car dropped back again.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this shit. Give me the gun and take the wheel.”

  I rolled down my window as he placed the cold steel in my hand. “Got it?”

  He confirmed his hand was on the wheel and I let go.

  In one fluid motion I flicked off the safety and chambered a round, then switched to a left-handed grip. It wasn’t my dominant hand, but it would have to do. It’s not like I could really aim backwards, so while I wasn’t shooting to kill exactly, I hoped the gun fire would be enough to make the bastard back off.

  The car accelerated and my left hand swung the gun outside and back. When the car was a second away from bashing us again, I fired. The gun’s report was enough to make my ears ring, but my aim wasn’t exactly true. From the sound and show of sparks, I’d hit the asphalt just to the left of the car.

  The other driver was not deterred and after a brief backing-off, they came at us again. “Well, if they’re serious, I can be too.” I mumbled.

  I fired in quick succession. Three shots. One hit ricocheted off the hood. One took out a headlight and the third exploded the car’s windshield. I didn’t have a clue if I’d hit the driver or not, but I didn’t care one way or the other. Only the results mattered to me— them off our asses. And it worked. The car dropped back and made a hasty turn onto a side road.

  The running on adrenealine part of me almost jammed the brakes and chased after the asshole driver. But one look at Dane’s bloodless face and I scrapped that idea.

  “You okay?” My voice was low and slow.

  He nodded, licked his lips. Nodded again. “I think so.”

  I patted his hand and kept a watchful eye in the rearview, just in case.

  “I guess incubi don’t get much in the way of action like that?” Trying to lighten the mood was my go-to. If you can laugh about something, it likely won’t kill you.

  He half-smiled. “No. Getting rear-ended usually stays in the bedroom for us.”

  I snorted, chuckled. “You don’t say.”

  He looked behind us absently, then down to the gun still in my hand.

  “Okay, maybe it’s too soon for jokes.” I slid the gun down in between my seat and the console and patted his arm. “You sure you’re okay? Not hurt anywhere.”

  He shook his head, pointed to my forehead. “No, I’m fine. But you’re bleeding.”

  I touched two fingers to my scalp and winced. Lovely, just lovely.

  A half-hour later we sat on Dane’s couch, speculating. I had no idea who’d want to run us off the road, but the timing of it couldn’t be coincidental. After our night at the bar, I’d hazard a guess it had been payback for the werelion. A pissed off lover maybe? Or perhaps someone didn’t like us asking questions.

  “You’re bleeding,” he motioned to my forehead again.

  I touched my wound and hissed. “It’s nothing, just a little bump”

  He shook his head, scooted in closer. His fingers pushed back my hair. “I wouldn’t call it just a scratch, but I don’t think you’ll need stitches. We will need to clean and disinfect it. You know, so you don’t get an ameba or Ebola. Or some other -ola.”

  Frowning, I tried not to laugh. Letting him prod my body was not a good idea. Not if I wanted to be able to look at myself in the morning. But it sounded like the best worst idea I’d had lately, so there’s that.

  Dane pointed to several more bloodstains dotting my clothing. “And we can’t forget the claw marks either. If they’re anything like cat scratches we need to clean those asap.”

  Dane looked at me like my mom used to do. Waiting for me to agree to do the smart thing. I rolled my eyes. “Fine, have at it.”

  He retrieved a small first aid kit from the bathroom, carefully laid out everything he need to clean, disinfect and bandage my split head, then turned to me. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and snapped them into place with a wicked glint in his eyes.

  “Are you ready? It’s probably going to hurt,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine.” Maybe. But probably not. I could paint someone else’s blood all over the room and not bat an eye, but let me see one drop of my own blood and it isn’t pretty.

  “Are you sure? I can give you a little something to dull the pain.” He looked at me expectantly, like he was hoping I would take him up on his offer, and terrified that I would.

  I imagined that he didn’t relish putting me through pain. For an incubus, that’s got to be anticlimactic. Too bad he didn’t have a choice.

  I shook my head. “I don’t do drugs. Messes with my magic.”

  “Neither do I. But that’s not what I meant. I can engage your pleasure receptors which should override most of the pain.” He tried to make it sound so clinical, but I knew better.

  “Don’t try to put lipstick on a pig and call it a princess.” I gave him a wry smile.
“You want to get me all hot and bothered using your magic schtick. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

  His cheeks pinked slightly. “You make it sound dirty.”

  “That’s because it is dirty.” I leaned back, resting my head on the sofa.

  It was a horrible idea, which is probably why I agreed to it. “Fine, just do it.”

  Dane sighed as he leaned closer. He trailed one finger-tip over my cheek and down the side of my neck. With his free hand, he took hold of my wrist, gently.

  A slow burn spread over my face, my limbs and finally my core. My skin felt taut and slack all at the same time. Hot and cold. Relaxing and building up. My mouth made a silent “O” as a new sensation took hold. That one had me breathing harder and trying not to squirm.

  Heat bloomed in my core, unfurling like a flower. I whimpered, bit my lip. Holy hell, that was some kind of magic. Dane released my arm and moved to tend to my wound.

  You would think I’d had the best of it at that point, but no. Every single time he touched me, no matter that he was scrubbing dried blood from my scalp or wiping the gash with stinging alcohol pads, my naughty bits cried out with need.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I moaned as he leaned closer, his body brushing mine as he applied a topical ointment.

  I swear I heard him chuckle.

  “Almost done,” he said, unwrapping a bandage.

  I knew what he meant, but I wanted him to mean something else. My hips rose slightly and I’m pretty sure I panted. “I can’t…”

  His face was suddenly inches from my own. His eyes mirroring my desire, with little flecks of gold pulsing to the same rhythm of my throbbing bits. “You can’t what?”

  My chest heaved. “I can’t… please don’t stop. I need more, please.”

  Dane made a little tsk-tsk sound. “Believe me, I want to. But not like this. I’d recommend a hot shower. Change the showerhead to pulse if you have to.”

  With that he kissed me on the cheek and stood, bending to gather up the trash and supplies.

  “Seriously?” I sat up, aware that I was pouting and that it wasn’t pretty. Alas, I was out of fucks to give.

  He pulled me to my feet, kissed the bandage on my forehead and smiled, though his eyes betrayed him. Heat smoldered there just as sure as it was eviscerating me.

  “I’ve never been more serious. We don’t have time right now for all the things I’d like to do to you.” Dane smacked me on the ass. “Now off you go. Showers all around, then we dig into the information your friend sent.”

  I mock-saluted him to retain the last of my dignity, then walked to the edge of the hall. I turned back. “Do I need to be careful of the hot water if you’re going next?”

  “No, I’ve got a shower in the master, so I’m going now too, that way we can both get to back to work quickly.”

  The thought of being naked and wet at the same time that Dane was going to be had my body humming again. “Okay, that works…. So, the showerhead has a pulse setting?”

  I smiled sweetly, just to get the message across that if I was fucked for the night, so was he. Let him think about that while I stood naked just a few feet and one unlocked door away.

  He gulped and nodded.

  “Good, I can work with that.” I said over my shoulder right before I shut the bathroom door behind me.

  I emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later feeling like the cat that ate the canary. Relaxed, squeaky clean and loose as a goose. Dane, on the other hand, looked even more tense than when I’d left him standing there. Good. It served him right, stirring up my libido and then leaving me hanging. Not that I was bitter or anything.

  “Feel better?” His voice was tight, clipped.

  He paced to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.

  I stretched and smiled. “Loads. That’s a glorious shower you have. I feel like I need to buy it dinner.”

  He frowned turned his back to me. Judging by the little hitch in his step as he crossed to the sink, I’d say he had a little adjusting to take care of. I found that hilarious, of course. And infuriating, because then I was thinking about his junk and my body didn’t feel quite so sated after that.

  Shit, it was going to be a long night.

  “Have you heard from your guy yet?” he asked as the coffee pot began to rumble.

  “Should have,” I checked my phone and saw a waiting email from HackerTee. “Bingo. Can I use your laptop?”

  Dane took two mugs from the cabinet. “You don’t even have to ask.”

  I went into the dining room, booted up the computer and logged into my email client. Clicking open the email we’d been waiting on, I saw a basic synopsis and a handful of attachments. I’d been hoping for way more.

  “There’s not much here,” I called into the kitchen. “Let’s hope what we do have is helpful.”

  Dane appeared at the archway moments later. He set a mug down to my left and took the seat on my right. “Well, let’s dig in.”

  The basic info from HackerTee confirmed what we already knew. Transient work history, missing girls at every stop, wife and two teenage children. No legal troubles, no financial troubles, nothing of note on public records. They didn’t own any property, other than two older model cars.

  Below the general info was a bit of a family tree on Shiller and his wife, not usually relevant with mundanes, but helpful in the supe world.

  “Huh.” I said, then turned to Dane. “Seems Shiller comes from a long line of low level witches. Elementals mostly with the errant clairvoyant thrown in every couple generations.”

  “Well, we already knew he had magic, so that’s not really helpful.”

  “True, but this next bit is. Shiller married a mundane—not a drop of magical blood in his wife’s family.”

  “That’s not unusual though, right? I mean not every supe treats marriage like my family does.”

  I really didn’t want to think about Dane being married in some family-vote sort of deal, so I ignored the comment. “It’s not unusual, but it might explain the power hoarding.”

  He considered that for a moment. “Right, because if he has only a little power and she has none, maybe they’re working together?”

  “I guess. I was going to say power can be a bit like income. He’s not earning a decent paycheck and she’s not bringing anything to the table. Maybe Shiller’s tying power to his manhood in some twisted way.”

  “Why does everything have to be about a guy’s manhood?” He frowned, sipped his coffee.

  “Beats me. But it usually is.” I laughed and started clicking the attachments.

  The first one was a folder of Shiller family highlights, vacation photos and social media posts. On the whole, the collection spoke to a typical family. Though I did notice one oddity among the hundred or so photos. Shiller’s wife, Dawn, had gone through several cycles of looking healthy before the ghost version showed up for a while.

  I pointed it out to Dane. “Is she sick or something? And he’s healing her with the stolen magic?”

  I scrunched up my face. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s always looked like that and the magic is just a temporary facelift? Hell, I don’t know… it could be anything. A drug problem even, especially if she’s aware of her husband’s sins.”

  Closing that folder, I opened up the next one while sipping my coffee.

  Door number two contained news clippings mentioning the wife. Dawn Shiller didn’t just spend her free time playing with old books at the library, she was also a huge advocate of historic buildings. All over the country, while her husband was busy molding young minds, she lobbied to save old buildings from demolition by getting them listed on the historic registry.

  “That’s not very helpful either. Next,” Dane said.

  I closed that folder and clicked the last one. Everything you’d ever want to know about Malcom Shiller was at the click of my mouse. From his information on his magical upbringing, to articles he’d written in college, to papers he’d authored using his coll
egiate knowledge and research. While the information was thorough, none of it was useful.

  I shut the laptop a little too hard. “Damn, I was hoping for more of a smoking gun, you know?”

  Dane rubbed his temples and blinked. “Agreed.”

  The silence bloomed between us and I wiggled in my chair.

  He offered up a weak smile. I shrugged and checked my phone. By then, it was already three in the morning, and my body chose that moment to realize it. I yawned, covered my mouth.

  “Sorry,” I said. “The day is finally catching up to me. I’m beat.”

  Dane stood, “Let’s get you settled and we’ll hit it hard first thing in the morning. Okay?”

  Pushing back my chair, I agreed. “Sounds like a plan.”

  We walked together to his living room, where he grabbed my bags and motioned to the hall. “Second door on the left.”

  Turning on the hallway light, I followed Dane’s directions to the spare room, which was nice and cozy with its neutral tones and a queen size bed, fitted with several plush pillows and a heavy down comforter.

  I plopped on the bed while he set my bags in a cute lilac overstuffed chair.

  “Oh. My. Goddess,” I picked up a pillow and crushed it to my chest. “I might never leave this bed. Seriously.”

  Dane gulped. “Well, goodnight then.”

  I grinned as he backed out of the room and pulled it shut behind him.

  I giggled, amused at how easy he was to fluster. Or maybe I was laughing at myself, who’d suddenly felt the need to act more girly. Shit, I was more exhausted than I thought. With that, I went to bed before I decided to paint my nails or some other equally dumb shit.

  7

  By the next morning, Dane and I had settled into some sort of comfortable routine. We got out of bed at the same time, passing each other in the hall with a quiet nod. He fixed coffee while I toasted and slathered a couple of bagels. Handing him a plate, I settled onto one of the bar stools.

  He slid a handmade, cobalt blue mug in my direction. I nodded and lifted it to my lips right away, only pausing to inhale the aroma, before sipping carefully.