by Tate James
His head shifted, a paw curled against my leg.
“Holy hard nipples,” Renegade murmured.
“What the fuck, Renegade?” Lorcan snapped.
“Sorry,” the big guy muttered. “It was the first thing that came to mind.”
A whimper cut through the drone behind me. Black Dog blinked, and then raised his head, stared into my eyes for a moment and then dropped back down.
And in that moment, I felt love—pure, honest love, the kind of love I’d only seen once before, in Momma’s eyes. An ache flared through my chest, and rippled outwards.
Black Dog stilled for a second and then raised his head again. His shoulders left the ground, and then his upper body, before with one slow movement, he dragged his paws underneath him and then pushed.
He left my hands, standing in the middle of the shield as the white light ebbed and flowed all around him.
“I’ll be fucked,” Renegade muttered, and this time there was no response from Lorcan.
I turned to look at him as the white light inside the bubble slowly faded. He just stood there, eyes wide, lips parted, street lights dancing off perfect dark skin. He watched without a word...without even looking at me.
And for the first time, I felt a flinch of fear.
9
“How…how did you do that?” The terror in his voice gripped me.
“I didn’t.” I lifted a hand as Black Dog rose in front of me. “Someone else did.”
The others lingered in my head, like a lover’s touch. Some faintly familiar, others weren’t. But it was Cure who was strongest. It was Cure whose dusty pink lips stretched wide as she smiled. You did it, she whispered in my head.
“No, we did it,” the words slipped from my lips.
I hovered in the darkness, in that empty space where my fears waited, and for the first time didn’t have the shield in place.
I felt…love. I felt respect and admiration. I felt a sense of belonging.
“Hey!” Cassian called in the distance. I jerked my gaze up as the ting…ting…ting…of the metal clasp hitting the pavement echoed through the night. He held up the end of the lead and called, “You missing this?”
My lips curled as tears fell. I shoved up from the asphalt and slipped on the ice. Hands windmilled, trying to keep my balance as I skidded and slowly worked my way across the road.
He reached out, letting me grab the leather strap before I threw my arms around his chest.
“Hey there,” he murmured against my ear.
He gripped me as hard as I did him. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and I closed my eyes.
“You okay?” he murmured, his fingers tangled in my hair.
He pulled away then, concern filling his eyes. “You okay, Gabe?”
The words were thick and choking in the back of my throat. I nodded as the pup tugged on the lead and gave a whimper.
Black Dog trotted over, sniffed the pup and gave a soft chuff. They circled each other as Cassian gripped my hand. “What the Hell happened here?”
“You want to tell him?” Lorcan murmured.
Tell him everything. Leave nothing behind.
“Gready hit him with a car.” The words sounded like a lie, still I had to make them understand. “He was aiming for me, and then Black Dog lunged and pushed me out of the way.”
“The dog was dead…as close to death as I’d ever seen,” Lorcan murmured. “As close as I want to see.”
“Wait…what? Gready was here?” Cassian gripped my arm, and then glanced at the empty street.
“He’s gone now.” I stared at the spot where the Explorer had idled.
Cassian pulled me close. “How the fuck are you still here, and alive?”
“I don’t know.” It was the God’s honest truth.
But I knew this wasn’t over.
I knew he’d come for me again.
And when he did, maybe there’d be no Black Dog to save me.
“Let’s get out of here,” Cassian murmured and brushed my arm. “We’ve done all we can. I told the authorities what I could and then left it at that. At least they’ll have the recording.”
He held my hand. I gripped the pup’s lead in the other and slowly made my way back to the car with the others.
A smear of blood was all that remained of the incident—a fragile remnant of what we’d leave behind.
I’d come to the city with a purpose, to stand up to those who hurt me, who hunted me…who hunted us.
I wanted to be their shield…their protector, and instead I found protectors of my own. Black Dog trotted beside the pup, his lead trailing on the ground behind him as we slowly made our way back to the Jeep.
We’d be back on the road in no time, driving down the highway. Always moving…always surviving.
And waiting for the day we’d find someone…
Spark’s face filled mine. Gready and his men were heading her way. She’d fight…it was in her blood, just like it was in mine.
I’m here for you, I sent the whisper through my mind.
But there was silence, a cold bitter silence.
One that cut through my core.
I glanced to my right, at Renegade and Lorcan, and then left at Cassian as he held my hand. They loved me, they protected me…they saved me.
But now I had sisters.
I was one of us…
The End
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About the Author
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Amazon.com/Kim-Faulks/e/B005J7EPH8
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WILDEST DREAMS
LUCY SMOKE
Description
In my Wildest Dreams, I never imagined I’d see him again.
The night I gave my virginity to Preston McConnell was the last night I ever saw him. Six years later and broke off my ass, I take a job at the best special feature magazine in the southern United States. It’s my dream job, and I’m more than happy to take on my first assignment that includes a one-way ticket to South Africa, where I’m supposed to follow a veterinarian who has made a name for himself as the lion whisperer.
I haven’t dated anyone since Preston, and the bitter, broken-hearted girl I used to be is ready to pack up and quit the very second I see him again. It’s only the soft words from Preston’s best friends, Jay and Wren, that stop me in my tracks. Encouragement and a way out presents itself in the form of the two hot as sin safari guides. I can’t let Preston get to me like he used to. I’m here to do a job and nothing more. If he wants to rekindle anything, he’ll have to get used to competition because, in my dreams, I’m no longer flying solo. No. I don’t want one man. I want three.
1
The scent of rotten fish drifted up from the seafood restaurant that neighbored Surf’s Inn on Westfield Street, in the south district of Bedridge Beach, Florida. Rather, the smell drifted from behind the restaurant—more specifically their dumpster—where I had seen, not ten minutes ago, two homeless men amble around the building, heading towards it.
I shook my head and rechecked my camera to make sure everything was set. The cap was off, and the lens in position. I sighed and leaned back against the railing of the fire escape attached to the side of Surf’s Inn’s southernmost wall. For nearly six years, I had been doing photography work for DL Magazine, a sleazy gossip rag. Tonight would be my last night doing skeevy work, following around minor celebrities and politicians, hoping to get a picture that would sell.
I didn’t care about these people’s lives. What they did was their own business, but I did need to eat, didn’t I? Six years as a crappy paparazzi knock-off and finally, I had gotten my chance. I really couldn’t wait for my interview with Wilde Magazine tomorrow. I didn’t care if they sent me to Australia to hang out with the kangaroos and scorpions. At this point, anything would be better than waiting for former Florida Governor, Gerald Thomasson, to check in with his newest af
fair.
I checked my watch for what felt like the tenth time in the span of five minutes. Time was crawling by, and I wondered if the tip my boss had gotten, would even follow through. Didn’t matter to me at this point. If he didn’t show, he didn’t show, and my boss could kiss my ass goodbye, as soon as I got that much coveted position at Wilde.
The sound of something buzzing startled me. I reached down and quickly removed my phone from my back pocket, covering the upper part of the screen with my hand so that the brightness didn’t alert people walking on the sidewalk below. It was my sister. I groaned, knowing full well if I didn’t answer this now, then she’d keep calling or texting until I did. With great regret, I pressed the answer button and put the phone to my ear.
“I can’t talk right now. I’m working a job.”
“That’s fine,” she said quickly. “I’m just confirming that you’re coming to the cookout this weekend to meet Ryan.”
“Noelle…” I half moaned, half whined, as she started talking again.
“Jen. Do not start this. You haven’t been on a date in six years. Six. Years. I don’t even know if I can go without sex for six days, let alone six years. It’s time you got over him or so help me—”
“We promised never to speak about him,” I interrupted with a sigh. If there was one thing I didn’t need in my life, it would be one more mention of Preston McConnell—the man who took my virginity, along with my heart, and smashed it all to pieces when he left the next morning for vet school, never to be heard from again. “You promised,” I said, hoping she’d drop it. “And I’ve been on dates,” I added.
“Promises like that have an expiration date,” she huffed. “I thought you’d be over it by now. I thought you’d move on. And the only dates you’ve been on are the ones I’ve set you up on.”
“I do try when I go on dates,” I said. “I don’t bomb every attempt on purpose, you know. I have moved on.”
“Then you have a date for Saturday?” she prompted.
“I, um, I was actually thinking I should stay home. I’ve got a lot of laundry to catch up on, and that new book just came out on audio—” I broke off and glanced down at the street, squishing my eyes together when I saw a handsome, older gentleman leading a skinny blonde up the sidewalk. “Noelle, I gotta go. My target’s here.”
“We’re not done talking about this,” she barked as I pressed the end button, and lifted my camera. Knowing her, there would be no more talking, only doing. Lots and lots of doing—blind dates, random set ups with clients from her salon, and meetings with her husband’s work friends. I took a deep breath and lifted my camera, snapping several photos of ex-Governor Thomasson playing grab ass with the blonde bimbo cackling, and swatting him away, her lips turned down in part disgust and part flirtation. Even I couldn’t tell if she was interested in him despite the clear close-up image that caught every nuance in her expression on my camera.
Snapping a few more photos as they got their key and went into one of the upper rooms, I waited until the door closed behind them before moving, grabbing my bag, and sliding down the rest of the fire escape. I just wanted to finish this job at DL, and get over whatever Preston McConnell had done to me six years ago. Obviously, the latter was never going to happen, but at least I could help the job problem.
I walked two blocks down to O’Farey Street where I had parked my precious 1994 mustang convertible. The red beauty awaited me in a pharmacy parking lot. I climbed in and cranked the air conditioning, blasting away the humidity from the heavy June heat.
Twenty minutes later, I climbed three sets of stairs up to my studio apartment on the third floor of an apartment complex that probably should’ve been condemned twenty years ago. Even though the electric bill was sky high, the rent was cheap, and the neighbors were quiet. The only real thing I regretted about the complex was that there were no animals allowed. I would have given anything to come home to a purring kitten or a yippy little dog like the one my sister, Noelle, had adopted four years ago. Even a Shih Tzu like Kenny would make this little apartment feel more like home and less like a prison cell.
I carefully set the camera back in its case after retrieving the SD card. I changed and hurried through the motions of loading the card onto my laptop, to send the images I had captured tonight to my boss. With any luck, tomorrow would be more than a game-changer—it would be a life-changer.
2
“Name?” The red-haired receptionist stared at me with bored eyes as she waited for my reply. She clicked her long, gold painted nails against the edge of her desk, like some fucked up version of the jeopardy theme song counting down the seconds until my answer.
“Oh, um, it’s Jen—Jenique Parr,” I said. “I’m here for my interview?” I flinched when the last bit came out sounding like a question.
The receptionist blinked at me before checking her computer. “Have a seat,” she huffed, “Mrs. Young will be with you momentarily.”
“Oh, sure. No problem.” I waved nervously as I retreated to the sitting area and took a seat at the end of the first row against the wall.
My heart thudded rapidly against my ribcage as my palms began to sweat. Chill, Jenique, I reminded myself. Your portfolio is good. They have to be interested in you if they called for an interview. You got this.
Still, I couldn’t stop from noticing how nice Wilde Magazine’s offices were. How empty their sitting area was...how alone I was.
The offices were much nicer than DL’s. The building itself was in the newer business district with modern beige walls and white tiled floors. In the distance, I could hear telephones ringing and people speaking in quick, decisive tones. Quite different from the molding carpet and 70's wood-paneled walls of the DL offices.
I looked down at my lap and smoothed the black pencil skirt I dragged out of the back of my closet specifically for this occasion. My folder with photos from wedding shoots I had worked on before and some of my personal interest photography—along with the few articles I had written—remained clutched in my hand. An eternity passed before the receptionist looked over at me after finally receiving a phone call on her headset.
“Mrs. Young will see you now,” she said.
“Oh.” I stood and nearly dropped my folder in my haste. “Okay, um, do I just go…?” I looked down the hallway, noticing several open doors to the right and an entire area with cubicles to the left.
“All the way down, last door,” the receptionist answered before her headset went off once more and she answered it in cool, polite tones.
“Thanks,” I half-whispered, trying to be polite as well but not interrupt her work as I started down the hallway. The closer I got to the door, the sweatier my hands got. I stopped and wiped them down my skirt before I took a deep breath and raised a shaking fist to knock on the door below the plaque that read, Gloria Young: Editing Manager.
“Come in,” came the direct reply.
“Mrs. Young?” I asked, feeling stupid as soon as I said it, as if I hadn’t just read her name on the door as I stepped inside her wide office.
“You must be Jenique Parr. Have a seat.” Mrs. Young was an older woman with jet black hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her eyes were sharp, almost like cuts in her face that matched the angular structure of her features. I hurried to comply with her edict as I took a seat directly across from her, setting my portfolio in my lap.
She was quiet for several moments as she scribbled something on a few papers and then slid them into a folder and pushed them to the side. I almost jumped in my seat when her eyes shot up and met my gaze. Mrs. Young set her elbows on her glass desk, folding her hands, and propping her chin on them as she looked me over. She hummed and I couldn’t tell if that meant she was disappointed in what she saw or unimpressed or noncommittal. I waited with bated breath as she unfolded her hands and reached for a separate folder—different than the one before. She flipped it open and retrieved what looked to be my resume.
“Why do you want to work for Wilde
?” she started.
“Because I’ve always wanted to take photographs that will change the world,” I blurted, almost immediately regretting it. I flinched as she looked up and hummed again. What a lame answer, I decided. I practiced this. Why was I being such a ditz? “I mean, I’ve always wanted to take photographs of important events and moments in history, that kind of thing,” I tried again.
“You’ve been with DL for quite some time,” she commented, looking over my resume. “Six years.”
I slumped in my seat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“That wasn’t a question,” she stated. I flinched again, feeling like I was being put on trial. But I suppose that was what an interview was—a trial run to see if I would crack under pressure. “Your personal work is what I find most interesting. You brought your portfolio with you today, as requested?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I repeated, leaning forward and handing over the black folder with my life’s work in it.
Mrs. Young set my resume to the side and opened my portfolio. She flipped through the pages of garden pictures, urban settings, and wedding pieces before landing on one of my favorites. I smiled when I recalled when I had taken that photo. It was a picture of little Kenny, when Noelle had first gotten him. He had been so fascinated by our mom’s basket of knitting yarn. It had been his favorite place to sleep until Noelle had moved out. He rolled on his side, lolling over the side of this basket on his back with his tongue stuck out and one of his back legs up in the air. The background of yellow and pink yarn against his white and black fur was distinctive and pleasing to the eye. I bit my lip as she reviewed it.
“How do you feel about animals?” she asked.
