Dare to Believe: The Gray Court, Book 1
Page 17
“Fang boy? Fist you call me Bunnicula, and now fang boy?”
Bunnicula? Leo laughed. “You invited the Hob to the wedding, and you’re worried about a vampire?”
He could hear Duncan choking on his whiskey even as Jaden sputtered. “The Hob? She invited the Hob to your wedding? With humans?” The vampire doubled over in laughter, gasping. “Oh, man, I am so there.”
And all Leo could do was agree and kiss his wife.
He was so there.
Epilogue
Jaden watched as Leo, Ruby and the Dunne family were reunited. Ah, family bonding down on the farm. He snorted, amused. He wondered what they were going to say when he told them Moira was coming with him, whether they liked it or not. He had the feeling they wouldn’t take that very well.
Too bad, so sad. He’d decided to claim Moira as his own, and no one was going to stand in his way. He climbed out of the limo into the night, thankful that Dunne had been willing to wait until Jaden could accompany them. While sunlight wouldn’t kill him outright, it would make him damn sick. Accommodating his “allergy” wasn’t something most Fae, Sidhe or not, would bother with, but Dunne had made an exception.
Guess he feels he owes me. Yeah, well, Jaden planned on taking payment in the form of the man’s sister.
“May I exit the limo, Jaden?”
Jaden smiled. “Sorry, Duncan.” He stepped aside, his eyes never leaving Moira. The evening did wonders for her. She glowed under the light of the newly risen moon. She was casting looks his way, too, her eyes flickering back and forth between him and Duncan, a wariness present he’d do his best to remove before too much time had passed. He sent reassurances, and love, down the link, and watched her relax.
He stepped forward, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t reject him. She represented everything he’d ever wanted in a female. She was strong, spirited, beautiful, and loyal. He couldn’t wait to make her his. The light bond he’d established with her had let him feel everything she did, all that she was, and as far as he was concerned she was glorious.
Duncan stepped in front of Moira, a stunned expression on his face. Jaden’s heart nearly stopped. Down the bond he felt a shock of recognition.
No.
Duncan bent down and tasted Moira’s sweet lips.
Fuck. This can’t be happening!
But it was.
His bond-brother had found his mate.
Now what the hell was Jaden supposed to do? He’d bonded with Duncan’s mate! And the Sidhe were not known for sharing, especially with a vampire, no matter how chummy they’d gotten over the years. Jaden collapsed against the limo with a smothered groan.
Well. Fuck a duck.
Duncan had Moira up in his arms and in the limo before she could even form a protest. Jaden watched, torn between amusement, envy and jealousy. His Lordship wasn’t even going to give her a chance to say no. Nope, he just packed her in the car and got ready to drive off with her.
Which, admittedly, was what Jaden had planned to do too. Wasn’t it nice to know his plan would have worked?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Leo’s voice was partly stunned, partly amused.
Duncan beamed back at Dunne, his expression lighter than Jaden could ever remember seeing it. Damn it. “Claiming my mate.” He climbed into the limo and gestured for Jaden to join him.
Jaden shook his head, making sure the amusement was all Duncan would see. He couldn’t afford for Duncan to feel exactly what Jaden was going through. “Nah.” He took a deep breath. He could do this. “There’s some unfinished business here that needs tending to. I’ll meet up with you later. Besides, you two need some alone time.” He gave Duncan his best leer and tried to mask his true emotions.
No way in hell could he watch the two of them together. He was happy for them both, but damn. He wasn’t really into masochism. And seeing what he couldn’t be a part of would kill something inside him.
Some of Duncan’s happiness dimmed. “But, Jaden—”
He shut the door to the limo without even looking, cutting Duncan off mid-protest, and strode towards the Dunne’s. He ignored Duncan’s call in his mind, pushing him away as gently as he could. Moira’s link was weak enough that he shut her out without too much effort. They needed to be alone, and he needed to keep his nose, and his freaky vampire brain, out of it. Three’s a crowd, right?
Blech. I hate being noble. He so desperately wanted to climb into that limo, rip both their clothes off and have some fun, but he couldn’t. Not only had Duncan never indicated any interest in the male of the species, he’d just begun to claim his mate. And Jaden loved them both enough to want them happy.
Still, this sucks big moose dick.
He patted the hood of the limo and nodded to the driver before turning and walking away. “Evening, folks. I understand you have some questions.” He grinned as wickedly as he knew how, throwing every ounce of cockiness he had left into it. “Lucky me. I have answers.”
He tried to ignore the crack in his heart as the limo pulled away, taking with it the only people he’d ever loved.
About the Author
Dana Marie Bell wrote her first short story when she was thirteen years old. She attended the High School for Creative and Performing Arts for creative writing, where freedom of expression was the order of the day. When her parents moved out of the city and placed her in a Catholic high school for her senior year she tried desperately to get away, but the nuns held fast, and she graduated with honors despite herself.
Dana has lived primarily in the Northeast (Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware, to be precise), with a brief stint on the US Virgin Island of St. Croix. She lives with her soul-mate and husband Dusty, their two maniacal children, an evil ice-cream stealing cat and a bull terrier that thinks it’s a Pekinese.
You can learn more about Dana at: www.danamariebell.com
Look for these titles by Dana Marie Bell
Now Available:
Halle Pumas:
The Wallflower
Sweet Dreams
Cat of a Different Color
Steel Beauty
True Destiny:
Very Much Alive
Coming Soon:
Halle Pumas:
Only in My Dreams
Brotherly love? Oh hell no…
Kiss and Kin
© 2009 Kinsey W. Holley
A Shifter Dreams story.
On the surface, court reporter Lark Manning looks like the luckiest girl in the world, blessed with great friends and a wonderful family. Underneath, she harbors a hopelessly unrequited love for the sexy werewolf everyone thinks of as her cousin. Taran rarely notices her except to condescend or lecture. He’s treated her the same way since she was eight years old, and there’s no reason to think he’ll ever change.
Taran Lloyd, a detective in the Houston Police Department’s Shifters Investigations Unit (SIU), lives for those rare moments he gets to spend around Lark, torturing himself with what he can’t have. Kin only by marriage, she thinks of him as her big brother. He couldn’t bear her pity—or her disgust—if she learned he wants her for his mate.
When weres from a rival pack attack her, Lark screams out the first name that comes to mind—Taran. Only this sexy alpha can keep her safe until they find out who wants her dead, and why. But keeping her safe means keeping her close. And the closer they get, the harder it gets for these not-really-cousins to honor their commitment to keep their paws off.
Warning: Contains a heroine with the world’s worst poker face, a hero with more honor than sense, and explicit shifter sex that makes you wish werewolves really were part of the gene pool.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Kiss and Kin:
Lark inspected her reflection in her antique full-length mirror. Applying final touches to her makeup, she pursed her lips and smudged her gloss just a bit. She pulled her auburn chestnut hair into a carefully messy chignon, touchable stray wisps framing her face the way Taran liked it.
They both showed off her legs. The chic black cocktail number featured a fun little twirly skit, and she fancied herself a fun twirly kind of girl. On the other hand, she liked to look like a bad girl sometimes, which she did in the lavender sheath with the plunging neckline and the slit up to mid thigh.
She held up each dress beneath her chin, one at a time, and eyed herself critically. Lavender, black. Lavender, black.
She heard Taran getting ready in the bathroom, but when he suddenly appeared behind her—a werewolf could move so swiftly and silently it seemed he teleported—he wore nothing but skin. Taking a hanger in each hand, he tossed the dresses aside. He laid a large, warm hand on her stomach and pulled her tightly against him while his other hand cupped her breast. His thumb rubbed circles around her nipple through the thin lace.
“What are you doing here?” he growled softly. His stubble tickled her neck as he nuzzled. It made her laugh.
He rolled her nipple between two fingers and she sighed, reaching back to run her fingers through his dark gold hair. His other hand now cupped her mound, barely touching, and she ground her hips, silently urging him to press harder. He chuckled.
“I’m trying to choose a dress,” she smiled. “Which do you like?”
“Neither,” he replied. “I vote for naked.” He nipped her shoulder and slid his hand inside the boyshorts.
Their gazes met in the mirror, the only way she could maintain eye contact with him. Lust glittered in his eyes, making them shine like emeralds. Her dark blue eyes melted in submission. In heels, she stood almost as tall as he did, but she looked petite against his much larger body.
“I can’t go to dinner like this, and neither can you,” she murmured.
“True.” He ran his tongue lightly down the back of her neck. “Anthony’s has a dress code. Reservations at eight, right?”
“Yes.” She shivered.
She gasped as his middle finger sank into her folds and stroked.
“So…” he smiled against her neck, “…I’ve got ten minutes to make you come. I can do that with one arm tied behind your back.”
He took his hand out of her panties, spun her around and pinned one of her arms behind her. She moaned in anticipation as his mouth came down on hers, and she woke up.
Damn it. Shit. Damn, damn, damn, shit.
Lark rolled over and slammed her head into the pillow.
She couldn’t even manage a decent sex dream about him—she always woke up when it got to the good part. Her subconscious just rolled its eyes and said, “This is too farfetched for me to handle, kiddo. Dream about someone in your league—like George Clooney, maybe. He’ll ask you out before Taran notices you’re grown, much less shows any interest.”
She showered, trying not to think about Taran as she did it.
***
Detective Taran Lloyd yawned with boredom as he stood by the bar and observed the patrons of Le Monde on a typical Saturday night. A pricey club, it attracted an affluent crowd, and a mixed one: humans, werewolves and other shifters, people who looked a little more than a little fae. The only thing they had in common was a willingness to pay five bucks for a bottle of domestic beer and seven for well drinks—or the ability to find someone who would do it for them.
He grimaced. He’d like a drink himself, but regulations prohibited drinking on duty.
The intimate nightclub featured wood-paneled walls, polished hardwood floors and a lot of recessed lighting. Music loud enough to dance but not too loud to talk, waitresses pretty but not too sexy, bartenders fast but friendly—if not for the fact that three women reported missing this month were last seen here, it would’ve been a great place to bring a date.
He tried to remember the last time he’d gone on a date.
“Detective?” Daniel Denardo, the HPD Shifter Investigations Unit’s rookie, interrupted Taran’s musings.
“Yeah, Danny?”
“What are we supposed to look for here?”
Taran smiled wryly. “If we get lucky, some guy will pick up a chick, throw her over his shoulder and run out, and we’ll arrest him. But I don’t think we’ll get lucky. So we hang around and watch, talk to people, ask if anyone saw the women, noticed unusual behavior, that sort of thing. I’d rather no one know we’re cops yet.”
As soon as he said it, he noticed Lark across the room at a banquette with another woman and four slimy-looking wolves in suits. Taran automatically considered any guy with Lark slimy-looking. These wolves looked like Eurotrash. Eastern European wolves ran drugs and weapons in and out of the country, and SIU suspected they’d expanded into the sex trade. Rich European werewolves frequented Le Monde. Apparently Lark did, too.
She sauntered toward the bar.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ll be back in a second. Why don’t you mingle.”
“I can do that,” Denardo replied cheerfully.
“What are you doing here?” he growled softly.
Those words, that voice, just hours after the dream, freaked Lark right the hell out. She started so violently her perfectly chilled Cosmopolitan sloshed the front of her dress. Her nipples stood at attention. He didn’t even notice.
She grabbed a handful of napkins. “Damn it, Taran, what—”
“Quiet,” he said fiercely as he stole her breath with a smile. He never smiled at her like that. He rarely smiled at her at all. She stared up at him, dumbfounded. He clamped a meaty paw on her elbow and dragged her away from the bar toward an empty table.
The dark blue pinstriped suit, a fitted European cut, and the custom-tailored, crisp white dress shirt looked great on his long, muscular frame. Taran didn’t live on his detective salary alone.
“Act like we’re having fun.” Irritable as always, he still wore that stutter-inducing smile. It stopped short of his luminescent green eyes. “Why are you here, and who are those wolves?”
“None of your business…” she grinned gaily, “…and I don’t know.”
A few golden strands of hair drifted across his eyes. He wore it halfway to his shoulders; HPD grooming regulations exempted werewolves. She always itched to brush his hair aside. One day she’d do it, just to watch him react.
”I’m serious, Lark.”
“You’re hurting me, Taran.”
He let go instantly but continued to stare at her, knowing she’d answer him.
She heaved a dramatic sigh. “I’m here with my friend Eloise, who’s into some Euro werewolf whose name I don’t remember, and he’s with his bros, and they’re all creepy and boring, and one of them keeps trying to pick me up, and after you replace the Cosmo you made me spill, I’m going home. This just is not my night.”
“Are you driving?”
“No, I’m talking to you. Why? Do I look like I’m driving?”
He didn’t laugh. He never laughed.
“El drove. I’ll take a cab home. Where’s my cosmo?”
His sharp cheekbones and strong chin, and the pale, thin scar scoring his left cheek from his ear almost to his mouth, gave him a look of menacing power. That disappearing smile, though, made him look like a fallen angel. A hulking, six-foot-six fallen angel who could change in five minutes in broad daylight—the mark of a powerful alpha wolf.
“Don’t tell anyone you know who I am,” he ordered. “I’m working a case.”
“What kind of case?”
No reply.
“Fine, whatever. I won’t tell anyone I know you.”
He nodded and turned to go.
“Um. Hello?”
He turned back. “What is it?”
“You owe me a drink.”
He pulled a ten from his wallet and held it out, staring at her eyes as he did so. She snorted at the cheap shot power play, but it worked—a human couldn’t maintain eye contact with an alpha.
She looked a
t the bill in his hand. She didn’t take it. Instead, fueled with courage from her first cosmo, she put her hand on his outstretched arm and leaned in, her head grazing his cheek. Their bodies almost touched. A werewolf’s normal body temperature was one hundred five point three; for the millionth time in ten years, she fantasized about snuggling up to his warmth.
Her pulse hammered in her throat as she whispered, “Taran? If you want people to think your cousin is a hooker, you could at least pretend I’d get more than ten bucks. Otherwise, go buy me a drink, you lazy bastard.”
He growled low in his throat. She peeked up at him. Taran meant “thunder” in Welsh. It fit him when he looked like this.
“Wait here,” he snarled before stalking off to the bar. The crowd parted for him by instinct, like zebras at a watering hole when the lion drops by for a drink. He returned with her cosmo.
“Thank you, cuz,” she cooed sweetly to his shoulder. New drink in hand, she steeled herself for another excruciating twenty minutes with Eloise and the Euro cheese. Would he watch her walk away? As if.
Think it’s glamorous being a vampire? Think again.
Called by Blood
© 2009 Evie Byrne
The Faustin Bros., Book 1
Alexander Faustin is ready to settle down. He travels from NYC to sunny Colorado to find his destined bride. His delicate mission: to explain to her that vamps exist, that he happens to be one himself, and that he’d like her to be one, too. But the moment he lays eyes on Helena MacAllister, talk is the last thing on his mind.
It’s not like Helena to make out with a stranger on her front porch, much less invite him into her bed. Somehow Alex makes her feel safe, even while he’s dismantling her defenses. But in the wake of an accident, her faith in him is shattered. She learns her dream lover is a monster.