by Billi Jean
“Sure, baby, we will. He’ll see.” He rubbed her back and held her silently. She cried softly but he could tell she was over the shock, so he simply held her.
“Jerk—not you, Rob. He’s such a jerk!”
He pulled up to look down at her. “I kicked his ass. He tried to kick mine for losing you, but I wiped the floor with his ass.”
She shook her head and smiled up at him. “I hope you did.” Sniffing she shrugged a shoulder and he tried hard not to watch how hot her breasts looked when she did that. “I can understand, kinda.”
He blinked and rubbed her hair back from her face. “How’s that, baby? He’s your brother.”
“He’s a SEAL. He was never mine after that. You weren’t either.”
He shook his head hard. She still didn’t get it, his little scaredy cat. “That’s not true. You don’t get it yet, do you, sugar?”
She scrunched her nose up and gave him a confused look.
“I was wasting time until you grew up. I had a hard-on for you when you were fifteen and that shit isn’t right.”
A surprised laugh burst from her after a second, as if she didn’t believe him.
“You did?”
“Baby, you have no idea how bad that made me feel, shit’s not funny,” he grumbled.
“Oh, Mac.” She kissed his chest and rested her head against his heart. “I love you so much. Tell me you’ll call him, and tell him what a jerk he is and he had better not miss my wedding. I need someone to give me away.”
Mac tipped her head up and stared down at her. God, he loved this woman. “Baby, no one can give you away.”
“Oh, Mac.” Tears stood out in her eyes, drowning the grey until they spilled over and ran down her cheeks.
“Shh, don’t cry, Mandy. Don’t you know, nothing in this world is better to me, than knowing you want to be mine? We’ll get hold of Rob, but you, you’re mine.”
“Always, Mac. I always will be.”
“In my arms,” he whispered, lowering his head to kiss her. Everything disappeared until Rob, the shower, the room, everything but him, and her safe in his arms was all she needed—wanted—and finally had.
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Sisterhood of Jade: A Spartan’s Kiss
Billi Jean
Excerpt
Chapter One
The silence of the night settled over Tabithia as she waited.
The witching hour could hide almost anything. Things a person couldn’t obscure in the harsh light of day.
She was good at hiding. Had to be. None of her close friends knew what she concealed beneath the surface of her adrenaline-junkie escapades. Not even her aunts knew that, beneath her skin, she hid the revulsion clawing at her. Why should they? People had burdens. Burdens they managed alone. Hers were no different. And they were easier to hide in the dimness of the midnight hours. Night allowed the edges of darkness within her to melt into forgetfulness. Black was, in fact, her favourite colour.
She should have been born a vampire, not a witch.
Sadly, no. She was one of the Wiccan, a Daughter of the Three. She wasn’t one of those goodie-two-shoes, can’t-hurt-anyone witches. Oh, no. Her ancient coven believed in survival. Survival meant being so badass no one messed with you. She had the badass down to a T.
For all the good it did her.
Tabithia hunkered further down in her crouch, as a runner glittering with reflectors, ran by with her music blaring. She winced. Clearly, the runner had no regard for her ears. Or herself. Aged buildings, paint peeling and splashed with colourful graffiti, lined a street full of potholes and trash, yet a woman ran by with her ear buds blocking out any sound other than her music? Humans. Tab never would understand them.
She really wanted to curse her aunt, Circerran, nicknamed Trouble, for getting her out here. By now, Tabithia could be drinking at One Eye’s immortal tavern or racing her way-too-expensive but fantastic Ecosse road bike with other immortals. Instead, she waited until the jogger disappeared before craning her neck around the building’s brick corner to peer down the murky street. Cursing wasn’t her thing, anyway. Too many people just didn’t get that a curse could come back and bite you in the ass. She did. Oh, yeah, she got that, so no cursing for her.
Several minutes passed, and no one else appeared. Not surprising since even a stray cat wouldn’t wander through this neighbourhood so late at night. The runner lacked common sense. Still, Tabithia didn’t trust her eyesight alone. Magic could flow beneath the surface of almost anything from a poisoned apple to a slum neighbourhood street. With one more glance behind and to both sides of her, she leaned a hand on the rough brick wall and focused her inner eye, which revealed nothing more than the shadows of the cars she’d already spotted parked along both sides of the street.
Tabithia watched a second more before letting the witch sight fade, leaving her alone in the shadows once again. Hunger, not for food, but for the feel of others around her, beat at her. Restlessness burned along her body. Her muscles ached from holding them tightly bunched and ready for action—action wasn’t happening on a street corner.
I could be out partying. Drinking it up. But no. Trouble calls and I have to answer.
True. She always would, too, no doubt.
So, party time would have to wait. Instead she waited, while the darkness inside her built higher and higher. The need to ease the pain blistered along her senses grew, and she knew, just knew that only more pain could ease the beast clawing within her.
She drew her butterfly knife and balanced the double-sided blade by its tip between her two fingers, flicked the scissor-like sheath along her knuckles and spun the silver blade over and between her fingers. The cool weight of steel comforted her. The sharp edge provided the pain that would ease the memories. She watched the silver blur as she twisted her wrist and let the razor-sharp blade glide over her knuckles before snapping the two sections of the hilt in her hand. The urge to screw up the rhythm of her knife play surged through her. With more effort than she felt comfortable with, she steadied her hand and began another round of flip and catch, until she could control her breathing.
Trouble would be there soon
“Well? What’s up? Any news?”
Shit! Tabithia clenched her fist around the smooth hilt of her knife, just barely stopping herself from yelping at aunt’s soft whisper near her ear.
She hated when Trouble caught her by surprise. No doubt her observant aunt had done it on purpose, too. Not many could get the drop on her, but when Trouble did, her aunt always enjoyed it to the max. Aggravating didn’t even begin to describe her aunt.
Not bothering to turn, since she could sense her aunt’s grin without the humiliation of actually seeing it, she took her time to pocket her knife, trying to summon the patience to deal with her aunt’s cheerfulness. “Nada. Should there be? Is this going to take all night? I do have a party—”
“Please. You always have a party. This pays the bills. Right?”
Tabithia had enough money set aside to pay for her partying from here to eternity—if she ever had to pay for her partying. Trouble? Gobs more. Her aunt stockpiled money like a squirrel packing a tree full of nuts for the next ice age.
When she grumbled again, Trouble laughed. Tabithia reluctantly turned around to confront her, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
Her aunt’s eyes sparkled with happiness. She always sparkled—tonight proved to be no exception. Dressed in a white T-shirt with the words ‘More Cowbell’ scrolled across her breasts, black hip-hugger jeans tucked into knee-high black boots, she looked more like a hip rocker chick than a deadly spell-caster. She winked when Tabithia met her eye.
“Caught ya, didn’t I?”
“Nah, I knew you were on your way.”
Trouble’s grin widened, but she dropped the issue. “Yeah, anyways, chica, this one will be worth the wait.”
Like Tabithia hadn’t heard that before.
She ignored Troubl
e’s huffed laugh. A woman who looked like her aunt shouldn’t be able to get them into such trouble. Her ivory skin, high cheekbones, wide, green eyes, cute, little, pink bow mouth, and heart-shaped face simply looked like they belonged on some supermodel, not an adrenaline junkie hooked on mad escapades. Gorgeous, waist-length, burgundy hair Tabithia would die for—or kill to have—framed all that beauty into something breathtaking.
Yeah, her aunt made her feel like a watered-down carbon copy. She hated that.
“So? What’s the take?”
Trouble placed a long, red-nailed finger over her pink lips and whispered, “Shh, you’ll see.”
Tabithia turned back to the street, holding in a growl of frustration.
Several uncomfortable seconds later, Trouble said, “You’re no fun anymore, Tabbie-cat.”
“Huh.”
Her aunt rocked against her shoulder, trying to break her out of her black mood. No luck. She’d tried all week to jump-start herself out of the gloominess currently weighing her down. The darkness beat a painful rhythm inside, demanding more recognition the longer she ignored it. Action. Pain. No amount of teasing would ease what she had going on.
“Aw, come on. Lighten up.”
She blinked.
“I’m light.” Did she sound defensive? “Just what’s up? I hate it when you don’t tell me the deets. I’ve been waiting here for you all night and now you pop in and don’t explain a thing. I hate that.”
Silence met her outburst. Heat warmed her face. She suddenly felt clumsy, awkward, as if she stood naked in a room of strangers. Her outburst wasn’t her style. But more and more she felt frustration building and blowing when she didn’t concentrate on keeping a tight lid on it. Along with hot, blistering self-hatred, now she had temper tantrums to worry about. She bit her lip, knowing that no matter how hard she tried to ignore herself, her body, her stupid life and, even more, her stupid dreams, she couldn’t seem to keep that lid on tight enough. Something horrible always slithered out from under the lid. Tabithia needed to feel the bite of steel, see the blood, and block the images ready to swallow her whole before the memories dragged her back to a small, dark, dirty room filled with horror.
“There’s going to be a silver BMW Z9 coming down the street in about two minutes. The driver’s going to be a vampire. He has a case. In the case is a diamond, and that, Tabbie-cat, is what we’re after. He’s an amateur. Totally. Took the diamond from some very upset folks. So? We’re on a fetch and carry.”
It took Tabithia a full second to soak up the flood her aunt had just spilled.
“Huh.”
Another silence settled between them.
Behind her, her aunt shuffled her feet on the dirty pavement. “If I’d known you wanted in, I would have told you the deets. I didn’t think you really—”
The sound of screeching tyres and a revved-up engine interrupted the embarrassing apology. The mark had arrived.
Adrenaline flushed through Tabithia, exceeding any drug ever created, and quickly shoved the darkness back where it belonged. “Game on.”
Trouble nodded. “True. You stop the car. I’ll distract. You take the case. Meet me in two hours. My place.”
Not bothering to answer, Tabithia began her spell, drawing energy and power from the cool night air to add impact to the murmured words. Eyes focused on the street, she gathered up a small breeze and loaded on some strength, creating a small, but potent cyclone of dirt and debris. A silver little beauty roared into view and nearly upended when the driver tried to avoid getting dirt on his pretty sports model.
In the midst of the burned rubber and smoke, Trouble walked out from her hidden location by the wall. She’d used her magic to transform her T-shirt and jeans into a white, low-cut sheath dress, hugging her ass like a glove and barely covering it as she strutted over the uneven ground like a runway model. Hand up, faking a phone call, Trouble appeared oblivious to the screeching tyres and windstorm.
Tabithia grinned. Only her aunt could pull off something like this.
When Trouble reached the edge of the storm, she spun as if just realising she was facing impending death by sports car.
Classic, really. Tabithia settled in for the show.
Trouble turned on the glam like the best Hollywood actress ever to grace the big screen. Eyes wide, she gasped like a little schoolgirl and trembled in her four-inch heels.
Tabithia hit her with more wind, sending Trouble’s long, burgundy curls flying. Trouble dropped her fake phone and covered half her face. Her eyes rounded out in shock at the car barrelling towards her on a sideways scream of rubber, and if she’d been human, she’d have been in big trouble.
But if the driver had been human, he would have just killed a defenceless-looking woman with his million-dollar baby.
Tabithia still winced and her body tightened in preparation for a disaster. The driver fought the car, beating it into a path angled away from Trouble, hitting a kerb, crashing sideways into a tan sedan and jerking to a halt, mere inches from her aunt.
Trouble faked the showgirl to a T with a scream that any B-movie actress would die for. Hands over her mouth, green eyes glistening with unshed tears, she looked scared out of her mind.
The vampire nearly tore the car door off trying to get out. Big, dark-haired and looking more like a Wall Street broker in a pinstriped suit than a vampire, he held his palms out in front of his chest, face set in concern and no little amount of panic.
Trouble stumbled and appeared on the verge of fainting. The vampire must have taken that as the real deal, because he raced to Trouble and caught her in his arms. Her aunt shrieked and clutched onto him as though she might fall without him. Tabithia thought she heard him swear. He took Trouble by the shoulders, appearing to check if she had suffered any harm. Her aunt broke down, gasping in fake fear, and clung to the guy like a vine. Vamps could sense a witch’s power, so he had to recognise her as a witch, but he must have thought her one weak little Wicca, because he patted her back and stroked her hair like a real Good Samaritan.
Tabithia didn’t waste time admiring her aunt’s work. She’d seen it before. Too many times. Instead, she hiked her butt to the car, ducked in the still-open door, spotted the black briefcase, grabbed it by its silver handle and backed out of the lush interior before Trouble had even finished weeping all over Mr Good Samaritan.
Job done. Satisfaction filtered through her enough to cause a little bubble of happiness. A smile tipped her lips, her first of the night. She had to admit that, although the chase might be getting old, the results always gave her a bit of a high. And shot down the darkness for a few minutes at least.
Tabithia glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. Trouble had wrapped her arms around the vampire’s shoulders, leaning every inch of her into every inch of him.
She’d seen that before, too. Maybe if she followed Trouble’s example, Tabithia wouldn’t feel this overwhelming darkness. This ache. The past rose up like a cloud of bats at the thought of letting any man touch her. The disgust, the horrors of the past, swelled and grew so gigantic that they winged across her vision, blocking the present with images she worked hard at suppressing.
Heart racing wildly against her ribs, Tabithia clutched the handle of the case hard enough to hurt her hand before slowly, finger by finger, loosening her grip.
Not daring to look over at her aunt again, Tabithia headed home. She’d need to hurry. The blade called, promising her the cure for all her suffering. The razor edge would slice more than her skin tonight. Tonight, she would cut deeply enough to slice the memories into pieces—pieces small enough to shove back under the lid.
Not for good. Never for good. But for a time.
Sometimes you had to take what you could and work with it because no one else could. The burden belonged to her. Alone.
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About the Author
Billi Jean has been writing since high school when she couldn’t wait for Robert Jordon to write his Wheel
of Time series faster. She writes from home in a little two hundred year old farm house in Western Massachusetts where she shares her space with her active children, an old dog, and two lazy cats.
Email: [email protected]
Billi Jean loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Billi Jean
Love’s Command: Running Scared
Sisterhood of Jade: A Spartan’s Kiss
Sisterhood of Jade: Golden’s Rule
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