A View to a Kill

by Mandy M. Roth

  “Come on in.” She went to put the key in the lock and stopped when it opened under her hand.

  Marcus shoved her behind him so fast she didn’t even have time to blink. The porch creaked and he knew Mick was there. He didn’t get those muscles from driving the limo; he was one of Marcus’s bodyguards. Not that Marcus needed them, but he had to keep up appearances. A show of strength kept the wolves at bay, in his case, literally.

  “Mick?”

  “Yeah, boss?” Mick’s tone was respectful, but not subservient. In the public eye, they had to be careful. Nobody needed to know his employees would walk through fire for him. Boss had been decided on, instead of my liege, my king or my lord. That would attract too much notice, not a good thing for the fur wearers. PETA would never understand.

  “Go around back.” The driver immediately loped around the house, his speed just shy of too fast. Marcus could smell Lainie’s anger and indignation without even looking at her. “You stand right here until I tell you it’s safe,” he ordered before pushing the door open with his foot.

  “I will not.”

  “Do it.” His tone made her straighten and open her mouth. He turned his head and glared, cowing her into sullen submission.

  She folded her arms and stepped over to the swing. “Fine, I’m sure Fluffy will protect me.”

  “Yeah, if someone runs out, throw the little fucker in his face.” With that, he entered the house and instantly smelled the invader. A soft scraping noise alerted him to someone else’s presence and he ran in the direction it had come from, hoping for a fight. It would relieve the pressure. Anger wasn’t a good emotion for his kind; it caused all sorts of physiological changes.

  When he let his negative emotions, like anger and jealousy, gain control, he became more wolf-like in both looks and nature. If he got his hands on the person responsible for breaking into Lainie’s home, biting him would be only the beginning.

  He careened around the corner, entering the tiny kitchen at full speed. He and the chauffeur collided and crashed to the floor in a heap. “Goddamnit.” Marcus winced when the full weight of the larger man pinned him to the floor.

  “Sorry, boss.” Mick was still young and made mistakes. Luckily, Marcus forgave easily. If his father had still been in power, that wouldn’t have been the case at all. The old man liked to punish, and being a smart man, he had various torments he liked to employ. The memory of howls and screams still echoed in Marcus’s head at night.

  He refused to be that sort of Lupin. He didn’t think it made him better to have the pack beaten into submission. He preferred to lead by example. It had worked for the past five years. He had no reason to believe it wouldn’t continue to do so. “It’s fine, Mick. He’s long gone anyway.” If he’d been paying attention before, he would have realized that; some big bad wolf he turned out to be.

  “Do I need to leave you two alone?” Lainie stood in the doorway with the cat in her arms. “I think he’s gone. If he wasn’t before, you scared him away with all that noise you made.”

  Mick stood and pulled Marcus up so fast his feet left the floor. Like he said, young, but the boy ate his damn veggies. He was strong as an ox. He looked like a choirboy, with his light blond hair and blue eyes, but looks were deceiving because this “boy” could and would tear you apart if ordered to.

  “Yeah.” Marcus brushed off his suit, ignoring her comment. “I know.”

  “I’m calling the police.” Her voice quavered ever so slightly, belying the calm expression on her face.

  “I wouldn’t.” He put his hand out, but the hissing cat stopped him in mid-reach.

  “Why?” Her question made him rack his brains for a logical reason.

  “Because, I think I know who did it.” He was actually one hundred percent sure who it was, or at least who ordered it.

  “Who?”

  Instead of answering her directly, he glared at the cat. “Put him out, will you? He gives me the willies staring at me like that.”

  “God, you’re such a goober.” But she put the cat outside, then folded her arms, obviously waiting for his answer.

  “How long have you been investigating Caulder?” He silenced Mick with a look. The other man closed his mouth with an audible snap and waited.

  “About a month or so, I guess.” She tapped her nails on her chin. “Are you saying he did this?”

  “I know he did it, or he had it done. This is probably only the beginning.”

  “But, nothing was touched. It doesn’t look like anyone was even here. What if I just left the door unlocked?” She was second-guessing herself; he knew it as well as she did.

  “Lainie, please stop kidding yourself.” He put his hand up. “Why don’t we take a look around and make sure everything is like it should be?”

  “Fine.” She took a deep breath.

  “Mick?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Watch the doors.” The other man got into position. “Lead the way, darlin’. I want the grand tour.” His easy smile hid the churning emotions inside him. Possessiveness and rage were at the forefront but all of these were coated in a haze of fear for her safety. He didn’t like it, and neither did the wolf residing inside him. To feel it for a woman he’d thought of as his own for so long made it even worse.

  She walked ahead of him into her bedroom and her soft cry of distress had him racing to find out what was wrong. He stopped in the doorway and stared at the destruction. The mattress and bedding were off the frame, both ripped almost to shreds. But what made the rage grow bright red was the fact that all her underthings had been pulled out of the drawers and strewn about the room, some in pieces.

  One pair of particularly sexy black thongs hung from the blade of the ceiling fan. He sighed with regret. He’d have liked to see her in those. It wasn’t to be because they were ripped and dangling by one strap. The fan, turned on when Lainie threw the switch, began to whir. The underwear flew from their perch and landed on Marcus’s shoulder.

  “Well, shit,” she began, embarrassment pinkening her cheeks. “Give me those. Did you smell… That’s so gross. They are clean, you know.”

  An immortal soldier defies the ancient Gods he serves and puts his existence and the world at risk when he saves the life of the mortal woman he swore to kill.

  Immortal Protector

  © 2007 Ursula Bauer

  Gideon Sinclair, an immortal, shape-shifting soldier, defies the ancient gods he serves, risking his existence and the future of the mortal world, when he saves the life of the woman he was sworn to kill: Dr. Megan Carter. For centuries he’s fought for justice and balance in the eternal struggle between good and evil. Gideon challenges destiny and the forces aligning against her, but when Meg becomes more than a mission, will he be able to accept the healing love she offers or will their enemies and the demons of his past be their undoing?

  Meg’s accidental contact with an artifact sacred to the Goddess Isis thrusts her into the midst of a centuries old battle between two rival gods, and makes her the target of a crazed magician bent on unlocking the secrets of immortality. With nowhere to turn and no one to trust, she puts her life in the hands of the lethal, enigmatic Gideon, and is drawn into his dark world. She can’t resist the passionate desire he stirs, but will she pay the ultimate price when she falls for a man who no longer has a heart?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Immortal Protector:

  Meg was out of the car and moving, any thoughts of her own safety gone from her mind. Gideon started to come round as she ran up her walk. The demon moved slower, as if in pain. She trampled the pansies and pulled the sword from the marigolds. The creature took note of her, snorted, and kept walking towards the immortal.

  Gideon got to his knees, saw the demon coming down with a vicious swing, and lurched to the side. He rolled into the spill and came up on his feet just in time to sidestep another strike. This close Meg could see the other wounds. His shirt was sliced in a few spots, and blood poured freely. His cheekbon
e was bruised, and he was favoring his right leg.

  The blade felt incredibly light in her hands. Her heart rammed hard against her ribs. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. But she managed. She put one foot in front of the other, and reached him just before the demon.

  “Run. Meg. Run,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He grabbed the sword from her and lunged.

  Meg stepped clear and started to back away as the two engaged in a series of traded strikes. The demon pivoted on the last salvo, changed gears, and made a run towards her. Before it could connect, Gideon leapt in between them, blade gripped with both hands, poised up in a defensive position. The creature’s sword connected, and Gideon’s sword severed the curved blade in two. A brilliant burst of light accompanied the sheering of steel, and the demon lurched back with an ungodly hiss.

  Gideon pressed his advantage, taking a series of offensive strikes that connected more than they missed. He fought the creature back into the little house and disappeared around the corner of the vestibule. Meg knew she should go back to the car, every part of her sane mind told her to run away, but instead, she ran into the house, following her immortal. She didn’t know the rules, didn’t know the physiology of an immortal, but Gideon was a mess. She dearly hoped immortals couldn’t be killed. But if they couldn’t, why would he have so many weapons?

  She hit her living room and froze in her tracks. Red blood and yellow gore covered her walls. Ash littered her furniture. What was left of it, at least. Her books were out of the built-in shelves and scattered in piles. Everything remotely breakable was in pieces. Even the floorboards fell victim. They were torn down to the joists in several spots. Gideon and the creature fought in her kitchen. She moved fully into the room and saw them as they traded blows. The demon had some kind of dagger now, but it was no match for Gideon’s superior weapon.

  Meg worried a creature like that would fight dirtier, have more tricks. And she worried about Gideon. He was hurt, bad, and showing signs of fatigue. Meg swallowed the panic threatening to consume her and walked into her kitchen. Her kitchen, her house, her immortal soldier. He needed an advantage. He needed help. He needed her.

  She was a mortal, but she wasn’t an idiot. However mythical the creature in her kitchen, it still had the same rise and fall of the thoracic region, demonstrating it still had to breathe. The first thing they taught in emergency responder class was to clear the airway. No airway, everything else was a wash. The exposed nasal passage presented an excellent point of entry. As calmly as she might grab a mug from the bakers rack near the south facing window and pour herself morning coffee, she pulled the fire extinguisher from the wall holder, moved into position, and opened up on the face of the demon.

  The white foam shot out in a single stream and she angled it towards the wide nose holes. It was sucking wind already from the fight and couldn’t stop from inhaling the chemical antidote for fire. The foam was designed to expand on contact and that’s exactly what it did. The demon’s features seized, it grabbed for its throat and lurched back, coughing and choking. It banged into her stove and pushed it through the dry wall. Gideon used the momentary diversion and drove his sword through its exposed flank. As he pulled back his blade, a brilliant white light flared through the kitchen, its epicenter the demon’s rapidly disintegrating body. Then, a second later, everything returned to normal. All that remained was the destruction and a scattering of dark gray ash.

  Gideon lowered his sword and it vanished. He staggered back hard into her refrigerator, braced his hands on his knees and slid to the floor. He looked up at her, a mixture of confusion, and something she couldn’t quite identify in his eyes. Then his visage shifted. His lips formed a hard frown, and his burning coal black eyes pinned her with an incendiary glare. “I told you to…wait…in…the…car.”

  “Save the thanks.” She found herself finally able to breathe now that he was safe. Now that they were safe. “I don’t know much about immortals, but I’m willing to bet you could use a few Band-Aids right now. I’ll be right back with my med kit.”

  * * *

  Gideon wiped the sweat and blood from his forehead. His lungs burned from breathing in all the ash and from the taxing battle. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. He briefly considered moving and started to push up to a standing position, but his body screamed in pain, so he decided instead to sit and wait for the doc. He was pissed at her for risking her pretty little neck, and he was damned impressed that she’d wade into battle with demons without a second thought. She was a red-headed Valkyrie, and a genius. Spraying the Keeper in the face with the extinguisher gave Gideon the edge he’d desperately needed to turn the battle. Even without the sword, the Keeper was an ass kicker. Only one thing bothered him. The Keeper shouldn’t have died. Not from a flank wound.

  Gideon had skewered the thing to help immobilize it, choosing the sweet spot: the nexus points of nerves that clustered on either flank of a demon. The thing’s hands blocked the neck, preventing beheading, but a shot to the sweet spot would result in momentary paralysis, giving him a chance to fell a killing blow. Except the strike finished the thing as effectively as beheading. It made no sense. And things that made no sense bothered him.

  He heard Meg’s approach as she muttered curses to herself. She carried a little black bag, like something a country doctor might have. She scowled at him and knelt by his side.

  “Take your jacket off, and your shirt.”

  He smiled and shrugged out of his leathers. “What ever you say, Doc.”

  “Don’t get too excited. This is a professional visit, not a social call.”

  The T-shirt was shredded and useless to him, so he pulled the tatters from his body. Meg might think this was a professional visit, but, judging by the way her pupils dilated and she licked her lips with that delicate pink tongue, he’d bet she was enjoying the view anyway. He felt a sharp stab of masculine pride. The doc liked him. He started grinning like an idiot, even though he felt like hell. “I have a small kit in the jacket pocket. I heal fast. That will help me heal faster if it’s applied to the wounds.”

  Wordlessly, she grabbed the jacket, removed the small, hard-shelled kit and opened it up. “Which one?”

  “The cobalt-blue bottle.”

  She opened it and sniffed, then wrinkled her nose. “It smells like raw sewage. What’s it made of?”

  “This and that.”

  “Let’s start with some cleaning. We can use this later.” She sealed it up, opened her own bag, and set up shop.

  Gideon watched as she ripped the seal off a small plastic tray, dropped in several gauze pads, and filled the tray with saline. Her movements were smooth, practiced, economical. He found himself both dreading and longing for her touch.

  “This may hurt.” Much to his disappointment, she donned a pair of latex gloves. “I want to clean the wound on your head first.”

  She repositioned, leaning over him so she could better assess the wound. It gave him a spectacular view of her breasts and brought her body so close she ignited him with a slow, dangerous flame. She touched his forehead lightly, and her lips formed a slight, delectable pout. “The blood flow appears to have stopped. Amazing.”

  If he straightened just a bit, moved an inch or so to the right, he could capture those juicy lips and kiss away any frowns. “You have no idea.”

  She changed gears and moved back on her heels so she could give his chest and abdomen a better look. Her hand feathered across his bare skin and he shivered at her touch.

  The corners of her lips tilted up. “You’re ticklish?”

  “What can I say, Doc. You have the touch.”

  She colored slightly and turned away, keeping her eyes solidly focused on his naked torso. He had to suppress the urge to grab her and roll her beneath him. He had a vivid image of how she would look, how she would feel. He felt himself start to harden and pushed away the tantalizing thoughts of her soft body, pliable and hot beneath his own. She’d taste sweet as cotton candy, m
elt in the mouth sweet. He knew it. He craved it.

  Sacred, worshiped…hunted.

  Goddess of the Grove

  © 2007 Mandy M. Roth

  Book two from the Sacred Places series.

  All Korey O’Caha wants in his immortal life is to keep evil at bay, protect the witches he was destined to teach and to bed as many women as possible. He doesn’t want love but he didn’t plan on Gigi. Her very presence calls all he vowed sacred in life into question. She quickly becomes his reason for existing but can she ever fully accept him and who he is—a seven hundred year old immortal druid sorcerer? Will the secrets she’s hiding be his undoing?

  Gigi, the daughter of a great god, could not stand idly by and allow innocent druid children to be slaughtered. She intervened, placing them under her protection. In the end she was imprisoned in a place where time moved differently than here on earth. That was almost seven hundred years ago. Once freed, she ran as far from the old country as she could. Never did she expect to find ties to the land, let alone a man who stirs her blood the way Korey does.

  As shadows from the past resurface, bringing news of an uprising, truth and passion ignite, leaving Gigi at the mercy of Korey.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Goddess of the Grove:

  Korey rubbed his jawline as tension threatened to make it lock. “I willnae calm down.”

  Coyle made another attempt to come towards him and Korey’s power prickled, warning he wasn’t safe to be near. “Dammit, cousin, do you wish to bring the gods to Gigi’s doorstep?”

  “No.” What he wanted to do was toss Gigi over his shoulder and run for the hills with her, never allowing anyone to harm her. The moment her precious Parth dropped his spell, Gigi went about her business as if nothing had happened. Korey was impressed with how easily she’d learned to hide who she truly was from everyone but was hurt she chose to do so with him.