by Lori King
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Also By Lori King
Crawley Creek Series
Beginnings
Forget Me Knot
Rough Ride Romeo
Claiming His Cowgirl
Sunnyside Up
Hawke’s Salvation
Handcuffed by Destiny
Fetish & Fantasy
Watching Sin
Submission Dance
Mistress Hedonism
Masquerade
Surrender Series
Weekend Surrender
Flawless Surrender
Primal Surrender
Broken Surrender
Fantasy Surrender
The Gray Pack Series
Fire of the Wolf
Reflections of the Wolf
Legacy of the Wolf
Dreams of the Wolf
Caress of the Wolf
Honor of the Wolf
Apache Crossing
Sidney’s Triple Shot
Sunset Point
Point of Seduction
Tempting Tanner
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JOKER’s Trick or Treat by Audra Hart
A Tulsa Immortals Novella
Every year as All Hallows Eve approaches, the veil between realms wavers, tempting many magickal beings to seek dominion over mortals in the human realm. However, there are those who watch over mankind. The Twin Ravens Outlaw MC is one such group of protectors.
Joker, a former slave turned blood wolf and Immortal guardian, relives the heartache of losing Jenniene - the only woman he’s ever loved - every year at All Hallows Eve. As this darkest night approaches, the lover he long believed dead arrives with deadly enemies in tow who threaten to unleash true hell on earth.
Will the surprising return of the mysterious Jenniene be Joker’s Trick, or Treat?
To my A-Team! The best damn team of beta readers and pimpin’ queens anywhere! I would not have been able to finish this book without your support and input. You gals are the best! My sincere gratitude goes out to Fluffy, Zen, Electra, Genie, April, Annie, Rhonda and Mardi!
Special thanks go out to Lori King and friends for inviting me to participate in this exciting project!
To my three sons, who give me a reason to rise and shine.
To my readers… Without you, I might as well go back to only filling up countless composition notebooks and tucking them away to collect dust. You guys are the BEST and I am so grateful that I have found an eager audience to vent my overactive imagination on. THANK YOU.
1
Joker
The MC’s clubhouse is raucous with the loud bass beat of the dance music, and rowdy celebrants calling out to the strippers on stage, or striving to be heard over the ruckus to speak with their fellow partiers. The obnoxious music is thrumming through my entire body and has my heightened senses bordering on overload. I’m distractedly peeling the label from my beer bottle and seeking my own personal oblivion. While most of the assholes in the place are focusing on the strippers or the possibility of an easy fuck, my thoughts are on my past, on her. The One. Old memories are weighing heavily on me tonight, just as they always do when Halloween approaches.
FUCK. I hate this time of year. And yet, this year is different somehow… We are all - watchful. Even more than normal. Somethin’ big is comin’… A tense air of expectation pervades the very atmosphere and mood of the entire clubhouse. For once, I am not the only Immortal Enforcer who is dreading All Hallows Eve. I can see it in the faces of my fellow protectors, feel it in the very air we breathe. And yet, I am the only sad sack wallowing in my ancient misery.
The sense of melancholy which pervades my mood is likely obvious to every Immortal in the joint. The mundanes, on the other hand, probably think I am just an asshole. I chuckle a bit, because they wouldn’t be too far off the mark with that assessment. I am a bit of an asshole. They call me Joker around the MC because I flirt, joke, and tease all the time, as though I haven’t a care in the world. But it’s all a farce. I’m anything but open and light-hearted. My jovial façade is supposed to keep everyone at arm’s length, to keep them from looking any deeper. I wear my smile and my smart-ass attitude like a shield to keep everyone out of my fuckin’ business. Well, not everyone.
My brethren – my fellow Immortal Enforcers – and I make up the so-called outlaw Twin Ravens MC, whose true role is protecting mortals from powerful rogues. Some of them know my story and are more tolerant because of the knowledge. Still others just see me as a joke-quipping asshole. I squirm uncomfortably and drain my beer. This is a dangerous time of the year, because the veil between the realms is always thinnest on All Hallows Eve. And despite my annual Halloween pity party, I will do my job and help keep the mortal realm safe. It’s what we do, and I am proud to be a part of this group. This rag-tag band of Immortal Enforcers are closer to me than anyone has been since shortly after the end of The War. I chuckle to myself. Many wars have come and gone since the war between the North and the South, but my deeply southern roots are showing. To everyone from the Deep South, especially round New Orleans where I’m from, the American Civil War will always be known as The War.
I absently reach up and tug on my earlobe in a futile attempt to lessen the almost painful irritation caused by the obnoxious music blasting from the club’s sound system, as I survey the crowd and the clubhouse with a jaundiced eye. My expression is likely marred by a belligerent sneer, as I glare balefully at all of the over-the-top Halloween decorations displayed throughout the public part of the clubhouse. Even the waitresses and dancers working the club in their barely-there, sexy-as-hell costumes do nothing to improve my mood.
Mortals and their blithe disregard for the seriousness and ever present danger of this time of year always irritates and confounds me. I wonder why Tara allows the glittery bats, caldrons, and jack o’ lanterns to decorate her domain. But considering where and who we are, it does make an odd, ironic sense. The modern retail dream version of Halloween and the stark reality of the power this place actually possesses and defends, especially during All Hallows Eve, is truly a surreal juxtaposition of dreamlike fantasy and nightmarish reality. I look around at the humans in the club and chuckle. These mundanes are fucking clueless.
Irritating techno music begins to pound through the clubhouse as a new trio of strippers hit the small stages to begin flaunting their money making assets. Any other time of the year, I’d be watching them. Enjoying the sex magick such places create, but not tonight. Tonight the dancers flaunting their bodies as they incite lust and carnal longing in their audience don’t even remotely appeal to me. Another tug on my earlobe does nothing to soothe my irritation, and my thoughts turn increasingly negative.
Gods, I hate this shit! I need another fuckin’ shot.
It’s amazing what a man, or rather wolf, can force himself to get used to. But hells bells, it just ain’t natural for my kind to surround ourselves with so many “others” and humans in one enclosed space. The noise, the odors… it can all be a bit overwhelming. I snort my frustration at my own folly because I know I’m suffering due to my own bad choices, and inability to just let the fuckin’ past go. If I had a lick of sense, I’d get the hell out of here to seek my personal oblivion in some semblance of privacy and safety. But I’m too damn hard-headed for that, or maybe I just need to feel like I am part of something… anything… besides my own misery.
Yeah, maybe. Who the hell knows why I do the stupid shit I do? But it’s damn hard to be around so many beating hearts, especially when it’s been a while since my last feeding. My lip involuntarily curls up in a sneer at my dumbass habit of ignoring my very real needs for blood and sex until the last possible moment. I hate that side of myself, and always put off taking blood for as long as I can. Somet
imes, I’m a truly dumb sumbitch and put that shit off too long, endangering me and any mortals stupid enough to be around a loose cannon like myself.
I raise my beer bottle to my mouth, only to realize it’s empty, again. With a wicked spate of foul language, I set the empty on the table top before dragging my hands over my nearly-shorn head. Making a mental note that it’s time to shave again.
Gods! my fuckin’ head is all over the place tonight. Get your shit together, Joker!
Beating myself up isn’t helping, so I decide to numb myself with more hooch. Intending to find the waitress, I look up to find that Tank, the burly Immortal bouncer assigned to the new girls’ section, is watching me speculatively. Knowing I’m on that wise old fucker’s radar makes me anxious, so I give the empty beer bottle a spin on the table top, like I ain’t got a care in the world. Tank and me both know it’s pure-dee bullshit.
Tank is a bear shifter and a damned good male. I’m proud to call him friend, but I can do without his all-seeing gaze on me tonight. That ancient árktos, Greek bear shifter, never misses a thing. He always knows when something is wrong with one of his brothers, and we don’t call him Fuckin’ Dr. Phil for nuthin’. The male has a way of making us all talk about shit we’d rather leave buried.
I toss him chin, and deliberately seek out the new waitress for another beer and a couple of shots… Maybe a little something extra? “Where dat pretty lil’ dawlin’ gots off to now?” I mumble, a bit drunkenly. I’m chagrined to hear the Cajun patois in my words. But it always comes out when I’m doing some serious drinking or pissed off. Tonight, I am both.
Thoughts of the sexy new waitress quickly stir my thirst for blood and my animal need for sex. The gal is young, and seems genuinely nice. Watching her serve drinks to these rowdy fuckers tonight, I’ve realized she is also so very sweet, and so very innocent. Hell, I can smell the fuckin’ innocence on that petit jolie. Virginal… untasted, in more ways than one. I feel my fangs elongate and I growl my frustration at my lack of control this time of the year. This year is the worst yet, and I hate myself for lettin’ my brethren down this way. I better get my shit under control. Don’t be a pussy, you asshole. Git your shit together or Wrath will put you down like a rabid dog.
Reminding myself of the thin line I’ve been walkin’ lately quells my animal lust and my unnatural lust for blood – somewhat. But I seriously can’t stop watching the new waitress. All the supes in the joint are drawn to her, maybe because it’s her first night slinging drinks here at the MC clubhouse. Apparently, in honor of Halloween approaching, she’s dressed up like a kid playin’ Cowboys and Indians. Tight tank top, short cut-offs, and cowboy boots. The clothes and boots seem natural for her, so I’m guessing she’s a country gal. But the kid’s cowboy hat, perched on her head at a jaunty angle and tied under her chin so it will stay in place while she works her ass off in the club, and the toy six-shooters on her hips, are purely for show. A cute costume on a cute kid. She’d certainly be a tasty morsel. I’d like to bury myself balls deep in that tight, wet pussy, while I sink my fangs in her neck. I lick my lips in anticipation, even while I remind myself she’s not for me. Giving my head a shake to clear the fog of lust, I remind myself that the sexy new waitress is an uninitiated mundane, and therefore, she’s completely off limits. But I can still savor her scent and flirt shamelessly with her as she does her job.
Mostly, I just wanna watch those pretty tits as they try to push their way out of her tight tank top. I know she’s an innocent, but she also knows sex sells. While she ain’t really offering anything but a look at them purty titties, I can’t help but think of doing more than looking. Thoughts of burying my face between those huge breasts, sinking my fangs into that tender flesh to feed on her virginal blood makes my cock hard, and awakens my demon side. My eyes are probably glowing red, revealing my want… my need, for blood and sex.
Reflexively, I close my eyes for a moment to get the sign of the devil under control. After a moment or two, I look down at the beer bottle and play with what’s left of the label. My innate survival instincts are kicking in without conscious thought. Blood don’t tolerate us revealing our true selves to the mundanes, not even this close to All Hallows Eve. Merde! Those are dangerous thoughts. Allowing myself to think about that girl’s blood and body will only lead to me doing something incredibly stupid that will cause me to end up very dead. Really dead. The permanent kind. Not the fake kind I endured back in 1791, when my Maman worked some mojo on me to save me from the hangman’s noose for killing that sadistic overseer.
I reach down to rearrange my engorged cock to a less constricting position. Day-um, that purty lil’ waitress is an abso-fuckin’-lutely gorgeous woman with those flashing sapphire-blue eyes, wispy black hair and voluptuous figure. Any man, Immortal or not, could easily lose himself between those lusciously big tits, round hips, and bodacious ass. I sigh softly, knowing pursuing the girl would be folly of the worst kind.
Too fuckin’ bad for me that the big man already has his sights set on her. That thought makes my eyes automatically seek out the male. And it’s pretty fucking easy to find him. Wrath, a massive Norse demi-god, is hanging out in the back near the pool tables. But his attention isn’t on a game or even the strippers. Nope. Wrath is watching the new waitress, and I can’t help but smirk.
“He’s got it even worse ‘n me for dat gal.” I hear my slave roots in my speech and shake my head to clear it. Mayhap, I have already had enough to drink? It takes a hella lot of booze to make any Immortal drunk, but I’ve been at it for about four hours already, and I’m probably well on my way to gettin’ the job done. That’s not really smart, considering how reckless I get this time of the year, but it ain’t stopping me from looking for the waitress to order more alcohol.
Before I can catch the new waitress’s eye, Tara, my fellow enforcer and the club’s master barkeep shows up with a fresh beer and three shots of the rum I prefer on her tray. I look up appreciatively at the sexy little badass vampire. “Merci, mon ami.” I flash her my wolf-like grin, which makes a whole lotta women want to drop their panties and all their inhibitions. Tara just raises an amused eyebrow at me. A move which clearly tells me she still isn’t impressed with my avoir beaucoup de beauté. Oh well, her loss if she don’ fancy my charmin’ ways, I tell myself with all the fake bluster I can dredge up. Despite my tendency to flirt shamelessly with Tara, I’d never really pursue anything with the sexy vampire witch. She’s my friend, one of the best I got. And friends don’ fuck friends, if they’s smart.
“Stow it Blood-Wolf. Your charm doesn’t work on me, and you know it.” I can hear the amusement in her voice. I should be relieved my bullshit attempt at flirting didn’t piss the gal off, but I just shrug a shoulder as though to say, “Okay.” She smirks playfully at me, and I am reminded once again that the little badass enforcer has a fun side. An aspect of her personality she doesn’t allow too many people to see. I count myself lucky to be one of her friends. “You deliberately planning on getting pissed-ass drunk and staying that way for the next four days, Joker?”
I nod wordlessly and look down at the shots she’s lining up in front of me. I reflexively lick my lips, anticipating the sting of the high-proof rum. Honestly, I’m not sure why she’s even asking questions when she knows the answers. I’ve been with the Twin Ravens since 1921, and this is not new behavior for me. Every year around All Hallows Eve, I go a bit crazy and truly earn my nickname. Every fucking year, I swim in the hooch for days on end, and then emerge on the other side, to pretend I didn’t just spend nearly a full week suspended in an alcoholic haze, trying to run from my past.
Different year, same old stupid shit. My life’s story.
In a rare tender move, Tara reaches down and cups my face with a wry smile on her lips. “I’m so tired of watching you do this to yourself year after year.” Her tone turns harsh when she says, “We have our hands full this time of year because the veil between the realms is so damned thin, and every Immortal with a fuck
ing World Domination Complex wants to take over the mortal realm. We have work to do, Joker. We need you at fighting strength.” I murmur something about never lettin’ the MC down, but I can tell Tara is genuinely worried. “Zeke, you are better than this.”
I inwardly flinch at her use of my real name. I’ve been known as Joker since I joined this MC nearly a century ago. “It breaks my heart, brother, to watch you do this to yourself every All Hallows over some long dead mortal female who was just too stupid or scared to accept the gift she’d been given the day she met you.” She smiles sadly and says, “Brother, you gotta let this go. Let her go. She’s been worm-food for over a century. Move on with your life.”
I reach up, intending to yank her hand from my face, but instead I clasp her fine-boned wrist in my massive paw that passes for a hand. Instead of the smart-assed retort I had planned to let loose, the unvarnished truth comes spilling from my lips. “My pretty lil’ vampire sister, she was The One. My fated. I’m sure of it. Just moving on with my life ain’t even an option.” I quickly drain the shot glasses with an appreciative hiss at the burn, and welcome the fog of the alcoholic haze.
Tara assesses me with wise eyes and nods. “Yeah, she probably was the one, or else your wolf and demon souls would have dragged your human thinking from the woman long ago.” She smiles sadly and commiserates, “You aren’t the first to lose your fated, Joker.” I flinch because I know she’s speaking from experience. “And unfortunately, you won’t be the last. As bad as that sucks, you can still find a measure of happiness.”
