by Sierra Dean
They were on the edge of a circle of elder trees, standing between two of the big trunks and looking into a clearing in the middle where a large stone slab was mounted on two smaller slabs. A group of men in thick black cloaks was struggling with a slender, tall blonde who could have been a Sears catalog model if not for her librarian-style glasses. What was with all the hot virgins? If all the so-called pure girls looked like this virgin sacrifice and Siobhan, Shane would have to reconsider his stance on deflowering them. For the sake of humanity, of course.
“Let me go, you freaks.” She wrested one hand free and landed a punch squarely inside the hood of the man nearest her. For such a skinny thing, she had a lot of fight in her.
Shane was guessing girls in New York were a lot tougher now than they’d been the last time these guys had tried to sacrifice one. Unfortunately for this spitfire she was outnumbered, and their surprise at her fervor was short-lived. It didn’t matter how tough you were, getting coldcocked over the back of the head with a stone knife hilt was going to knock you out. The girl went limp and was positioned on the large gray slab.
The men set about ripping her clothes off, tossing her jeans and sweater to the ground. Shane couldn’t watch anymore.
“Hey, Red. Got any bright ideas here? Otherwise I’m just going to start shooting them all.”
“You can’t.” Siobhan shook her head, but her gaze was focused raptly on the scene before them.
“I have two guns here saying I can.”
“No, you don’t get it.” She directed his attention to a white ring around the ceremony site. “They’ve already sealed themselves in.” To prove her point she threw a twig at the clearing. The branch bounced off an invisible barrier and came flying back towards them while a wave of energy shimmered in the wake of the assault. “Now imagine what would happen with a bullet.”
Shane whistled.
“So what’s our plan of action here?”
Siobhan looked at him and bit her lower lip. “How much blood are you willing to let me have?”
As far as weird requests went, Siobhan knew this would probably stand out as a memorable one for Shane.
“My…blood?” he asked, his voice quavering. “What are you going to do with my blood?”
“They’re inside an unbreakable circle,” she said.
“And?”
“That circle is directly on top of the gate.”
He looked like he was itching to reach for a weapon. “And?” Clearly he was still stuck on the whole give me your blood thing.
“If nothing can get in, nothing can get out. Not until the ritual is complete or the circle is broken.”
Shane didn’t bother saying and this time.
Siobhan sighed. “They are standing on top of a gateway to a dimension full of monsters. And they. Can’t. Get. Out.”
His eyes widened as he caught up to her thought train. “You’re going to open the gate.”
“Yes.”
“What about the girl?”
Siobhan looked at her replacement who was passed out cold and stripped bare on the altar. “The high council are cowards at the core. They’ll open the circle to save themselves, and if we do this right, we’ll be able to get in and grab her before whatever comes out has a chance to get her first. It’s the only way we’re getting over that line.”
Shane whistled again, a low, impressed sound. “You’ve got bigger balls than I do.”
Pulling her knife out, she tried to lighten the mood. “I think we both know that’s not true.” She held out her empty hand, and he gave her his arm with only the slightest hesitation.
“Try not to kill me,” he warned.
“Try not to die,” she countered before she slit open his arm.
Lust can be downright lethal.
Dirty Little Misery
© 2014 Tracey Martin
Miss Misery, Book 2
Thanks to her freakish, satyr-like power, Jessica Moore was denied her dream to join the Gryphons, the magical law-enforcement officers protecting humanity from the pred races. But after the Gryphons tried to arrest her for murders she didn’t commit, Jess is no longer interested. Too bad—they are.
Now that they know what she can do, they want Jess on their side. If she doesn’t agree to help them solve a new case, they’ll charge her with every magical crime she’s ever committed.
Nine people are dead. The cause? Exhaustion. The activity? Never-ending sex. Someone sold them tainted F, an illegal aphrodisiac made by satyrs. No surprise, Jess’s satyr allies aren’t pleased with her investigation. Worse, it strains her tenuous relationship with Lucen, the one satyr she counts as a friend.
As Jess delves into the shady satyr business world, she unravels a scheme more sinister than dirty drugs—and her relationship with Lucen unravels right along with it. Only the truth will save their friendship. But not before it turns Jess into an ambitious killer’s next target.
Warning: Contains blackmail, betrayal, and sex that’s literally to die for. Plus plenty of bad stiff jokes to go with it. Remember, just say no to magical drugs.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Dirty Little Misery:
I spun toward Devon, and he caught my eye. Judging from the panic I saw there, he’d had the same epiphany.
His face tightened. He’d gotten on the phone with his security staff and was finishing up the conversation. “Put them in the Blue Room and tie them down if you have to.”
“What is wrong with them?” Lucrezia asked.
“It’s the F,” I said. “It’s probably the same thing that happened in Newton. You want to give me some more BS about how you know nothing?”
Devon hung up and strode over to the elevator. “If people are taking F while they’re here, it’s none of my business or my responsibility.”
“And if four people end up dead here, then what?”
“Then nothing. We make sure that doesn’t happen.” He stepped into the elevator. “Coming?”
I wasn’t sure if he was asking me or Lucrezia, but I jumped in with her.
The Blue Room turned out to be a private lounge located next to the VIP room, so called because it was painted blue. A large table, laden down with partially eaten food and half-empty glasses of champagne, had been pushed against the wall. The occupants had been kicked out by the time we arrived.
New occupants had replaced them. The bouncers had taken Devon’s instructions literally, although I supposed they hadn’t seen many other options. The four people—three men and the one woman—had each been tied to one table leg where they struggled helplessly, less in anger than in pain. As far as I could sense, they were lost in that erotically excruciating point between pleasure and torture. The one that’s bliss for a little while before climax but would become unbearable if you were left there for too long. Like an itch left unscratched.
I could feel their suffering along with their lust, and with two such strong and potent emotions, it was difficult for me to control myself. My head and muscles buzzed with energy. I longed to be able to turn off my gift like never before.
Even Devon and Lucrezia looked queasy, as though they were being force-fed a meal that was too rich and too plentiful.
“What do we do now?” one of the bouncers asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. He was the same satyr who’d stopped me from entering the VIP room.
Devon threw a glance my way. “If it’s F, they’ll come off it soon enough. Keep them hydrated until they do. I don’t need them exhausting themselves and dying of heart failure.”
“I need to get a blood sample from them,” I said. “And there’s got to be more that can be done to help them. Something to counteract the effects. A sleep charm or a sedative or something.”
Devon ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t exactly carry those sorts of thing around with me, Jess. It’s a club, not an infirmary.”
I reached into my waistband for my phone. “You don’t have to. I’m calling for help.”
Lucrezia snatched
my wrist. “Oh no, you’re not.”
I yanked my arm away, so jacked up on all the heavy emotions I sent her flying a couple steps backward with the force. “The Gryphons are going to find out about this one way or another. I am not letting any more people die.”
I was so intent on facing down Lucrezia that I didn’t notice Devon come up behind me until it was too late. I held my phone in a loose grip, and he pried it away easily.
He dodged me just as smoothly when I lunged for it. “Jess, stop a second. Lucrezia, take a couple people and go calm everybody down. Free drinks or whatever you have to do to help them get over it.”
“Whatever you have to do? You’re going to put compulsions on everyone, aren’t you?” I grabbed fruitlessly for my phone.
Lucrezia pointed at me. “What about her? I think I should—”
“I think you’ll do what I ordered you to do,” he snapped.
Lucrezia’s eyes flashed, but Devon outranked her, so she vented her annoyance by barking orders at the bouncers.
I started to protest again, and Devon grabbed my arm. “Jess, we’re going back to my office.”
He dragged me into the elevator, and I huddled against the opposite wall when he released me. Devon sagged slightly. I’d never seen him so frazzled. Not even during the middle of the crisis with the sylphs.
He caught me looking. “There can be too much of a good thing. Even for us.”
“This isn’t a good thing.” I held out my hand for my phone, but he ignored the gesture. The elevator doors opened, and I stormed after him into his office. “Lucrezia’s going to put compulsions on everyone, isn’t she?”
“No, she’s not. That kind of spell requires far too much preparation. She’s probably going to do exactly what I said, hand out free drinks and try to convince people it was part of an act.” He stuck my phone in his pocket. “You can have this back later when I know you’re not going to do anything I’ll regret.”
I stuck my hands on my hips. “If you want to make this difficult, I can make it difficult. Who do you think the Gryphons are going to believe if I file charges against you?”
“You’re not going to do that because if you want to get to the bottom of this, you need our cooperation.”
I laughed. “What cooperation? I want blood samples from those people, and I want the Gryphons here to help them. You don’t know if the drug wearing off will be enough. The drug itself could be what kills them.”
“If this has something to do with F, then this is my business. Not yours. Not the Gryphons. If you want credit for solving the problem with the Gryphons when we work it out, it can be arranged. But you need to let us handle the problem so you don’t get hurt.”
“You know, this is the second time you said that today. Are you concerned, or are you threatening me?”
“I’m warning you. As a friend.”
“Warn someone who cares. I’m not afraid of you or any pred.”
Devon stared at me a second, his brow furrowed, then the next thing I knew he pinned me against the desk. I swallowed. His eyes were as bright as Lucen’s could get when he was angry, and power leaked off him the same way. I could feel it spilling over my skin and rousing my nerve endings, just as I could feel Devon probing about in my head.
I breathed in, ready for a fight. Devon’s satyr pheromones smelled of cloves. Why hadn’t I ever noticed that before? My body awakened with desire, skin alight and mouth tingling. I could stretch forward and touch my lips to his, imagine their salty taste, the scratch of his day-old stubble on my chin.
Never mind that whole fight-or-flight response. With satyrs, it was totally a fight-or-fuck response. And damn, I knew which one I wanted. I slid my hands around Devon’s waist, down his hips, into his pockets, pulling him closer.
His body responded easily. I could feel his desire pressing against me, see the heavy rise and fall of his chest. He leaned in closer, his gaze so intense I was surprised I wasn’t starting to steam. Every breath he exhaled brushed my skin like a caress, urging my eyes to close and my lips to part.
Then he backed away, confusion replacing his smoldering look, and the poking in my head stopped. My own lust evaporated. Being stared at like a lab rat must have that effect on a person.
“No, you’re not afraid,” he said. “But you used to be. What changed?”
What had changed? I wished I knew. Why was his power affecting me when no one else’s did except for Lucen’s?
One bad corpse can ruin your whole day.
Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between
© 2014 J.A. Saare
Rhiannon’s Law, Book 1
After leaving the flash and sass of Miami for the no-nonsense groove of New York, Rhiannon Murphy is eager for a clean slate and fresh start. A bartender by trade, a loud mouth by choice, and a necromancer by chance, she’s managed to keep her nasty habit of seeing dead people hidden from those around her—until now.
The dangerous and deliciously sexy vampire, Disco, knows her secret. When he strolls into her club to ask for help investigating the mysterious disappearances of his kind, she quickly gets the vibe that he’s not exactly the kind of guy you tell no.
Yet in a world where vampires peddle their blood as the latest and greatest drug of choice, it’s only a matter of time before the next big thing hits the market. Someone is killing vampires to steal their hearts and, unlike Rhiannon, this isn’t their first stroll around the undead block.
Warning: Includes violence, strong language, and references to sexual abuse that may disturb some readers. Oblique references to ’80s films are hidden here and there, which could result in tickling your geek-like fancy.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between:
My gaze darted around the dark, cloudy room. The tables were full, but that was to be expected. The BP wasn’t the most exclusive club in town, but we had decent girls, a hospitable crowd, and we kept it clean. Those inclined to visit a topless bar could get their Johnson on in relative safety and enjoyment as long as they kept their hands to themselves.
Old-school David Bowie blasted from the speakers and Destiny launched into another dance. She sashayed past the pole, the white glow of the stage lights bringing the crowd’s attention front and center. One of the few dancers who chose not to tan, her skin was soft and luminescent in the stage lights, her pink bikini appearing to glow and sparkle. Despite being new, Destiny was one of my favorite dancers. She told it like it was and always kept it real. Like when she used her double-jointed limbs to work the pole.
You can’t get more real than that.
Disco appeared in front of me and I attempted to act as if I’d seen him coming. The way they moved always creeped me out—so fast it appeared instant. It was unnerving and jolting.
Fucking vampires.
“Can we talk later?”
“Uh…” I wasn’t sure what to say, my thoughts obliterated in a tailspin.
A lush requesting a refill on his Wild Turkey saved me. I hurried over and reached under the counter for the bottle. I poured him a little something extra for the assistance. When finished, I stayed put, feet firmly planted, but I knew I was delaying the inevitable. I would have to speak to Disco at some point. I couldn’t have him showing up like this every night.
“Bartender!” Lonnie yelled.
I rolled my eyes. The most demanding of them all was the shittiest tipper to boot.
What I wouldn’t give to shove a bottle of Crown up his ass.
I unplanted my feet, rubber-soled boots squeaking against the wet plastic floor mats. I always wore my shit-kickers, even on nights like tonight. The laced-up boots were reminiscent of emo goth punk, but they did far more than help me seem fashionably depressed. The reinforced steel toe was great for shots to the crotch when I needed to exert a little extra bartender attention.
“What do you want, Lonnie?”
“When’s Deena coming back?” He didn’t bother looking at me. That would take too much ef
fort. Instead, his beady eyes remained locked on the stage. Typical.
“When she comes back,” I answered flatly. “Can I get anything else for you?”
He shook his head, and I rolled my eyes again.
Poor Deena. Her best client was a pot-bellied pig living in the bright lights of New York City. I hoped she was enjoying her time away from this clandestine hellhole while soaking up the cancer-laced rays in sunny Florida.
A surge of black snagged my attention and I chanced a glance. Disco was there, staring at me again. I couldn’t read his expression.
Shit.
My thoughts tumbled back, taking me into the past.
Why did his undead—and I mean un-dead—friend have to show up on the one night I decided to take a breather, shoot a game of pool, and serendipitously rub elbows with Disco and his partner in crime, Cash? I remembered our introduction all too well. I was on the nine, slinging the money, when I noticed someone standing over the pocket. When the eyesore in question didn’t move after a polite request, I lost my genteel sensibilities and yelled for him to get the fuck out of the way. I realized my mistake, of course, when I took a better look and could see the people directly behind his airy body.
The ghost had revealed my nature to Disco.
I had been at the wrong place at the wrong fucking time.
Necromancy—or as it is defined in the dictionary, divination by means of the spirits of the dead—is a bitch, and I hate the hell out of it. I see some pretty insane shit whether I want to or not. Since the state in which a person dies is the state they maintain in spirit, it’s a constant box of chocolates, and I don’t mean the momma always says kind, either.
Death by heart attack—just another day at the office. Death by electrocution—not so bad. Death by car, head sliced neatly open with brain matter galore—beyond all concepts of nasty.
I discovered my nifty talent when I was just a kid. I’d started seeing deceased neighborhood pets, followed by Mrs. Beaterman mulling over her neatly manicured lawn a week after the heart attack that killed her. I thought it was normal.
