Revenge: A Ghost Cats Story

by Jaycee Clark

  They believed the evil was destroyed. They were wrong.

  A Ghost Cats Story

  It took Reya Lynx a long time to learn to live with her animal half, but now she’s perfectly content as a gallery owner in Taos. She’s lived longer, loved more, even died more than most. Enough to have ceased caring what anyone thinks of her, least of all the one man she’s managed to steer clear of—until now. Her mate.

  Lorenzo Craigen, leader of the southwest mountain lions, is a cop, and a damn good one. A recent string of murders seems all too familiar, and it’s not something he can exactly share with his colleagues. The last time he faced a killer like this, it was a long time ago. As in centuries. And that’s why he has sought out Reya, whether she likes it or not.

  Reya can’t believe the sadistic shaman who left her haunted with brutal memories—and tore her and Lo apart—has come back from the dead. There’s only one way to find out. Bite the bullet and work with him to solve the murders. And try to resist the re-ignited heat between them…while a killer waits for the perfect moment to serve up cold, cold revenge.

  This book has been previously published

  Warning, this title contains the following: A sexy hero with no mercy when it comes to protecting his mate, an independent heroine who doesn’t want to be his mate—or so she claims, and a villain bent on revenge. Note: This work contains explicit sex, graphic language and violence.

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Revenge

  Copyright © 2010 by Jaycee Clark

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-106-9

  Edited by Lindsey Faber

  Cover by Natalie Winters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2010

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Revenge

  Jaycee Clark

  Dedication

  To Missy, the most loyal and wonderful feline in the world, who’s kept me company through many hours of writing and edits and has her own way of letting me know I’m being an idiot.

  Prologue

  The Chosen watched as they circled, circled and snarled at the one in the center. The girl was sentenced to death. No need to worry about her. She’d turned on them as she’d tried to leave.

  The betrayed never tolerated traitors. It was the code. The code was never broken.

  The Chosen looked up into the night sky. The full moon was dark this night. Silvery light should have shone down, bright as daylight, but the tall pines hid what they did. The moon itself seemed to turn a blind bloody eye, the light hazed reddish, probably from the forest fires. The pregnant orb was a dull red, its light muted and dark. Water trickled peacefully over the rocks just yards away.

  A snarl jerked The Chosen back to the present and the clearing.

  A whimper from the center didn’t change what was to come.

  They toyed and played, snarling and snapping, stalking until she sat huddled, all but giving up.

  Really, she could at least try to fight them. There were plenty of sticks and logs around, broken branches from the pines. Ineffective, granted. The Chosen’s were stronger, faster, better than the one who lay in the circle, but weapons were there all the same.

  The Chosen sighed and shook its head. The pack would definitely be better off without this one.

  A large boulder at the edge of the clearing was the perfect overlook point. The Chosen smiled down at the hunt below as they closed in.

  A pity really. She had been a nice girl, one of the followers, but now her life was forfeit.

  The leader below, a loyal one, glanced up and their eyes met. With a small signal to him, The Chosen told him to proceed. He howled and the snarling pack all leapt onto her.

  Snaps of jaws clamping shut filled the air, the crack of bone and finally a scream.

  A lovely, wonderful scream.

  The Chosen breathed deep and the scent of blood mingled, whispered on the air even as the fighting, clawing, snarls of teeth growled up to The Chosen. The screams finally faded to whimpers. The only sounds the wolves, the squishy sound of fresh meat being torn, bones snapping and tendons ripping.

  Didn’t this bring back memories. Better times, times as they should be. A hoot owl whispered through the night.

  Tonight’s work was finished. More importantly, it was just the beginning.

  The Chosen called its followers. This girl was not the only traitor. There were still others to take care of. The Chosen needed victims and treason seemed as good a reason as any to ordain their deaths. But it was not for them. Not really. The punishment was for a higher cause—to draw out the enemy.

  What better place to do it than here? Here where the enemy thought they were safe. Here where it all began, ages ago—here it would begin again.

  The Chosen had waited a long, long time and now it was all within reach.

  Nothing was as sweet, nor as bitter as revenge.

  Chapter One

  The girl was dead.

  Detective Lorenzo Craigen looked down at what remained of her and hoped to hell he was wrong. His gut he knew he wasn’t.

  Sael was back.

  There was no damn reason the son of a bitch should be.

  “What do you see?” one of the locals asked him.

  Craigen didn’t answer. He tuned the young man out and looked around at the blood-soaked ground.

  His stomach tightened. This should have been a sacred place and was—once upon a time, long ago—forgotten by most. Too damn peaceful of a place to have killed her, or should have been. Here, where the water ran off the mountains, was still sacred to many. He took a deep breath. The strong scent of pine and clear air was muffled and wrapped in the smell of death.

  Cool New Mexico winds blew down off the Sangre de Cristos and he zipped his jacket against the autumn air.

  “Chief Neilson said we should call you in,” the young officer continued.

  Craigen looked over his shoulder at the earnest and worried face. The name tag read White.

  Could the locals hire younger cops?

  They seemed to get younger, smarter in some ways and completely naïve in others. It was in the still-soft features of the officer’s face, in the still-bright, I’ll-change-the-world eyes.

  “This your first?” he asked White, turning back to study the ground around what remained of the victim.

  “Y-yeah.”

  Craigen studied the break in the branches and weeds along the ground, all around the victim as if she’d been circled. The grasses flat, the twigs of bushes broken until about thigh high on him.

  He stood. “You tell the M.E. where you tossed your breakfast so we don’t waste time or money running tests on your puke?”

  “Yeah.” An edge of belligerence to hide shame.

  Craigen walked around the clearing, heard the stream gurgling. Not too far from Sipapu, or any of the many little tourist rest stops along the way. But then, that was probably the point. Took a chance, didn’t he? Or rather, they. God, they’d all but shredded her. Hair, once blonde, was streaked d
ark with blood. Her broken body lay tangled in a ripped, brutal heap. Hell of a thing to see first thing in the morning. No wonder the kid lost his breakfast.

  He nodded to White.

  “Good. My captain reamed my ass for not doing that on my first. It was in a meeting when I remembered what they were listing was what I’d had for breakfast. Smarter than I was starting out.” He stopped and looked over at White. “How the hell did you find her?”

  White’s blond brows beetled. He looked like he should be on a poster ad for some designer underwear or some such shit. Kid looked out of place in the black uniform of Taos Police Department.

  “Got a call into the station, said there was a body out here near this mile marker by the stream.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Hell if I know. Janice, the Chief’s secretary answered it.” He shrugged. “I live out here and Chief called me to ask me to check it out. Apparently, he called you.”

  “No, he called my boss and my boss called me.”

  Craigen was sure the local Chief would be here shortly. Neilson would want this wrapped up quickly, and he had no qualms turning a murder investigation over to the state boys. Fine with Craigen. Neilson had enough to keep him busy by keeping the mayor of a tourist-economized town happy.

  “You did good securing the scene, White.”

  “Thanks.”

  Craigen walked towards the gurgling brook, watched as the sunlight shot white streams of light off the ripples. Should have been peaceful here. But hell if it ever actually was.

  He took a deep breath and caught the faint whiff he thought never to smell again.

  Nothing would be peaceful until Sael was caught. The bastard was supposed to be dead.

  Reya hurried into Horizons. “What? What is going on?” She flipped a strand of her long, straight black hair behind her shoulder and dropped her bag by the register area.

  Mica sat crying on the stool behind the counter. Charlie leaned over from a display case and whispered, “Her friend was killed.”

  She started to say, “Is that all?” But thankfully, she thought better of it. The way Mica had blubbered all over the phone, she’d thought someone had been found dead here in the gallery, or maybe everything had gotten stolen, or perhaps something had happened to Mica herself.

  Not to seem insensitive, but live as long as Reya lived and deaths came and went. She’d lost too many in her life to be truly affected by the inevitable. The long life spans of her people often made them jaded to emotional upheaval. Sometimes she forgot that normal humans felt strongly about things, maybe because their lives were so short.

  However, she could say none of those things. Once, in a time forgotten, Reya would have felt Mica’s pain. Instead, she walked to the girl and pulled her close. “I’m sorry, Mica. Is there anything I can do?”

  Mica shook her head, the short mess spiked and tousled from Mica’s hands running through it. It was the ever-popular bed-head look that Reya would never understand nor like, not that hair styles mattered at present.

  “It was her roommate at the institute,” Charlie whispered.

  “Oh, honey.” She awkwardly patted the young girl’s back. She wasn’t the best person in these sorts of situations. “Why don’t you take the day off? Tomorrow too, and the next day. As much time as you need.”

  Charlie nodded. “Yeah, you don’t need to be here.”

  “But I-I just can’t go back to the dorms. Everyone is so upset and they all want to ask me questions, like I know anything. And the policeman said they’d stop by and talk. I’d probably have to answer some more questions.” She shuddered.

  Reya studied the girl, stepped back and went to get her a cup of coffee. When she returned, Charlie, bedecked in his normal chinos and pullover, was cleaning the display cases.

  He looked up and rubbed the back of his hand over his short goatee.

  Reya handed a cup of coffee to Mica. “I thought you didn’t like your roommate. Is this the same one? Or was it another?”

  September was just around the corner and school had been on for a few weeks. Mica had complained about the new roommate at the Art Institute, but Reya didn’t know if that one had been replaced or not. Last year, Mica went through three.

  She shook her head. “No, this one was new. Just moved in last week after Holly moved out.”

  “Oh.”

  “Her name was Tanna.” Mica wiped her eyes again, her face crumpling. “She was really great and we’d already gotten really close, ya know? Same interests and classes. Her mom called here a bit ago and was crying.”

  Reya took a deep breath. “Tell ya what. If you don’t want to go back to the dorms, then why not go through the boxes of inventory in the back? See what all we need and check the emails for any interesting queries or photos that Horizons might be interested in, or if you don’t feel like doing that, just go rest in the office.”

  Mica nodded and slid off the stool. Her sandals slapped against the hardwood floors, echoing in the shop.

  Charlie huffed out a breath. “She’s been like that since the phone rang earlier. I guess it was the mother’s call that set her off.”

  “Understandable.” Reya bent and picked up her purse, briefcase and bag. “Anything interesting as of yet?”

  Charlie shook his head and went to the next display case. “Nope. But then, technically, we’re not open yet, so who knows what else the day might bring.”

  “If we’re lucky, hopefully, nothing as stressful as—” She broke off and motioned to the back before continuing, “Mica.”

  “Funny thing about expectations and days and what fate deals out. They rarely all work together as we’d like them to.”

  Charlie had the annoying habit of spouting off sage advice as if he memorized little Confucius quotes.

  Reya hardly needed Charlie to let her in on that little secret. She’d been around plenty, long enough to know that life, or in her case lives, were never what was expected. Filled with twists and turns and unexpected surprises.

  Her motto? Expect the unexpected. Because she’d learned the hard way that the unexpected was always waiting to nail her ass or her plans, or just screw with her day.

  But today was something else. She rubbed her arms and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. Something was building, the air charged like the breath before the storm. She really hated that feeling.

  She worked through another half an hour, rearranging things, setting things as she wanted them, then rearranging them again. She needed to change the bedding in the window display case to something lighter. The sun had already faded the black material to gray in places. Then again…

  Something shimmered along her nerves. She glanced out the window, scanning the street, but nothing alerted her.

  “What is up with you? Is it this thing with Mica?”

  Reya pulled herself back and rolled her eyes. “You’re such a sympathetic soul, Charles.”

  He hated his proper name. Which was why she wasn’t surprised to see his frown. “I am sympathetic. I just meant…” He waved his hand around. “You’ve changed that display three times, you stare off into space and you’re jumpy. What is up with you?”

  “I know, and no, that’s not… At least…” She shrugged. She couldn’t explain it to Charlie. He was… She tilted her head. Normal, as far as the locals went. “I just have that itchy, something’s-coming feeling. I hate that.”

  The man had worked for her for three years since she bought the property from him. He’d leased the spot as an art gallery, but she’d wanted more—a shop, a jewelry boutique. But she had liked that he was settled and somewhat established even if he was tired of the day-to-day and wanted something else.

  Strange. He’d just sort of stayed on.

  He was the same height as she, had that distinguished, gray-templed dark hair and character-lined male face that could fall anywhere between forty and sixty. His eyes were sharp hazel.

  If she were guessing, she’d have to say almost fi
fty. Maybe a couple years older.

  “What?” His salt-and-peppered brows beetled.

  “Oh, um…” Reya shook her head. “You look nice today.”

  He flashed her a smile full of charm and a hint of the devil. “Black and beige are my colors, I’ve always said.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Is that a come on?”

  “Charles.”

  “Fifty-two.” He straightened one of the black velvet busts that held a strand of citrine and topaz, wrapped and linked in bronze. He licked his lips. “Care to go out to dinner with a fifty-two-year-old?”

  If she were what she appeared, the man would be old enough to be her father. But then things were never what they appeared to be.

  She grinned and ran a hand down her tunic jacket. “I’ll think about it.”

  The bell above the door chimed and energy tingled along her skin. She knew without turning around who stood there. Like a bolt of lightning, electricity arced through her, shooting from her head, swimming along her nerves, twisting her gut to pool at the base of her spine.

  She thought she heard Charles mutter, “Never mind.”

  Reya swayed and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

  And she smelled him. Spices, desert heat, crisp, like the wind through the canyon with just a hint of sage.

  Slowly, she turned. He stood there in his starched Wrangler jeans, boots and button-down, a gun clipped to his belt along with a badge. His black hair was a bit longer than most wore it, just grazing the top of his collar. His face was still the same, not too narrow, nor wide or blunted. It was a strong face, chiseled with sharp angles and lines, high cheekbones. The dark of his eyes shimmered beneath harsh slashes of brows as his gaze met hers, and she couldn’t help running a look down the long, lean lines of him. His corded neck, tanned and swarthy as always, peeked out at her from his collar. His chest was as wide as she remembered and those hands, those hands. She wiped her damp palms on her thighs. His hands were deceptively elegant, and she remembered how his long fingers had grazed over her body. Her eyes rose back to his, noticed everything about him was the same, even the way one brow seemed to arch more than the other.