Bane said, “Brandilynn?”
The gator’s eyes were fit to bug out of his gray-tinged face. “Holy crap. Is that a ghost? You don’t see those too often.”
I spoke fast, having been in too much of a hurry to grab a whole lot of energy for this. “Hazel has Fizz at his house! He’s going to kill her!”
Bane blinked then looked at his companions. “Did either of you catch any of that?”
The rattler shook his head. “Her lips were moving for the brief instant I saw her, but I couldn’t make it out. She looked pretty upset. Girlfriend?”
Bane snorted. “I wish. Just a very good friend. You’ll have to try again, honey.”
Darn it. Back to the police car. Materializing was probably the hardest thing to do, and I had to take in energy to the point of being high to make it happen. Looking at all the tracks of the many feet that were treading over the dirt beside the road gave me an idea though.
I tugged at Bane’s blanket to get his attention. I kept tugging until I had him pointing in the direction I needed.
“Brandilynn, what is it?” he asked, the gentle concern in his voice warming my frantic heart. The shifter cops looked around for me, their faces still awed to be dealing with a ghost.
I knelt by my patch of dirt and concentrated all my power into one finger. I started writing.
Bane stepped closer, the two weres behind him. Officer Snake squinted at my work. “Fizz? Hazel’s house?”
Bane nodded. “I figured that’s where he took her. Help is on the way, honey. Is she still alive?”
Gold stars for Bane. Despite everything he’d had to deal with, he hadn’t forgotten Fizz, had already sent the cops her way. God, I hoped they were on time.
I scratched ‘barely’ in answer to Bane’s question, and he whispered, “Damn it.” I wasn’t put out by the profanity, not with the situation being what it was.
I didn’t want Fizz to be dead. I didn’t want to know if the news was bad. Yet I couldn’t stand here and wait around to catch up on everything. Steeling myself, I zapped back to Hazel’s property.
Chapter 15
It was probably stupid to try to materialize directly in Hazel’s dungeon, but I went for it anyway. It rejected me. With authority.
I had only an instant of facing Fizz’s limp body in the chains before I was flung out of the house, beyond the clearing it sat in, and into the surrounding woods. It also took my extra oomph I’d gained from all the power grabs I’d made today. I must have gone through half a dozen trees before landing on my butt on the pine needle strewn ground.
It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel all that good either.
I got to my feet, registering all the cop cars clustered at the clearing opening and lining the long driveway up to it. The rescue party had arrived. A thick shimmer, like a gauzy curtain, lay between the house and the mostly human police officers keeping cover behind their cars. I saw only two shifters among the law enforcement. No vampires, since it was still daylight. There should have been more paras. Where were they all?
Hazel had warded the holy heck out of his property, keeping the cops from gaining access. One paunchy uniformed officer had a bullhorn, and he was using it. “Stan Laughton, release the woman immediately and give yourself up.”
A siren wailed as more troops approached. I walked past the line of cars, coming right up to the ward line. I had more sense than to touch the thing. I looked through it to the house, which seemed to shift and shiver behind the protective spell. No answer came from that direction, no sound at all. The silence seemed ominous to me. What was Hazel doing in there?
The sense of foreboding grew, and I heard mutters of the cops behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see them shifting nervously, as if aware of a coming doom. I thought it might be another spell, one designed to crush its victims with fear. Hazel was good at what he did, and I had a sense that I’d been lucky to escape him.
Bullhorn Cop spoke again. “Stan, you need to quit with the spells. Don’t make this worse for yourself.”
A black van pulled up to the end of the line of patrol cars. The Para Patrol had arrived, the witchy version of a SWAT team. Well, it was about darn time. I was pacing and fretting as half a dozen people, all wearing warded bullet-proof vests, piled out of the van.
Bullhorn Cop was at it again. “Witches have arrived to take down your wards, Stan. Give Annie up and let’s do this so no one gets hurt.”
I had an urge to slap that bullhorn out of his hands. “Too late. She may already be dead. Do something, stupid!”
The six witches came closer to the clearing, but not too close. Three men and three women made up the group. They found a small space where they formed a circle. A chant in some language I didn’t know, probably the Latin witches seem to love so much, rose in the air. They lifted their hands, holding wands in their rights. I watched as they sketched wards in the air. It didn’t really seem to be doing anything until I looked back at Hazel’s house. Then I saw a second filmy curtain had gone up between the cordon of cops and the first spell line.
I scowled. Knowing the witches could hear me, I yelled, “What good is that going to do?”
I found out when several gunshots rang out from the house, and the bullets were deflected off the good guys’ spell shield. “Okay, smart call,” I muttered.
Officer Bullhorn gave his final warning. “Last chance, Laughton. We’re coming in.”
As if in answer, there was another gun blast. Simultaneously, Hazel’s dread spell lifted and his curtain ward came down. I didn’t think twice. I teleported myself into Hazel’s torture room, sure I’d find Fizz dead.
The first thing I noticed was Hazel sprawled on the floor under the window, the top part of his head missing. A sawed-off shotgun lay between his splayed legs. The window and wall were sprayed with blood and gore. Hazel had bowed out of the party, the big coward. Of course, if Fizz was dead he’d be facing the death penalty for her murder. Georgia still burns its witches at the stake in such cases.
Yeah, Hazel had taken the easy way out. Pretty gruesome, and as soon as I confirmed to myself there was no sign he was sticking around in ghost form, I wasted no time turning my back on him to check on Fizz.
I could hear the thumps of booted feet, the calls of the incoming cops yelling, “Clear!” as they made their cautious way through the house’s interior. I knew they were hurrying as fast as was prudent, but seeing Fizz hanging there motionless, her chin resting on her chest, blood all over her, made me want to scream at them to get their butts in gear. She was such a mess, no doubt scarred for life. But her chest was still rising and falling. He hadn’t killed her. She was getting her second chance at life, and I’m here to tell you, those second chances are precious.
The first cop, Officer Bullhorn himself, entered the room, his gun pointed at the uncaring Hazel. “I got him! He appears to be dead.”
“No, he just installed a skylight in his skull, you jackass” I smarted off, irritated beyond belief. Sheesh.
As his brother cops joined him, he set to work rolling Hazel over and handcuffing him while two others kept guns pointed at the witch. No kidding. They cuffed a dead guy missing the top of his skull. Must be SOP or something, I guess. Oh well, at least three other officers were now tending to poor Fizz.
A dark haired cop talked on his radio, saying “Send in the paramedics. We’ve got one wounded, one dead in here,” as Hazel’s pockets were emptied. Others searched the room for the keys to the manacles that kept Fizz hanging. I located them first, sitting on a shelf along with a cattle prod, a ball gag, and something that looked suspiciously like the knife dildo in that serial killer movie starring Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt. Shuddering, I concentrated the bit of power I had left into my fingers and flicked the keys onto the floor, where two cops fell on them like cats on a pigeon.
I looked on with approval at how gently the policemen took care of Fizz, lowering her carefully onto the floor away from any blood or other nastiness. There was n
othing more for me to do here, and I was starting to feel like a fifth wheel. I left the terrible scene, thinking I’d witnessed way too much blood and violence since the night I’d died.
I went back to check on Bane. One ambulance and Bottle were gone, and C.K.’s body was going into a bag. A bunch of male shifter cops stood around gossiping (if you think men aren’t as bad as women on that, I’m telling you different right here and now). Despite looking perfectly fine and dandy following his shift back to nearly human, Bane sat on another ambulance’s stretcher, shapeshifting paramedics checking him out as men with ATF jackets crowded around him congratulating him and catching him up on other goings on.
One agent, a were I couldn’t readily identify the species of but looked pretty ferocious with his pointy face and wicked sharp teeth, said, “The witches had to put a sleep spell on that baby dragon. England is flying a team out to take custody of it.”
Oh boy. I’d completely forgotten the dragon imprisoned in that crappy little storage unit.
“It’s from the British line?” Bane asked.
“Not sure. It’s definitely a European breed, not Asian. They usually have a pretty good handle on their population, so there’s a big bitchfest stewing over how an egg got smuggled out of Europe at all. Germany, Italy, Greece, and France are checking on their populations as well.”
Bane shook his head. “I’m surprised the parents aren’t crisping the countryside searching for their child. That Hazel was a badass witch.”
I had to forgive Bane of his language since he didn’t know I was there. And goodbyes on bad terms were never a good idea. I considered giving him farewell kiss, but I thought better of it. He and I had been personal enough. No more questionable behavior from me.
“I guess this is it, Bane. Good luck, my big, bad wolf.”
It was a lame farewell, but I was done juicing up just to be seen and heard. It would have to be good enough. It was time to leave the handsome but troublesome agent behind.
I wanted to find one or both of my boyfriends in the worst way now. Since Dan had planned to bring help to the storage unit, I supposed he might still be there. So that’s where I went.
I found Dan just hanging out, watching as cops and ATF agents and some of Tristan’s shifters milled around. Tristan’s gang was apparently being interviewed, but all they could tell the authorities was the county commissioner had sent them here to stop the Beasts from killing an agent and using a dragon to taint bottles of blood.
Dan gave me a big kiss. “Hey, baby girl. I’ve heard a little about an ATF agent taking down the leader of the Beasts and the cops having a shootout with a witch. Do I dare ask which party you attended?”
“Both, and I’ve had my fill of the whole secret spy thing, I’ll tell you.” I brought him up to date on all I’d done and seen.
Dan shook his head at me. “Girl, if I was alive you’d be giving me another heart attack.”
“Yeah well, it didn’t do much for me either. Where’s the dragon?” Peering into the storage unit, I could see the little reptile was gone.
“SPCA’s dangerous animal division came and got it.”
My eyes widened at that. “Its parents will be pissed it was treated like a common animal.” Dragons are very proud beings, from my understanding. They don’t take insult well.
Dan shrugged. “North America doesn’t do dragons. It was the best they could come up with. Para Patrol witches spelled it into a deep sleep. It’s small, but it’s lethal.”
Gosh, I was exhausted in my head. “I guess that wraps everything up, huh? The bad guys are out of commission, blood supplies go back to being safe, Bane got the job done, and Tristan gets to keep a campaign promise. Cue the credits.”
That earned me a laugh. “It’s going to be boring after all this, isn’t it?”
“I can do boring for a good while now.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “But if you’re anticipating fading from the monotony, I can think of a few things that will liven you up.”
“I just bet you can.” His grin lit that rugged face. My goodness, Dan was just too yummy when he smiled. And the kiss he gave me had my knees knocking and my guts melting. “Library?” he suggested.
“Like, yesterday.”
Hand in hand, we left the crime scene to the authorities. The instant we materialized in the library, Dan went total caveman on me. He tore my pretty dress off, ripping it from my body like a wild man. Oh yeah. Him Tarzan, me Jane. And keep that darned smelly monkey out of our treehouse.
I loved this animal Dan, and I encouraged his ferocity with little helpless gasps and whimpers that seemed to make him even crazier. He put me up on one of the polished wooden reading tables, plunging his cock deep in my pussy without so much as a pleased-to-meet-you. I swear I almost came right then and there. He was so hot.
Dan grabbed hold of my wrists in one manly paw and pinned them over my head. Then he was stretched over me, looking me over like I was prime beef he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into. I squirmed beneath him, nervously expectant of being ridden rough and hard, the way only he could do it.
He grinned at me. “Looking good, baby girl,” he whispered. His free hand rubbed my breasts, mauling them so that the waves of pleasure were fed by little darts of pain. I shuddered, mewling with eagerness for him to move, to give me that hard, demanding friction I craved.
Melding his mouth to mine, he pounded himself into me, taking me as strongly as I’d wanted. Our bodies slammed violently together, and that sweetness was coming at me in no time. I was so primed for him that foreplay would have been an irritation rather than a delight. I screamed into Dan’s mouth as I ignited, my body rumbling with earthquake intensity, bucking and heaving with vehement force.
He released the kiss as soon as I stopped shrieking holy heck. “Better?” he asked.
“Oh my. Thank you,” I whispered. “What can I do for you now?”
“I’m in a vanilla state of mind,” he answered. “Can we be just man and woman, no Dom and sub stuff this time?”
I smiled. “There is nothing wrong with vanilla, especially when it’s with you,” I said. And it was true. Like I had told Tristan a few days ago, sometimes vanilla is the most delicious flavor of all.
So he carried me to the couch, our fronts still plastered together, my arms and legs wrapped around his oh so delectable torso, keeping him right where he belonged: in me. Dan laid me down gently, and I moaned with delight when he started moving in and out again, this time slow and steady.
“Honey, I’m home,” my Marlboro Man sighed.
His kisses were soft, wet, and luscious. I sucked on his tongue, twining mine around it. Feeling him stroking inside my flexing pussy, hitting all the sensitive spots, his groin rubbing my clit … oh heavens to mergatroid.
Without hesitation I told him, “I love you, you know.”
Dan lost his rhythm for only an instant. His rugged face lit in a full blown smile, probably the most genuine smile I’d ever seen his face utter. “I thought so, but it’s good to hear you say it.”
I held him closer than ever, making love to him with all I had. At some point we reversed positions, and I rose and fell over him, my hands greedily claiming that taut belly, his chiseled chest with its sprinkling of dark hairs, his wide shoulders, his neck, his strong jaw, his unabashedly masculine face. I couldn’t get enough of caressing him.
He also devoured me with touch, his fingers trailing through my hair, following the coppery strands down to where they ended at my nipples. He traced the areolas, making the tips pucker tight. Down, down his hands drifted over my ribcage. One cupped my hip while the other positioned to allow his thumb to rub my clit.
“Nearly there, baby girl,” he whispered to me as I rocked over him.
I moaned in response, because the calloused digit he used on me was bringing on the tiny spasms that preceded full-on orgasm. I moved faster, my hands braced against his chest. He gasped, his thumb moving rubbing harder and harder, sending tiny explosions through
me until the big one hit, shredding me completely.
Dan grabbed my hips with both hands, yanking me up and down on his cock as my insides continued to pulse. His face creased with tension for an instant, then it relaxed all at once. His deep moans filled the room as he found release.
Afterward I lay on top of him, my face snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder. His fingers traced lazy circles on my back and buttocks, and I felt happy. Safe. Home.
I told him, “I’m going to make a decision soon. I just need to figure a few things out.”
“You love him too.” Said matter-of-factly. No judgment or anger colored his voice. “So you’re not going to string one of us along?”
Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9 Page 21
