My Paranormal Valentine: A Paranormal Romance Box Set

by Michelle M. Pillow

  I pursed my mouth in admiration, realizing that Dutch was a far better actor than I’d ever thought.

  “Those the bullets?” Mason’s voice was deep, echoing through the woods. He was an imposing guy, tall and muscled with a shaved head, just as the witness to the shooting had described. I couldn’t see his neck tattoo from here, but I could clearly see the pistol at his hip and the rifle in his hand.

  “Yeah, all the unsold ones. I also have a list of everyone that’s bought them since I began distributing. I keep all that stuff for follow up. Repeat customers, you know.” Dutch’s acting skills were falling apart under pressure and he was now babbling. He shoved the box at Mason, and when the man didn’t take it, he set it on a tree stump.

  “Open it. Give me the .308s.”

  Dutch did as requested. I could see him trembling even from my distance.

  Mason examined the bullets, then loaded them into the rifle. “Get the others, and put them in this bag.”

  He shrugged a small nylon sack off one shoulder and plopped it onto the ground. This was starting to feel like a bank heist. I wondered why Karl hadn’t made his move yet. Did Mason have buddies in the tree line somewhere? He’d been invisible to me, so perhaps he had a dozen armed guys that none of us could see.

  Dutch bent to pick up the sack, and the brush exploded with action. Karl rushed into the clearing along with four wolves. Zeph leapt on top of Dutch, pinning him to the ground and covering him with his tawny-furred body. Matt clamped his jaws around the box of bullets and took off into the woods. Just as Mason pointed and fired the rifle at Zeph, Karl plowed into him, knocking him to the ground.

  Ahia shot me a quick “stay here” glance and took off.

  I held my breath, praying that the bullet hadn’t hit Zeph. If it had, then Dutch was dead. There was another gunshot. I saw the motion of wolves moving through the woods, closing in so that if Mason got away from the camping area, he wouldn’t be able to flee far.

  Karl was wrestling with the man, rolling on the ground. He’d managed to knock the rifle out of Mason’s hand, but the man had grabbed his pistol and fired off several shots right into Karl’s chest.

  I heard him grunt. I smelled blood. And I snarled with fury to realize that he’d taken the vest off. Once this was over I was going to kill him. I was going to pin him to the ground and rip his limbs off.

  And now I prayed that the pistol had only held regular bullets and not the spelled ones, because in spite of Ahia’s comment in the car, a rogue prehistoric bear wasn’t a good thing.

  Mason kept shooting into Karl. And no one could help him because Brent, Ahia, and Tina were too busy keeping Zeph corralled away from Dutch, who was writhing on the ground.

  Ahia transformed in a flash of light and wrapped her arms around Zeph, shocking him with a jolt of electricity, then hitting him on the head with a rock. Then Brent and Tina held him down, while Ahia frantically clawed the bullet from his shoulder.

  Mason pushed Karl aside enough to get his arm free and hit him on the head with the pistol grip. Karl’s head jerked to the side and Mason slid free, jumped to his feet and ran.

  I did the same, not because I was worried that Mason would escape. He was surrounded. His deadly rifle had been knocked across the camping area and was somewhere under the truck. He had an empty pistol. No, it wasn’t Mason I was worried about, it was Karl who had taken an entire magazine of bullets to the chest and been hit in the head.

  Shifters can survive a lot of damage. Getting shot usually isn’t a death sentence. But getting shot that many times could overwhelm our healing abilities. We weren’t immortal. Even Ahia wasn’t technically immortal.

  So I ran, gasping with pain the whole way and not caring. I needed to get to him. And when I heard another gunshot, I put on a burst of speed, plowing into the clearing.

  Karl was moving, but he was on the ground in a huge pool of red. I threw myself down beside him, scrabbling to pull the tattered, blood-soaked shirt away from his chest. He growled and I froze, hair rising along the back of my neck. Because that was the growl of something very pissed-off, something inhumanly strong, something that could take my head off with one swipe of a giant paw.

  Karl’s eyes were completely gold. I caught my breath, holding still like a rabbit caught in the briars. Were the bullets tainted? Was I about to be murdered by the man I might eventually someday soon love?

  “Fucking told you to stay back,” he snarled.

  I let out a breath and collapsed, a sob ripping out of me as I smashed my face against his bloody shirt. “You’re okay? You’re okay. They were tainted? How many bullets did you take? Jeez Louise, Karl, you should be breathing your last right now.”

  “Half demon,” he huffed out. “Guess this is one time I should be thanking the bastard who fathered me, huh?”

  I sniffed and gave him a watery smile. I might be a dominant wolf. I might be second to the Alpha. But that had been the most terrifying moment of my life running down here and wondering if Karl was alive or not.

  “You.” His voice was stern, accusatory. “You were supposed to stay on the perimeter, not come hauling your cute ass down here. We had it handled. You didn’t need to come down here to save the day.”

  Silly bear. “I didn’t come down here to save the day, you fool. I came down here because I thought my boyfriend was mortally injured.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Boyfriend?”

  Yeah. Sorta. “Bearfriend? Boybear? No, that doesn’t sound right either. Bear-main-squeeze? How about that?”

  He chuckled and ran a very bloody hand through my hair. Which was okay I guess since my hair was already red. “Did they catch him?”

  Crap, I hadn’t even bothered to look.

  I got up, and Karl rose to his feet, pulling the bloody shirt over his head and wiping his body with the non-bloody parts of the fabric. Which was very distracting. Would we need to sedate him and dig the bullets out later? Had they gone through-and-through? Did his half-demon parentage mean he could somehow pulverize them inside his body and make them disappear?

  “He’s dead.”

  I turned at Karl’s words and looked. Mason Sharpe was spread-eagle on the ground, eyes wide open, a hole neatly placed between his eyes. Around him stood half a dozen puzzled wolves.

  “Who shot him?” I asked, glancing over toward the truck. The only gun with bullets was the rifle, and it was still on the ground with no one near it. The rest of us, except for Karl and me, had been on four legs.

  Well, and Ahia, who was breathless and naked, looking like she wanted to punch something or someone. “It came from out in the woods. I think the bullets aren’t the only magic they have access to. I didn’t see or hear this guy before he walked into the clearing, and obviously there was someone else out there we didn’t detect who had a rifle and a scope.”

  Great. All the positive PR we’d gained from me being the victim of this guy would now go down the drain. We’d be suspected of killing him, of taking the law into our own hands. I wasn’t sure if even Dutch’s witness statement would completely clear our name on this one.

  And with Mason Sharpe dead, we’d lost the one person who might be convinced to serve up his two partners in return for a plea deal. Which was probably the reason he’d been killed tonight.

  I felt Karl’s arm around my shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, Brina. He’s gone. We’ve got the bullets, and I doubt Dutch is gonna be selling them anymore.”

  Ahia nodded. “Without SharpShooter stirring up fear on the hunting and hiking forums, and the publicity of your being shot, I think we’ve put a dent in their business. Now it’s up to Jake and his crew to do the rest.”

  She was right. But we’d still need to be vigilant. Because just like that hydra Ahia had killed this past spring, I had a feeling these guys were likely to sprout two heads for every one we took out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  We got Zeph back to the Alpha house. It was odd seeing him on the couch, going through the same
casserole-and-visitor dance that I’d gone through not twelve hours before. He was milking it for everything he could, claiming that all the female wolves needed to “kiss his boo-boo,” then kiss something else as well.

  Brent, Ahia, Dutch, Matt, and Tina had stayed at the camping area to talk to the police. We knew them, the police that is, and they seemed to believe Dutch’s statement that what was supposed to be a recall exchange had gone all wrong when his distributor had brought weapons and started shooting.

  He’d not mentioned Zeph going rogue and nearly killing him, claiming that his injuries were sustained trying to get away from Mason. It was nice of Dutch, given that Karl had roughed him up and pretty much kidnapped him earlier, but I guess the guy knew that without us, he would have been dead. Without Zeph, he would be dead. And from the way he’d thanked us over and over again before we’d brought Zeph back here, he knew the wolf had saved his live, nearly losing his own in the process.

  It was nearly sunup by the time Brent and the others came back. Dutch was going to crash in one of the spare rooms for the night, then one of our wolves was going to accompany him back to his store/home, and basically provide security detail until this was all over. We couldn’t very well lose one of our key witnesses.

  I yawned, nursing a gigantic cup of coffee and thinking that I might want to take some aspirin and get some sleep, but Karl was prowling around like a grumpy bear. He was still pissed at me for not staying at the perimeter. And he’d told me in no uncertain terms that I was coming with him to his den and there I’d remain for the next few weeks.

  I wasn’t arguing. I’m sure I’d argue tomorrow once I’d gotten some sleep, healed further, and was itching to find WiFi somewhere, but for now I wasn’t arguing. I was just waiting for Brent to print a few things out for me, then we’d be on our way, with Karl driving as he’d informed me not two minutes ago.

  It worried me having these loose ends. There were still two guys with Three Strikes, and although the police said they’d question them, there was no proof that those two guys had done anything wrong. Yet. I didn’t really need to worry though, because if there was anyone who operated his own system of justice, it was Jake with the Swift River Pack. With him on it, I was sure the other two members of Three Strikes would be out of business, and the whole hunting-magicked bullets issue would hopefully vanish.

  But the elf…

  Not my problem. Jake’s problem, not mine. My problem was finding cell signal in Karl’s little den in the woods, not going insane with only checking my e-mail once per day, and getting used to taking my potty breaks in a hole in the ground somewhere. Yikes.

  “Ready to go, my wolf?”

  I looked up into Karl’s hazel eyes with their flecks of gold, then slugged down the rest of my coffee. “My place first so I can pick up my laptop, my clothes, my scented bath gel, my nail polish, my makeup, and my blow dryer.”

  He grunted. “Where the hell you gonna plug in the blow dryer, Brina? Ain’t got no electricity, girl.”

  I wiggled my eyebrows at him. “My car has a battery, and I’ve got a thingie that converts the power. So you better believe I’m bringing my blow dryer with me, wild man.”

  He shook his head. “Fine. Long as you’re in my den, I’ll put up with blow dryers and nail polish and scented bath gel and your damned laptop. But the phone stays in your car except one time per day. Right?”

  I slid off the stool and reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. “Right.”

  I might wind up loving this bear. I was pretty sure I might wind up loving this bear in spite of our differences.

  “Salmon for dinner tonight?” he asked.

  Mmm. Yeah, I probably already loved this bear.

  “Sounds like a plan, wild man.” I kissed him once more. “Sounds like a plan.”

  The series continues with

  Winter Fae

  To keep up on Debra’s books, join the mailing list HERE!

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thanks to my copyeditors Kimberly Cannon and Jennifer Cosham whose eagle eyes catch all my typos and keep my comma problem in line, and to Damonza, for cover design.

  Most of all, thanks to my children, who have suffered many nights of microwaved chicken nuggets and take-out pizza so that Mommy can follow her dream.

  About Debra Dunbar

  Debra lives in a little house in the woods of Maryland with her sons and two slobbery bloodhounds. On a good day, she jogs and horseback rides, hopefully managing to keep the horse between herself and the ground. Her only known super power is 'Identify Roadkill'.

  debradunbar.com

  You’ve Got Tail by Renee George

  Peculiar Mysteries Book One

  Renee George

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Sunny Haddock, an animal-loving vegetarian psychic, is stoked to leave California behind to start a new life in the Ozark town of Peculiar with her best friend, Chavvah Trimmel. She ups the moving date when Chav goes missing, and Sunny high tails it to the small town. What Sunny doesn’t realize is that she’s moving into a community of were-shifters, and they don’t want a human resident. Especially one dumb enough to arrive a couple of days before the full moon—the only night of the month shifters have to take their pure animal forms.

  When the gorgeous Babel Trimmel, Chav's younger brother, (along with the sheriff, the mayor, and some other nice folk) suggests Sunny haul her U-haul and butt back out of town, she’s undeterred. Her psychic abilities might be out-of-whack, and blood makes her faint, but she’s not a quitter. Besides, she's not about to go anywhere until she finds out what happened to Chavvah.

  But Sunny has more to deal with than unfriendly townsfolk…like disturbing killer visions and the dog-like animal no one else sees that seems to be stalking her every move. To make matters worse, she is finding Babel to be more irresistible than crack on a donut.

  Sunny needs to get her ability and her hormones under control if she wants to solve the mystery and save her best friend.

  For my sister.

  Thank you for everything.

  Chapter One

  SOME PEOPLE JUMP into the deep end of the pool feet first, some head first, but I’ve always been a traditional belly-flopper. Splashy, messy, and usually painful. Which still didn’t explain why I was sitting on the floor of a closed diner, nursing my bruised butt, not to mention my pride, and staring woefully at a naked unconscious man in the middle of Peculiar, Missouri.

  My parents are crazy from way back. Maybe that’s where I get it from. Seriously, who names a child Ambrosia Sunshine? Two hippies, that’s who. They told me when I was old enough to resent the flower child name that they’d thought it was cool at the time, but I personally believe it was the result of one too many ’shrooms. As it is, I’ve been forced to sit through many painful renditions of “You Are My Sunshine.” If I had a dead body for every time I was teased, well, let’s just say I’d get an express pass to the electric chair. Although, if I got a sympathetic judge, he’d probably consider my lifetime served.

  Maybe my parents’ experimentation with drugs is what had made me psychic. (No, I didn’t say psychotic. I said psychic.) On the other hand, it could also explain why I’m so bad at it.

  My ability allows me glimpses, more like screenshots, of the past, present, and future. But, clearly, the visions have not been helpful over the years. And the side effects, sheesh. Most of the time I feel a little dizzy when they hit, but every once in a while it’s as if someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of my skull. Usually, I can feel one coming on; otherwise driving might be an issue. If only they made medic-alert bracelets for my type of ailment. It certainly hasn’t been a gift.

  That’s why my friendship with Chavvah Trimmel is so important. We’d met at the community college in San Diego. She thought my name was weird and awesome all rolled up into a spring roll. After finding out her family’s propensity for strange biblical names, I thought it was a bit of the po
t calling the kettle rusty. Chavvah, or Chav, as she likes to be called, was my first best friend. And when she’s around me, my psychic mojo kicks up twenty notches. It’s as if I can tap into some kind of mystic hotline whenever she’s near.

  As a matter of fact, the last time I’d gotten a clear vision had been in my dining room back in California. Chav, who’d been renting my spare bedroom at the time, had just turned down the heat on the spaghetti sauce, and I was setting the table. We were having an “I finally dumped the cheating bastard” celebratory dinner. Did I mention I’m a bad psychic? So I hadn’t a clue what I was walking in on when I caught my boyfriend of three years having sex with the skank waitress from the coffee shop. On my couch, no less. Jerk. I took his spare key and kicked his ass (and the couch) to the curb.

  At dinner that night, when the vision hit me, I’d hit the ground, along with some clattering dishes. I saw a present moment of Chav’s parents huddled together, debating whether to call her about her missing brother. Talk about being the bearer of bad news. I didn’t blame her for not believing me at first, or the stunned look she gave me when she called her parents, and it turned out to be true. Her brother Judah had dropped off the map.

  Chav flew back to Missouri the next day. After a year of searching for him, the local police had pretty much given up on Judah, but by that time, Chav had forgotten about the ocean and fallen in love with the little town of Peculiar. Hell, from her letters and phone calls, I’d kind of fallen in love with the place as well. She’d bought a restaurant in the rural town, a real fixer-upper, for the two of us to run. A fifty-fifty partner split.