My Paranormal Valentine: A Paranormal Romance Box Set

by Michelle M. Pillow

  He got up from the bench and jogged to his car. There was a dark voice inside him that warned him, shouting for him to cut all ties, telling him he’d stop missing her eventually. But he placated the fear with the promise that this wasn’t a relationship. He didn’t need her. He was her Guardian. Nothing more.

  When he rolled up at the high school and got out of the car, dread crawled up his spine. It was quiet and something seemed…off. He scanned the parking lot. Mel’s car was the only other vehicle nearby. Under the faint yellow of the streetlights, everything was washed into a dreamlike monotone.

  But nothing moved. Nothing he could see, at least.

  He drew his weapon—trusting his gut—and ventured deeper into the shadows of the central open-air lunch area. He made his way down the dimly lit hallways toward Mel’s English building. Crystal City High was an outdoor campus with about twenty structures on the property. Plenty of places to hide.

  Did she seriously come down here alone?

  Maybe he was overreacting, but his instincts were on high alert. He came around the final corner to the hallway leading to Mel’s English class.

  Someone was at the other end in a black hooded robe.

  “Police. Freeze!” Nate shouted.

  The stranger sprinted the other way.

  “Dammit.” Nate took off after him, but halfway down the hall, Mel opened her door.

  “Nate?”

  “Stay inside. Lock the door.” He didn’t look back.

  He should’ve looked.

  As he rounded the corner, he caught a glimpse of the robed figure disappearing around the corner of the gymnasium. He pushed his legs harder, praying he was in better shape than the wacko in the robe.

  An engine started on the street.

  His lungs ached, but the extra dose of adrenaline kicked in. He couldn’t outrun a car, but if he got lucky, he could slow it down. He stopped running, lined up his sights, and aimed for the vehicle. Five shots. One connected with glass, two with metal. And then the silver Honda Accord was gone.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, holstering his gun. He spun around and almost plowed right into Mel. “What are you doing out here? I told you to lock the door.”

  “You didn’t have backup.”

  He blinked. “And I still don’t. Do you have a weapon?”

  Mel held up her phone. “I was ready to call 9-1-1.”

  “You could have done that from the room.”

  She crossed her arms. “I wouldn’t have known if you needed me to call if I was hiding in my classroom.”

  He raked his hand through his hair, grinding his teeth to keep from saying something he couldn’t take back later. He grabbed her biceps, trying to make her understand. “If something happened to you…”

  He let go of her, pacing in a circle. “Jesus, Mel. If you’re going to make me believe I’m some kind of Guardian, you have to let me do my job. I can’t protect you if you don’t listen to me when I tell you to fucking hide.”

  She put a fist on her hip, jutting it to the side. “You don’t know me well yet, so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, but if you seriously expect me to hide while you chase after homicidal lunatics without any backup, then you have sorely underestimated me.”

  “You don’t understand.” He shook his head. “Forget it. Let’s see if he left anything behind.”

  She didn’t move.

  He groaned. “What?”

  “I’m waiting for you to help me understand.”

  He pulled in a slow breath. “I’m not doing this now. Either come with me willingly or I’ll pick you up and carry you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”

  “As a hurricane.” He took a step toward her, bending his knees in preparation.

  “Fine.” She walked past him. Fast.

  Good. She might be pissed at him, but she was alive.

  When he rounded the corner of her building, he stopped. He raised his hand, feeling like a damned idiot, but without a plate number, he had nothing to lose. Except some pride. He rolled his eyes and groaned before finally pressing his hand to the wall.

  Light burst through his head. The robed man’s face was hidden behind another gold mask of Kronos. Nate struggled to slow his breathing, to search out details before it vanished. The man carried a silver cylinder, and liquid sloshed inside it as he approached Mel’s door.

  And then it all faded.

  Mel rushed over. “Are you okay? Was it a vision?”

  He nodded slowly, regaining his equilibrium. “He had a container full of some kind of liquid, but I didn’t see it when he ran from me.”

  “Do you think he dropped it?” She turned on the flashlight app on her phone and started retracing their steps.

  “I don’t know. It ended before I could see. He saw me and took off.” He watched the beam of light on the ground. “Wait. Move it over to your right again.”

  That direction she followed without question. He congratulated himself for not pointing it out. “There. Hold it right there.” He squatted down and frowned. “It’s a thermos.”

  He pulled out his phone and hit John’s number. “Yeah, it’s me. I need you out here at the high school with a forensic team. I think Ms. Jacoby was right all along. Someone murdered her roommate, and she’s next on the list.”

  He straightened up, leaving the thermos on the ground. “John will bring gloves. We’ll dust for prints and have the contents tested.”

  Mel heaved a sigh. “Should we wait in my classroom?”

  “Sure.” He followed her in and left the door propped open so John could find him. “What was so important you had to come to this poorly lit campus alone at night?”

  She chuckled. “You make it sound like a bad decision.”

  He smiled and kept his obviously correct opinion to himself.

  She held up two journals. “My term papers were finished, and I started grading the short stories tonight. But I realized two of them must have missed my bag when I was stuffing them in.”

  Her idea of important and his were very different things.

  She must’ve read the confusion on his face because she shook her head. “You’re not a writer, are you? Once you finish something, even a short story, and give it to another person to read, the panic kicks in. A story is like a tiny piece of your soul, and you give it away.”

  “Okay…” He still didn’t see the urgent need to collect the lost journals before morning.

  “Some of these kids will be worried all night that their story was stupid or bad or boring, and if I give them a lame excuse like ‘I forgot to bring it home,’ it’ll make that horrible pit of uncertainty last another twenty-four hours. They’ll second-guess themselves, and some of them may never risk sharing their writing with anyone again.”

  He stared at her for a moment, unable to string words together to describe this woman. “You have no regrets, do you?”

  “About?”

  “Tonight. Coming here.”

  “No. I’d do it again.” She started to smile. “But next time I’ll probably bring Callie’s croquet mallet.”

  “Your students are really lucky to have you in their lives.” He meant it. Every word. She cared enough about inspiring them to write that she’d come to this campus at night. On her own time. When she knew she was in personal danger.

  He didn’t like it, but he could damn well respect it.

  “I try.” Mel lifted her dark eyes to meet his. “These kids are the future. I’d love for some of them to be writers. We need more good stories. Words are magic.”

  He closed the distance between them and kissed her, his fingers threading through her hair. She moaned into his mouth, her tongue tangling slowly with his. If magic had a taste, it was Mel.

  Sirens blared in the distance. He broke the kiss, a little breathless. “I came here tonight to apologize for not calling.”

  “Does it come with a caveat that you’ll try to communicate better?”

  He chuck
led. “Yeah.”

  A car door slammed outside, but she didn’t move. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you willing to communicate better now? What’s changed?” Mel took a step back.

  He frowned, unsure what to say.

  She sighed. “I know I told you it didn’t have to be a relationship, that I could just be your muse, but when you backed off…” She brushed her hair back from her face. “It really hurt, and I realized I’m not sure I can do this. If you’re going to be more than my Guardian, then I need to know we’ll be there for each other.” She swallowed and added. “I want all of you.”

  John stepped through the threshold. “Hey, Malone. Can you show the team the container?”

  Nate didn’t take his eyes off of Mel. “Be right there.” When his partner walked away, he lowered his voice. “I don’t know if I have that to give.”

  She nodded slowly, but the sadness in her eyes made him ache to take his words back. This was exactly why relationships were a bad idea. They only led to pain.

  “Thanks for being honest with me.” Mel swiped the student journals from the desk. “I’ll be more careful in the future. I appreciate you helping me tonight.”

  And with that she walked out the door. Nate blew out a breath and glared at the empty doorway. That was it? He didn’t fucking think so.

  He stormed out the door after her, but John intercepted him with the leader of the forensic team. “The container?”

  “Yeah.” He took them over to the thermos. “Dust for prints before you open it.” He grabbed John’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”

  His partner sighed. “Let this one go, Malone.”

  “That would be easier.” He glanced down the hallway. “But I can’t. Not like this.”

  “Shit.”

  “Exactly.” Nate jogged down the hall, calling over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Mel yanked open her car door, drying her cheek with one angry swipe and getting in. This wasn’t a tragedy. This was cutting her losses. But the muse inside her kept churning her emotions, feeding on it.

  They had one hot night together, and he saved her life and her theater. Okay, so Nate also believed her when no one else did.

  But he wouldn’t be the last, she tried to convince herself as she got into the car. Somehow that thought didn’t make her feel any better, though.

  A large hand grabbed the top of her door before she could yank it closed. She looked up into Nate’s eyes. The yellow lights over the parking lot stole the bright-green color, but they didn’t stand a chance of dimming the intensity.

  “We’re not finished.” A muscle in his cheek clenched.

  She raised her chin. “I guess we’ll just have to disagree on that.”

  He didn’t release his grip on her door. “In a very short amount of time, I have done my best to accept that I don’t have skin cancer or a brain tumor. I’m trying to wrap my head around the facts that sometimes I get visions and I’m supposed to be a Guardian chosen by gods. You’ve got to meet me halfway.”

  Mel faced forward. If she kept looking into his eyes, it would be too hard to remember this was the same guy who’d slept with her and then tried to walk away. She’d been cavalier thinking she could keep her emotional distance, but the days of his silence made it clear…This was too risky, even for her. It would hurt too much when he left for good.

  “I’m sorry. There’s no halfway here.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and risked lifting her gaze. “I’m saving myself.”

  He knelt down, eye level with her, his hand still on the door. “Bullshit.”

  She raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

  He shook his head slowly. “This isn’t you. This is that voice in your head telling you the worst-case scenario.”

  “You told me you can’t give me what I need…”

  “Right now. Tonight.” His eyes searched hers. “Mel, I think about you all the time. I want to spend more time with you, I just…” He stared at the lunch tables and benches in the school’s courtyard. “I’m going to screw up. This is all new to me.” He sighed, looking her way again. “I need time. Give me that.”

  “And I need you to talk to me.”

  The corner of his lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “I think I am.”

  Her heart fluttered. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  Mel rested her head back against the seat. “For not letting me drive away.” She glanced his way. “I may have overreacted a little.”

  “It was a little tragic.”

  Laughter bubbled up as she rolled her eyes. “You think?” She sighed. “For a guy who doesn’t believe in relationships, trying to date the Muse of Tragic Poetry is pretty fraught with peril.”

  He leaned in and kissed her, long and slow. “I can handle some peril.”

  Her pulse raced. Damn, the man could kiss.

  Nate’s partner stepped into the lunch area. She nodded in his direction. “Good thing. Looks like some is headed your way.”

  Nate looked over his shoulder. “Aw shit. I’ll call you later?”

  “I’d like that.” She chuckled and drove away with a smile on her face.

  The police were getting too close. Time to tie up some loose ends. He pulled onto the dead-end street and turned off his lights. Outside of the last house, he double-checked the address. Satisfied he had the right one, he tugged on his black leather gloves and picked up the golden mask, drinking in the power and purpose in its soulless black eyes.

  Every war had casualties and every goal had obstacles. Dan Barlow, the dockworker he’d paid off, had just landed squarely into the obstacles category.

  He scanned the street, studying every car. On the corner by the cross street was a white Ford sedan. Shit. He laid the mask on the passenger seat and started the engine.

  As he drove by, his suspicion was confirmed. A man sat on the driver’s side, distracted by a laptop. The dockworker must’ve talked to the detectives. How much had he told them?

  Ben turned down the next block. His mission was still attainable, but he’d have to go on foot and enter through the back. He parked the Honda Accord and put the mask over his head. Each time he bore the likeness of Kronos, his confidence in his mission grew.

  This was just another step toward the return of the Golden Age of Man. His name would be remembered for generations. Immortality.

  He found a house without a fenced-in yard and quietly passed through. Dan Barlow’s six-foot chain-link fence slowed him for a moment. He would need a quick retreat. Climbing the fence could leave him vulnerable if he needed to exit in a hurry. Damn.

  After a trip back to the car, he returned with wire cutters. He snipped an opening in the fence and silently slid though. Up the back steps, he peered through the window in the back door. No sign of a dog or a kibble bowl on the kitchen floor.

  He lifted his robe to slide the clippers into his pocket and take out the wire garrote. Pulling it tight, he drank in the rush of adrenaline. He released one side and reached for the doorknob.

  Unlocked. He smiled behind the mask.

  With a patient hand, he opened the door, avoiding any creaking. He stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. The knob squeaked, and he froze, holding his breath.

  From the other room, Mr. Barlow called out. “I thought you went to bed!”

  Sweat beaded on his brow. He didn’t move.

  “Meredith?”

  He waited, but no footsteps sounded. Finally, he ventured farther into the house. Mr. Barlow sat in an easy chair in front of his television, remote in hand as the channels flipped by.

  Creeping closer, the Enforcer pulled the wire tighter. The reflection of the gold mask covered the television screen.

  “What the hell?”

  Without hesitation, he lunged forward, the garrote catching Dan Barlow under the chin. The dockworker struggled, unable to scream as he tugged the wire, cutting
through skin and severing arteries.

  The body settled into the chair. He quietly removed the garrote, checking the hallway for any sign of a witness. Reassuring silence surrounded him. He inspected his work to be certain Mr. Barlow would never talk to the police again. Satisfied, he went back out the way he’d come.

  Inside the car, he used his robe to wipe the wire clean and took off the mask and gloves.

  One more stop.

  He drove out of the neighborhood with his headlights off, watching the rearview mirror for the unmarked police car.

  Nothing.

  His hands slipped on the wheel, slick with sweat, his stomach knotted. Killing the muse had been cleaner. Tonight was messy. Nausea rose each time Mr. Barlow’s blood-soaked shirt entered his mind, but his belief in the cause kept him moving forward.

  Six months ago, he was a realtor, hustling for his next sale. He never dreamed he’d become so much more. Some might say he was a murderer, but he wasn’t. Not really. He was a visionary. There was a big difference.

  The Order gave him a purpose. They needed him. He could see the big picture, the end result that justified his actions. Empathy stood no chance against his raw determination.

  These were not people. They were obstacles.

  The end would justify the means. When the Golden Age of Man returned to Earth, the small sacrifices would be forgotten. And his name would live on forever.

  He stopped near the edge of the lake and put the Honda Accord in park. After collecting his belongings, he opened the trunk and removed two pieces of a broom handle. He wedged the first between the driver’s seat and the gas pedal. The engine roared. He took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the second wooden dowel.

  Now or never.

  He hit the gearshift, knocking it into drive. The Honda raced for the lake, down the gravel, and finally off the embankment, launching into the air for a few seconds before it smashed into the water. The engine sputtered as the car succumbed to the black depths. He stood watch, a silent sentinel as the final air bubbles floated to the surface.