Blood of an Ancient (33 page)

I shot a glance at Phro only to find the spirit had gone translucent. She did that whenever her emotions grew too strong to handle—almost as if the effort zapped whatever vitality she used to appear in near-solid form.

“Do you know him, Phro?”

She nodded.

“I thought you said the name didn’t ring any bells.”

“This is an old bell.” The words bounced on a shaky whisper.

 
I turned to Fred, who only shrugged, his stare never leaving the man in the corner. “He can see us.”

My head whipped back to the stranger. “Why are you in my sister’s room?”

“She’s a friend.”

“You date?” I had no idea why, but for some reason the very idea made me curl my hands into fists.

“Not that sort of friend.” Amusement laced his voice.

I stilled the sudden feminine urge to tug up my jeans, smooth a hand down my black T-shirt, pat my hair. “What sort of friend, then?” I asked, and then frowned. “This is ridiculous. Come into the light so I can see you.”

“Demanding little thing aren’t you?” But he stood and stepped forward.

“Little?” I snorted. “You must be blind—” I broke off because yeah—to him—I could seem little.

He strode to me on impossibly long legs and just like that, cupped my chin to lift my face. “You don’t have the color of women from my home.”

“Uh—”

He used his free hand to tug the hat from my head. I’d pinned it on, so I winced as the pins went flying and my mass of hair fell with a heavy whoosh. In the next instant, he was running his hand down my hair, lifting strands to rub between his fingers.

“Just a damn minute! Who the hell do you think you are?” I jerked my chin away and stepped back, glaring and marveling over how much I had to look up.

Fred had been right. Oversized Neanderthal fit him to a T. He had to be around six-foot-six or seven. I stared into his face, intrigued by its interesting mix of Native American and Asian features—dusky skin, long, sharp nose and lightly slanted eyes so velvety brown they were nearly black. I ran my gaze down to his mouth and felt a rippling awareness dance along my nerve endings. The man had a wicked nice mouth.

Blythe, whom I had forgotten entirely, broke the spell. “Wow. You’re really pretty.”

Pretty was maybe taking his description a bit far, especially with the very strong, masculine slant to his looks, but he was seriously nice to look at—beautiful even, though I could tell by his withering glance at Blythe he wouldn’t appreciate that adjective, either.

When he’d turned his head, I caught a glimpse of a long, fat, black braid. I immediately wanted to know how long it was and what it looked like loose.

This wasn’t like me at all.

 
“What are you?” I whispered, forgetting how very much I hated that question when it was aimed at me.

His eyes softened as he turned back to me and once again, he reached out to touch my face. I flinched. People didn’t touch me. Ever. I didn’t know how to react. I wanted to step back from those warm fingers and yet, I also wanted to sink into them and see if maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t all that different from other women after all. I shivered.

“I’m a man, but like you, I’m something more.”

Cryptic
.
Weird
. “More what?”

“I don’t know.”

It took all my effort not to let my shoulders slump with the crushing disappointment that draped me from head to foot. For an instant, one glorious instant, I’d thought all my questions were about to be answered. That maybe this person knew what I was. Why I was here…

Why I was so very, very different from everyone else.

Everyone other than him, though
. The thought struck me with the force of a blow. We didn’t have the same coloring, but he was like me on some elemental level I didn’t understand and I had every intention of learning.

“I’m Beri, by the way. Is it just me or is this really strange?”

A half-smile tilted one corner of his mouth. I didn’t know how I knew this, but Nikolos was not a man to smile often. And as he stepped back, I suddenly got it. I’d been distracted by his beauty—his overpowering presence. I’d completely missed the very thing that set him apart from other people and now that I saw it, black smudged the edges of my vision. I reached blindly to the side and grabbed Blythe’s arm, pulling the unnaturally silent woman into my narrow line of sight. “Do you still have that spell for auras?”

Wispy, blonde strands of hair bounced as Blythe shook her head. “I don’t need the spell with him.” Face white, she tilted her head back and stared at the giant. “He may be pretty but his aura isn’t. It’s nothing but black. Not just a spot either. The whole thing. It’s all black and thick and just not…right.”

It was no aura.

It’s all quasi-legal fun until somebody gets framed for murder.

Wicked Misery

© 2013 Tracey Martin

Miss Misery, Book 1

Jessica Moore thrives on misery. Literally. Thanks to a goblin’s curse, she gets a magical high from humanity’s suffering. A shameful talent like that could bury a girl in guilt, so to atone, she uses her dark power to hunt murderers, rapists and other scumbags—until one of them frames her for his crimes.

In desperation, Jessica seeks refuge with the one person she trusts to not turn her in—a satyr named Lucen. Like every member of his race, Lucen uses his lusty magic to control Boston’s human population, and Jessica isn’t immune to his power. But the murder victims belonged to a rival race, and when they discover Lucen is harboring Jessica, dodging the cops becomes the least of her problems.

With only five days to find the real killer, Jessica faces a danger far more serious than the brewing magical war. The danger of succumbing to Lucen’s molten seduction.

Warning: Contains a heroine with a lust for misery, creepy murders, and creepier goblins, satyrs so hot you’d sell your soul for one, and scaly sewer rats masquerading as dragons. Who said magic was all sparkles and tiaras?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Wicked Misery:

The train doors opened at the Shadowtown station, and I launched myself out of the car, desperate and stupid. On the ride over it had occurred to me that I was not exactly equipped for this. I had no charms and no weapons. All I had was the cash in my wallet, my phone and the Tallyho’s uniform in my duffel bag. Yeah, I’d thought this through real well.

What I wouldn’t have given for my bike, my knives and my anklet. Hell, I’d have been happy with my leather pants. Since I’d bought them when I was in a bind, they’d become comfort clothes. And damn it, I needed comfort.

Barring that, I’d take a relatively safe place to think.

That was why I’d chosen Shadowtown. It was the one neighborhood in Boston that the Gryphons wouldn’t just sweep through looking for me. They’d come eventually if they believed I was here, but it would be a while before they gathered a small army. Whatever vendetta the sylphs might have against me aside, no pred liked a Gryphon invasion.

So I hoped.

I clattered down the steps to the street and checked the time on my cell. I’d gotten off shift at three. It was now almost four. The Lair wouldn’t open for another hour, but Lucen should be up. Yesterday, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t show my face to him for at least a week. So much for pride.

He picked up on the fourth ring as my panic began anew. “After ten years without a phone call, this is the second time in two days you’ve called me, little siren. Have I finally started growing on you?”

“Yeah, like a tumor. Um…” I collected my thoughts. All around me, a quiet, sleepy Shadowtown was awakening. Thunder rumbled overhead and the wind picked up, scattering leaves near my feet. A couple humans, nonaddicts, were hurrying my way, high-school-age guys by the look. No doubt they were testing their burgeoning manliness by exploring Shadowtown during a time when most of its inhabitants would be tucked in bed. I waited for them to pass.

They gave me furtive glances, probably assuming I was an addict. I rolled my eyes and adjusted the phone against my head. A shadow flickered from the corner of my eye, and I saw the back of a sylph’s head as he or she entered a house. There was a flash of silvery white hair then the door shut. I had to get off the street.

“Jess?”

“Sorry. I’m having a little problem and could use a spot where I could lie low for a bit. Out of the Gryphons’ reach.”

His tone changed. “What’s going on?”

“I’d rather not say in the middle of the street.”

“Can you get to The Lair?”

“I’m looking at it.”

“I’ll be right down.”

Lucen hung up, and I jogged the rest of the way down the block to the bar. He was already outside by the time I got there, looking freshly showered in jeans but no shirt or shoes. His blond waves dripped water on broad shoulders. I winced. He’d better put on a shirt soon or I was going to have a hard time concentrating. Yeah, being framed for murder sounded like it should easily take precedence over a chiseled chest and a six-pack, but only to someone who never spent time around satyrs. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Lucen stood on the stoop next to the bar, holding the front door open. “Come on in.”

“I didn’t know you lived above The Lair.”

“There’s lots you don’t know about me because you’re always running away.”

I squeezed past him, getting a good whiff of his cinnamon-tinged skin and undoubtedly a good dose of his lusty magic. My hands twitched, eager to attach themselves to that broad swath of chest and trace every contour of muscle, to follow that thin line of blond hairs on his stomach to where it disappeared into his waistband and beyond. I dug my nails into my palms. The pain helped, but not as much as usual. “I hate to be rude since you’re doing me a huge favor, but could you put on a shirt?”

“If you insist, or you could take off yours and call it even.”

“I’m being framed for murder. I’ve got more important things to worry about than whether I’m wearing my pretty bra.”

Abruptly, some of my lust subsided, pulled back almost as though a blanket had been tugged off my skin. Lucen gaped at me, his eyes filled with shock.

Could he do that? Keep a handle on his power if he wanted to? Granted, not all my desire had disappeared, but the worst of it had. Damn it, if I didn’t need his goodwill right now—whatever little goodwill a satyr might have, that was—I’d want to kill him for never bothering to do this before.

“Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared to the right, and feet pounded up some unseen stairs.

I wandered deeper into his apartment, not expecting to find it so light and airy. The kitchen was immediately to my left. Through a doorway I could see steps, and beyond that a small, tastefully decorated living room. Muted sunlight seeped into the joint kitchen and dining area through linen drapes. I pulled them aside and discovered sliding doors leading onto a small deck that overlooked a parking lot. All in all, not a bad spot. But then, rents in Shadowtown were cheaper than almost anywhere else in the Boston area. For all I knew, Lucen owned this entire building.

He was right in that regard. I’d never bothered to learn much about him. Prolonged conversations had always felt like an invitation for trouble.

With that thought in mind, I plunked myself down at the kitchen table, wondering whether this had been a bad idea of Biblical proportions. Until now, I’d never exactly sought out Lucen’s company. Since the beginning of our relationship, it had always been the other way around. After all, most of the major religions taught that preds were on this planet to tempt humanity to ruin, and I usually saw no point in throwing myself at temptation.

Blood of an Ancient

Rinda Elliott

Saving the love of her life could mean letting her inner darkness out to play.

Beri O’Dell, Book 2

Beri O’Dell is on a mission. She has to rip back into a hell dimension fast, but needs two things first—the blood of an ancient and a fix for her friend Blythe’s magic, which careened out of control after the battle with the Dweller.
 

Finding ancient blood isn’t easy when the old ones are rare and unwilling to donate. She needs to find Blythe’s former mentor…except the woman has lost her mind and joined a traveling band of singing witches.

That’s not the only magical monkey on her back. Nikolos is imprisoned, and after a screwed-up spell lets her witness the horror that has become his life, her fear for him grows by the day. Now there’s another problem—a powerful being unleashed during the battle with the Dweller likes her gluttonous new existence, and will kill anyone who threatens it.

But Beri has a few tricks up her costumed sleeve, even if it means mining the darkness of her soul to set everything right…and get Nikolos back in her arms.

Warning: Sleazy ancients. Random fires. Nosy teenage hackers. Hints of off-screen torture. Battles with...Beri doesn't know what. And one scary boyfriend who keeps inching toward insanity.