Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply (13 page)

“Is it a rule that all of you must be beautiful?” asked Dove. “I mean, if someone fat and ugly and old wanted to get into the paranormal club, are they even considered for membership?”

Patsy laughed. “Oh, hell. She’s a hoot.” She smiled at Dove. “Wait’ll you see the vampire nudist colony, honey. You have to die at the age of fifty or older to even get in.” She looked at me. “It’s just another perk of visiting our little haven in Oklahoma. It’s getting close to dawn, and we need to rest during the day before traipsing to the desert. Ugh.”

Dove turned to me, her expression serious. “I cannot live another day without seeing naked vampire senior citizens.”

“You are so easy.” I crossed my arms and eyed the non-humans. “I’m going to be a harder sell.”

“Didn’t we mention the booby-trapped pyramid that will magically appear tomorrow night?” asked Patsy.

“You forgot the booby-trapped part,” I said, which honestly made traversing the pyramid an even greater incentive. “How are we going to get to Egypt? I guess I could get the private plane ready, but that takes a little bit of planning, and I don’t know if my pilot—”

“We have transportation handled,” said Patsy. “But it’s safer if you hole up in Broken Heart until we know the pyramid will show up again. Our town is invisible to the outside world and probably the most protected spot on earth right now. We’re of a mind to protect parakind. Karn wants to introduce us all to the world, and then take it over from the humans. We think that’s a dumb-ass move.”

“Karn didn’t strike me as a dumb-ass,” I said.

“He’s not, and that’s why he’s even more dangerous.” This statement came from Drake. “We need your help, Dr. Jameson. Please . . . come with us.”

Oh, man. That German accent, and those gorgeous gem eyes . . . I wanted to say yes just so I could stay in proximity to that man. Er. Werewolf. Okay. I had to be a little flattered that big, bad supernatural creatures needed my little ol’ human help. Except maybe, just maybe, they considered me expendable. If I got hurt or dead . . . what was it to them?

“I can’t disappear from the college,” I said, knowing full well I could, and it was almost expected (and, might I mention, welcomed) by most of the staff and all of the administration.

Drake lifted his brows, and Patsy rolled her eyes. “You think we don’t know about you, Dr. Jameson?” she asked. “We know all about you. You’re eccentric, tough, honest, and persistent as hell. You as much as own this college and can take off whenever you like. If you were to tell people you’re going away on another dig, no one would think twice about it.”

“You’ll make us go whether we want to or not,” I accused.

“To protect you,” said Drake. “Karn obviously wants you to get him into the pyramid.”

“I’m not the only archaeologist in the world.”

“You are the one who opened it. And you are the only granddaughter of Ezra Jameson,” said Drake. “He was a friend to parakind.”

I stared at him as I processed his words. “My grandfather knew about supernatural creatures?”

Not everyone can receive your gifts.

On that night so long ago, had my grandfather been talking to a vampire or a werewolf? And had he known that we employed a mermaid as a teacher? Who else on staff wasn’t human? I really needed to rethink our vetting process.

“Yes,” said Drake. “You’ve been under the watchful eyes of some parakind already . . . You just haven’t known it. Just like you haven’t realized that you’ve been carrying on your grandfather’s work for the Consortium.”

My mind raced. “Wait. That’s why he digging around in the Sudan? To find that crypt?”

“To find what was supposed to be in the crypt,” said Gabriel.

“We didn’t know it was a whole pyramid and that getting our Ancients out of it would require so much drama. Ugh,” said Patsy. She paused, her gaze drifting over my shoulder. I looked, but saw nothing.

“No, Dottie,” she said, “we can’t take the banshee home. Because he’s on loan, that’s why. I don’t care if he has a cute accent.” Patsy rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just go home with him? I’m sure he’d love a smart-ass dead girl hanging around his castle.”

I glanced at Damian. “Um . . . does she hear voices? You know, inside her head?”

“She can see and talk to spirits,” he explained.

“Yeah,” offered Patsy in a grumpy voice, “and they won’t leave me alone.”

“Can you see . . . er, the ghost who haunts here?” asked Dove. Her gaze skittered toward mine.

Patsy looked around. “I only see Dottie and Camdon—he’s the banshee. He’s not technically a ghost . . . more like a creature who screams like a preteen at a One Direction concert. Although he was human once. Or something. I have a hard time keeping all this paranormal shit straight.”

“Are you sure?” asked Dove. “Because this building is supposed to be haunted. Screaming is reported all the time.”

Patsy paused, took a breath, and then closed her eyes. After a moment, her eyes popped open and she said, “No one’s answering. So, no spirits are here, or they’re ignoring me—and it’s really hard to ignore me.”

“My mother was murdered in this building,” I said faintly. My mother’s spirit wasn’t here after all. I couldn’t bear the thought of her trapped here, in the place where she died, unable to move on. I wobbled, or maybe the world tilted on its axis, and I felt the steady hand of Drake slide under my arm to keep me standing upright.

“Oh, shit,” said Patsy. “I’m sorry. Some spirits just move on. She probably didn’t stick around after . . . well, after.”

My stomach clenched. I sure as hell didn’t want anyone, much less people who weren’t exactly people, to know more about my past than I did. I kept a tight lid on my past, which was necessary. It’s why I took meds. Why I had to refuse to open the door to my mother’s unsolved murder. Well, at least I didn’t have to do a powwow with my murdered mother. That felt far too much like I was going to therapy and dealing with my issues.

Still, my heart did a slow, painful turn.

Oh, Mom.

“We should go.”

It wasn’t like Dove and I had agreed to go, but . . . all the same, I knew we would. Gabriel led the way, holding his wife’s hand and guiding her through the chaos of desks, chairs, and tables. Dove followed, and I went after her, and Drake was the caboose on our strange train.

A long, low moan drifted down the hallway, and lights began to flash.

“Gah!” cried Dove. She tottered on her shoes, and Gabriel reached back and grabbed her arm.

“It’s the banshee,” said Patsy. “He’s making sure he’s expelled all the vampire energy. And I think he’s digging the idea of haunting a new place for a while.”

It didn’t take long to traverse the darkened hall. Thank God for that, because the noise and strange lights were getting louder and brighter. We finally made it out of the main doors of the building. I was glad, too, because being in that building gave me the shivers. I hadn’t wanted to believe that my mother was a ghost. That she’d been trapped in that building or, worse, chosen to stay on the earthly plane. I wasn’t sure how the afterlife worked. I knew what the ancient Egyptians believed, but I’d never quite figured out my own beliefs about the soul.

But why not, right? I was standing in the company of vampires listening to a banshee wail.

You know, it’s no wonder I’m a little nuts.

Dove looked over her shoulder at the building where the moans echoed and shuddered. Her gaze was torn between terror and awe.

I had avoided Building A, ignored the whispered tales of the screaming woman, and generally tried to pretend my past wasn’t sitting inside it labeled, “This Is the Moment Moira’s Life Changed Forever.” Yes, my life changed, but my mother’s had ended.

I couldn’t bear it, and I felt a touch on my arm.

“Are you all right?” asked Drake in hushed concern.

“Not really,” I said. “But that’s okay.”

“I’m very sorry about your mother,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded, his gaze on mine, and I felt something there, hovering between us like silence and hope and desire. It was an odd moment, which was broken when Drake squeezed my shoulder and then headed down the stairs.

A man who looked exactly like Gabriel waited at the bottom of the concrete steps. I jolted. Twins? After all the events of the evening, discovering that Gabriel had an identical twin shouldn’t have been a big surprise.

“Ren, this is Dr. Moira Jameson, and that’s Dove.” Patsy waved toward the man. “This is Ren Marchand.”

He inclined his head. Then he took in Dove’s shoes. One white eyebrow rose, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to Patsy and asked, “Everyone else has returned to Broken Heart. Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” said Patsy. “You take Dr. Jameson. I’ll get Drake.”

“Dove,” said Gabriel, opening his arms.

“Wait. What?” I asked as I watched Drake stepped into the embrace of Patsy. Now, how was that fair? I’d sorta claimed him in my mind, and the married pregnant woman shouldn’t get dibs. Plus, her belly made the whole thing a little awkward.

“Dr. Jameson,” said Ren. He wiggled his fingers in a “c’mere” gesture.

“Is this really the time for a hugging circle?” I asked. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

“We are. Get into the man’s arms,” demanded Patsy. “We’re taking the shortcut home.”

Dove shrugged, and tiptoed her traitorous grad-student body into Gabriel’s arms.

I was the only holdout, and I decided I’d gone along with the madness so far, what was a supernatural squeeze? I walked into Ren’s waiting arms. He was muscled and warm and smelled nice. But I couldn’t help but wish that Drake was my hugger. No offense to Ren. I’m sure he was a very nice whatever-he-was.

“Welcome to travel by vampire,” he said with a quicksilver smile.

Then I imploded.

•   •   •

“It’s always weird the first time,” said Patsy.

“Gurg,”
I managed.

When my molecules had melded back together and we appeared in a room that looked like a white blur to my abused eyes, I had oozed out of Ren’s arms and onto the floor. A circle of concerned faces looked down at me, including Dove’s—and some gorgeous redheaded lady who wore a filmy green dress and no shoes. She had tattoos on her visible skin, except on her face. The tattoos sparkled and moved. Well, my bar for “weird” was really high now, so glowing gold tattoos weren’t too far into the freak zone.

“I never, and I mean
never
, want to do that again.” I lifted a hand to my tender jaw. “I think I’ll stop talking now.”

“I’ll take care of that,” said the redheaded woman in an Irish lilt. She glanced at Dove. “You, too. Let’s go into the kitchen.”

All the faces disappeared as people straightened and wandered away—to the kitchen presumably.

I groaned.

Drake crouched beside me. “Do you need help?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

He put his arms underneath me and in one smooth motion lifted me and stood up. It wasn’t lost on me that he picked up my six-foot frame and generously curvy body with the same effort he might put into carting around a bag of feathers. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and saw his eyes flare with something electric and hungry.

“I think I’m feeling better,” I murmured. I resisted the urge to touch that square jaw of his. He had some scruff, and I wanted to trail my fingers over it.

He grinned.

Butterflies danced in my belly.

“Are you really a werewolf?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” he said, his grin widening to show far too many sharp white teeth. “I’ll show you one day, my beauty.” He leaned close to my ear and whispered, “You are not afraid, are you?”

“It’s against the archaeologist’s code,” I said. I held up two fingers. “Brave, true, and strong.” I offered him a half smile. “So, no, I’m not afraid.”

“We shall see,” he said in a low, growly voice. My pulse jumped, and I saw his eyes dilate. I realized he could use his animal senses to detect things about me . . . such as arousal. And I was there, all right. Drake managed to turn the rusty crank on my libido, and it was going full spin right now.

He carried me into the kitchen. It was large, open, and rustic-looking, with a huge stone hearth that had—I kid you not—a black cauldron hovering over the fire. Something bubbled inside it. Bat eyeballs? Dead man’s bones? Laundry?

“Welcome to the Three Sisters Bed-and-Breakfast.”

I craned my neck and saw another redhead near a table with a spread of food that made my stomach growl. It had been a long time since I’d eaten those tiny quiches.

“Healin’ first, then feastin’,” ordered the other redhead. “Put her in this chair, Drake.”

Drake did has he was told, gently depositing me into a hard-backed chair that had been pulled out from a rectangular oak table. He stepped back.

“I’m Brigid,” she said in that lovely Irish voice. “You’ll be feelin’ right as rain in no time.”

“Dove first,” I said. “You might want check her feet, too, and see if she has any toes left.”

“Har, har,” said Dove, who was seated catty-corner to me.

“Very well,” Brigid said with a smile. She moved to Dove and lightly cupped the girl’s chin. After a moment of examining the bruise, she placed her fingertips along Dove’s jawline. The tattoos sparkling on her arms shifted into different symbols and then gold—well, “magic” was the only word I could use—flowed from her fingers to Dove’s face and down her neck. Dove closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

Brigid stepped back and studied her handiwork. “How do you feel, then?”

“Awesome.” Dove’s eyes fluttered open. “Thank you.”

“An’ you’re welcome.” Brigid turned to me. “They hit you harder, seems like.”

“Well, I really pissed them off.”

She laughed. Then she placed her fingertips on my jaw, the tattoos swirled once again, the gold light drifted from her fingers. I closed my eyes as the tingling sensation of warmth penetrated my sore jaw and my aching head and neck. After a while the sensations faded, and when my eyes opened, I felt perfectly fine.

“There now,” said Brigid. “All better.”

“What kind of paranormal are you?” asked Dove.

“Oh, not a paranormal like you’ll find in Broken Heart,” said Brigid. “I’m a goddess.”