Ghost Soldiers (43 page)

Something flared in his eyes—either anger or respect—before the professional detachment slammed back down. Anger I could understand, but respect would only vex me more. I didn't need his damn respect.

“I didn't mean to violate protocols,” he said in a smooth, calm voice. “I just want to make certain we mesh together well. That our leadership styles are fully integrated to avoid any splintering of command.”

Mesh together well. That conjured up some distracting images. Oh, he did vex me something awful, the bastard. “We can fully integrate if you listen to my orders. When we're hot, I'm calling the shots.”

“Understood. I'm here to support and advise. My only goal is to achieve our mission objectives.”

“Then I suggest you stay out of my way. I'm driving this truck.” I walked around him, careful not to touch him again, and continued up the next set of stairs, willing my fists to remain unclenched and my jaw muscles to cease and desist from grinding my teeth to powder.

He called after me. “One last thing, Captain Walker.”

I glanced down. He had his game face on—a hard-as-steel, raptor-eyed, chew-dynamite-and-spit-out-nitroglycerin look which appeared pretty damn impressive. “What?”

“I meant what I said about achieving mission objectives. I'll do whatever I have to. There are lives to save.”

I swallowed my cheeky comment and gave him the benefit of a nod, despite my smoldering irritation. As if I didn't know there were civvy lives at stake. Who'd he think he was dealing with? Backwater hicks?

I spun on my heel and took the stairs two at a time, eager to be away from him. God help me, this might just be the hardest damn job I'd ever done.

Are blind dates supposed to be this bloody?

 

The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters

© 2011 Sierra Dean

 

A
Secret McQueen
Story

They say it's impossible to find a man in New York City. Secret McQueen needs to find two in one night. Of course, it'll mean pulling off the impossible—find and kill a displaced rogue vampire without disrupting the first promising date she's had in ages. As a werewolf hybrid used to walking a fine line of survival in the vampire world, though, Secret eats impossible for breakfast.

Somewhere between hello and the first round of drinks, Secret makes her move. Her target, Hollywood's biggest star, shouldn't be hard to spot. Just look for swarms of fans. Except every time her vampire liaison, Holden, helps keep her mission on track, her date runs further off the rails.

Either Holden has a hidden agenda, or he knows more than he's letting on about her quarry. One way or another, Secret is determined to get her man, and meet Mr. Right. Or die trying.

Warning: This book contains a sword-wielding assassin whose barbs are sharper than her blade, a vampire with serious brooding issues but a skilled tongue, and an A-lister with a bad habit of eating his fans.

 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters:

We crossed the street on a Do Not Walk, narrowly avoiding an overzealous cab, and Holden guided me onto East 33rd by placing his hand on the small of my back and motioning me in the appropriate direction. We must have looked for all the world like one of those beautiful couples people love to hate.
He
made us pretty, I just helped make us a pair. It didn't hurt that the dress gave me the illusion of being more stunning than I actually was.

When we were angled the right way, his hand lingered below my shoulders in a protective gesture. His fingers were level with my hair, and from time to time he would catch and hold one of the curls for a second, then release it.

“You realize we're almost there, don't you?” I asked, running out of patience.

It wasn't his touch that bothered me. It was the delay in his narrative. Vampires have no sense of urgency, which drives me mental. They'll forget what they're saying and muse silently to themselves for hours if you don't remind them to resume their story. I guess living for centuries must make time feel different.

He dropped his hand, as though touching me was part of his distraction, then licked his lips as he prepared to speak.

“It would seem, according to the West Coast Tribunal, one of their rogues has crossed into our jurisdiction.” His hands were now stuffed in the pockets of his gray dress pants. Summer or not, Holden Chancery would never be caught dead in shorts. Climate control isn't really an issue for vampires.

Plus he was already dead.

“Oh?” I didn't want to say too much, just wanted him to continue speaking.

Holden reached into his blazer and withdrew a familiar white envelope. The paper was a heavy linen finish and smelled sweet but faintly peppery. It was closed with an honest-to-God wax seal, stamped with Sig's personal insignia.

My heart always caught with butterflies when Holden brought me one of these deliveries, and tonight was no different. With the slightest tremor of excitement, I took the envelope and held it close for a moment. Here it was, the promise of the hunt. The reward of the chase. The killer inside both my monsters lived for this.

I got down to brass tacks. “How much?”

“Ten.” Thousand. Wow, this guy must have been pretty naughty. The average rogue was worth five hundred if they were part of a sect, a thousand if they ran solo.

Yup. I've killed vampires for a mere five hundred dollars. But considering rogues would always be an issue, and I had a menacing reputation to uphold, five hundred bucks for a night's work wasn't too shabby. The most I'd ever earned on a single job was ten thousand, so this was a pretty nice number to hear again.

The warrant in my hands would cover almost seven months of rent.

Or five months and some new clothes to replace what Holden had insisted I throw out.

I popped the seal with a satisfying crack and was unfolding the paper when Holden's attention shifted. A second later I knew why.

“Secret?” The voice was low, comforting and masculine without being overwhelming. It did happy things to parts of me I rarely acknowledged. He also didn't stumble over my name, so he scored points early in the game for that. With a name like Secret McQueen, it was easy for people to make a mess out of it.

I turned away from Holden, the envelope still in my hand, and was pleasantly surprised by what greeted me.

Detective Tyler Nowakowski lived up to Mercedes's designation of handsome. He was tall, at least six foot two, and lean without bending towards lanky. His eyes were a little too large, but it gave him a look of attentive curiosity. In contrast, his mouth was small, giving his face the appearance of an inverted triangle. His nose and jaw were strong, alluding to the Slavic heritage hinted at by his name. His hair, short and black, was styled with a minimal amount of gel.

He wore dark jeans, about half a size too big, based on how low they had fallen on his narrow hips, and he'd topped it with a white dress shirt fresh from the dry cleaner. I could smell the chemicals under the scent of his nice, but inexpensive, cologne.

Tyler looked at Holden apprehensively, and his thick black brows drew closer together. When he looked back to me, they went the opposite direction, and I accepted I'd made the right choice in agreeing to wear the dress.

“Yes. Secret. That's me,” I managed to reply, struggling to shove the envelope into my purse.

Why are clutches so small? What's the point of carrying a bag if all you can fit into it is your cell phone and a lip gloss? I could have found room for those in my bra.

Feeling foolish, I stuck my hand out to him and flashed him my brightest smile. “You must be Tyler. Cedes has told me all about you,” I fibbed.

“Likewise.” He shook my hand, and while I could tell the firmness of my grip surprised him, I was pleased he matched it in return. More points for Detective Tyler. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“What?”

Holden cleared his throat dramatically behind me.

“Oh, him?” I gave a dismissive wave at the vampire, who proceeded to stand next to me, far too close, and offered his own hand to Tyler.

“Holden Chancery,” he said, and Tyler winced when Holden shook his hand. “Secret and I are—”

“Work colleagues.” I wasn't sure what Holden was up to, but I wasn't about to let him ruin my night. Not now that I saw what I had to look forward to.

The bewildered look on Tyler's face softened, but he didn't totally relax. A good detective never takes anything at face value, and Holden had placed his other hand on my back again, which wasn't very businessy of him.

“Holden was just leaving.” I stared at the vampire with pointed ferocity.

“I don't know.” He eyed the fetching brunette hostess standing inside the door. “This place looks pretty tasty.”

He released Tyler's hand, and the detective flexed it next to his side, making me wonder how hard Holden had squeezed. I would have expected this kind of a territorial pissing contest if Holden had been a werewolf. Not that I knew any werewolves personally, but the theatrical masculinity seemed to be more their style.

Vampires were a little more cut and dry about claiming their property. All one had to do was announce that someone belonged to them and boundaries were respected.

But I sure as hell didn't belong to Holden, or to anyone else for that matter. I also doubted Holden declaring
mine
right before Tyler's and my date would have gone over well.

I gritted my teeth into what could have passed for a frustrated smile, but below the register of human hearing I growled at my liaison. I may not have been a huge fan of my furry brethren, but sometimes my lupine DNA really pays off. Vampires can snarl, but no one growls like a werewolf.

“Sadly, I have a date elsewhere.” He stopped touching me and tipped an imaginary hat towards us.

The whole encounter had been entirely unlike Holden. He had been almost…playful. He was usually so serious. His unusual behavior tonight made me wonder about the envelope in my purse. My new target
had
to be good.

“Good night,” Tyler said with more politeness than I would have managed.

I stepped away from Holden and was about to speak to Tyler when the vampire got in his last word. “Don't forget to have a look at the contract, Secret. Wouldn't want that one to get away.”

I turned to say something that promised to be painfully clever, but Holden was already gone.

Magic, matchmaking and murder…

 

The Importance of Being Emily

© 2011 Robyn Bachar

 

Lord Willowbrook's spring ball is supposed to be a magical celebration, but Miss Emily Wright is bored. The only outlet allowed for her magic is matchmaking—for others, not herself. Why bother? The only man she wants, Michael Black, is a man she can never have.

Suddenly the guests are abuzz with news of a young sorceress found drained of blood in the parlor. The mystery calls to her, and since she is the only available seer in all England, she jumps at the chance to prove herself.

Michael has spent his life preparing for his ritual death, when he will join the Order of St. Jerome as an immortal chronicler. Now that dream hangs in the balance, his mentor accused of the murder. Worse, gentle Emily, the woman he silently loves, is walking into a world of horrors beyond her imagination.

Torn between duty to the order and desire to keep her safe, Michael fights his growing need for a love that can never be his. All the while the real killer stalks the shadows of Willowbrook Hall, homing in on the next victim.

Warning: This book contains a tough but tortured seer, a hero with an expiration date, scandalous kisses, scheming vampires and bloody corpses.

 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Importance of Being Emily:

The night air held a damp chill that was blessedly soothing after my skin had been seared by the bonfire of embarrassment. Though I knew I would regret not stopping for my wrap within a few minutes, I closed my eyes and enjoyed it. For a moment everything was cool, quiet and peaceful, and then Mr. Black interrupted my calm.

“What did you see?” he asked.

Sighing, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. “I would rather not discuss it. I assume it was not your mentor, but I cannot say for certain. I did not see his face.”

Not eager to continue the discussion, I walked deeper into the garden. Some of the braver plants had begun nosing their way from their beds, but for the most part the barren clutches of winter still gripped everything around us. The potential hummed beneath the surface, waiting impatiently for a few warm days to free it. In summer everything would be lush and green again, but for now bed after bed was empty.

Like the cradle.
An empty cradle for my empty life.

Shivering, I rubbed my arms above the tops of my gloves. Without a word Mr. Black removed his coat and draped it over my shoulders. It was warm, but it also carried a strong impression of him—his thirst for knowledge, his dedication to his studies and his loyalty to his mentor. The corners of my mouth twitched as I pictured him as a very tall Labrador dog. If only Mr. Farrell shared a few of Mr. Black's honorable qualities.

“Thank you,” I said. He stood close to me, and I hesitated, torn between moving away and staying still to see what he intended.

“Simon would never do this,” he assured me.

“I believe you. Once I am able to prove that, we can focus on finding the true killer. With your tight schedule I'm sure you are anxious to return to your studies.” I winced, feeling guilty for my unkind words. It wasn't his fault that his dreams for the future were so very different from mine. What could the higher powers be thinking by connecting us?

“I apologize for involving you in this.”

“Well it has certainly been revealing, but don't be silly. I wanted to help you. Your mentor was not…acquainted with Miss Morgan, was he?”