The Deviants Complete series Box Set

by Jacey Ward

  There had not been a civil war in almost a thousand years but the immortals were still recovering from its aftermath. A war between demons was the equivalent of a human nuclear war. No one would be safe, no matter how far they ran.

  But where to find Uvall… Dante had been convinced for a time that his archenemy and the leader of the free world were one and the same, that Uvall had just been having some fun at the expense of the mortals. But that theory had proved to be wrong.

  You’re getting ahead of yourself, Dante chided himself. You’re not even sure if Uvall is here. And if he is, he may just conform like everyone else. First focus on the company. That’s an immediate crisis that you can deal with now. Later, if it comes to that, you can deal with Uvall.

  Again, the phone on his desk rang but before he could reach forward to mute it, there was a knock at the door.

  “Yes?”

  Cheryl reappeared with two people behind her.

  “I see you found PR and legal,” he commented, silencing the ringing phone on his desk. “Is McKenzie at her desk out there?”

  “Yes, Mr. Carmichael.”

  “Tell Mackenzie if one more call comes through here, she can find another job.”

  “Yes, Mr. Carmichael,” Cheryl intoned, turning away.

  He turned to address the two standing before him.

  Sandra Costanzo was a shrewd lawyer, one who had fought against the supreme court several times and won. She was also a Lycan and by default, wary of Dante. She was head of his legal department.

  Paul Makowsinski was a mortal, a Type-A hipster who had driven Dante crazy from the second he was hired. But the man also got incredible results – when he was working.

  “We have quite a shitshow on our hands,” Paul commented, strolling in, stroking his salt and pepper beard thoughtfully as if it somehow made him appear more intelligent. “A real shitshow.”

  “And why do we have a shitshow on our hands, Paul?” Dante snapped. “Your job is to ensure this doesn’t happen.”

  “Actually, your job was to make sure this doesn’t happen,” Sandra charged, bravely or stupidly, Dante hadn’t decided. His gaze swung around to pin her.

  “She’s a woman scorned. She tried to fuck me so many times, I couldn’t even keep track. And now, it appears she’s succeeded,” he retorted.

  “You never had any sort of relationship with that woman?” the attorney asked, slinking across the room toward the desk and perching on the edge of a post-modern chair of white leather. Her delicate blonde brow raised skeptically, but Dante shook his head.

  “You’re sure? I don’t want to find out we have some Bill Clinton semantics shit coming up ahead of us, Dante.”

  “I never touched her,” he affirmed, and he meant it.

  It was not that Catherine Parks wasn’t attractive. But that was human resources’ job, not his. He had his hands full with a thousand other tasks, both inside the posh Percheron offices and in the back alleys of the Sapphire Strip.

  No, Cathy Parks had not been his choice, but rather Shax’s. Dante knew much better than to shit where he ate and he had not made an exception for the deceivingly sweet-faced blonde.

  It wasn’t until two weeks after she started that he realized she was coming on to him. Then when he rejected her, he made an even more startling finding; she was a succubus.

  The downfall had spiralled very quickly after that, and suddenly there were false reports of illegal transactions and shady dealings within the company, inspiring the FDA, FBI and attorney generals in six of the eight states in which the pharmaceutical giant did business with to start questioning him and his company.

  While Dante knew he had little to worry about regarding authenticity, there were always small details which slipped through the cracks in any major corporation, and if the feds were looking for dirt badly enough, they would likely find it. Dante hoped he wouldn’t have a great deal of blood on his hands after all was said and done.

  But that was why he hired people like Sandra and Paul; damage control.

  “I’ve already applied for a gag order,” Sandra explained. “Catherine Parks has a signed NDA with the company and therefore cannot speak of anything she learned here – “

  “Sandy, my concern is not the validity of her claims. She has nothing. My worry is that my stock is taking a massive plunge.”

  “And that is where I come in,” Paul interjected smoothly. “I know just what to do.”

  “You fucking better,” Dante grumbled. “There is more than enough shit on the fan as it is and brown is really not my color, Paul.”

  Paul chuckled in his typical, cool-guy way which made Dante want to punch him in the face. The man adjusted his glasses smoothly and the CEO knew he was only pausing for effect.

  “You have two seconds to – “

  “We will have a charity fundraiser,” Paul announced quickly, his grin fading as he sensed the malice in his boss’ face. “A gala, huge donation on behalf of Carmichael Industries. We’ll get all our famous endorsements, I’ll see if H.W. is around for a photo op…”

  Dante gaped at him in disbelief.

  “A fucking party? We’re hemorrhaging money and you want to throw away more?”

  “No, he’s right,” Sandra said slowly, nodding, her hazel eyes glimmering slightly. “It’ll show that we’re untroubled by the accusation and continue to thrive, despite the set back. The best way to combat this is to continue as if we were unfazed.”

  A thousand objections sprung to his lips but they died there, as he realized that despite the transparency and clear waste of finances, the public loved shit like that.

  They want a glimpse into the lives of the rich and famous, a taste of what’s happening in our world. God help those idiots. Mo’ money, mo’ problems, bitches.

  “All right,” Dante agreed. “We’ll do this. But I have one caveat.”

  They looked at him expectantly.

  “We’ll have it televised.”

  Their expressions were an identical shade of surprised, but neither disagreed with the idea.

  “And we can open the phone lines to donations,” Paul murmured, thinking aloud. “Get the public involved so they feel like they’re included. That’s a great idea D.C. Excellent thinking.”

  “If you call me ‘D.C.’ ever again, I will use your balls to make smores,” Dante added conversationally, and Paul paled.

  As he turned back toward his glorious view of Puget Sound, Dante wondered why he had suggested such a ludicrous thing.

  Was it because he wanted the outside world looking in on his sprawling estate house? That was unlikely, for no one guarded their privacy as much as Dantalion Carmichael.

  There was a reason he wanted to put himself out there, a bothersome reason, as if maybe he wanted someone to see him – and seek him out.

  Is she still out there somewhere, or has she moved on?

  Dante was startled by the unexpected thought of her, even though her brilliant green eyes often shot through his mind as he drifted off into sleep. Once in a while, he imagined he caught a whiff of her in passing when he moved through the streets of downtown.

  She had not been in her tiny apartment when he had returned, finally, after one long and laborious year. His investigations into her whereabouts had turned up nothing. But it wasn’t uncommon for an immortal to go off grid. And essentially, all Deviants were experts at “disappearing” for a multitude of reasons.

  In time, Dante had learned to accept that he had made a huge mistake when he walked out to help his cousin that night – and not just because of the year-long exile which had ensued.

  He had lost the most incredible connection he had ever known.

  I wonder if she ever thinks about me.

  “I’ll get the plans in the works,” Paul called from the doorway, Sandra on his heels.

  Dante nodded but he didn’t turn, nor did he answer, the nostalgia and regret weighing heavily on him.

  The memory from that night, three years earlier,
flowed through his mind again, as it frequently did when he was feeling morose.

  Dammit! Why couldn’t his mind and body just forget her after all this time?

  Chapter 2

  She pressed her ear against the wall, waiting patiently for silence to reign.

  Her legs were cramping from sitting in the same spot for over an hour, but she dared not move, knowing that the slightest movement might lead to her capture, even if just by the child on the other side of the door.

  The closet was hardly bigger than a kindergarten cubby hole and even at five feet four, Arya found the space stifling.

  It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, she thought wryly. Of course, if I was, I would be terrible at my job.

  She was so close to her goal that she could almost touch it, but of course, she dared not.

  She was slightly annoyed with herself for not approaching this heist differently, but if she had known…

  I’ll chalk this up to a learning experience.

  Finally, the door to the bedroom opened and the child left, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as his mother called out to him.

  Holy shit, that took forever, Arya thought with exasperation, prying open the closet and stretching her legs before rising to her full height. It’s unbelievable how long kids can entertain themselves when alone. Damned technology.

  Her eyes darted around the room, while her other supernatural senses monitored the activity in the house.

  On the main floor, she could hear the mother and son chatting about something, but she couldn’t quite pick up the words.

  Is it just me or is my hearing not as good as it used to be? She directed more power to sensing the people in the house, and the clarity ramped up.

  It didn’t matter really; she wasn’t there to listen to their conversation. She was there to reclaim the brooch for Rowan and be on her way before the mother discovered her in the house.

  Arya stole into the hallway, carefully checking the short corridor before darting to the next room.

  It was a tiny, modest house and Arya felt slightly ashamed stealing from such a family, but she had little choice in the matter.

  What Rowan wanted, Rowan got.

  And Rowan paid for, Arya reminded herself, her eyes instantly falling on the jewellery box atop a scarred dresser beneath the window.

  At least the woman would think that she had merely misplaced the brooch. After all, who would assume someone had broken in and stolen only a cheap bauble that she had found at a second-hand store.

  This job was child’s play, really, the bronze and garnet brooch stuffed in the pile of other costume pieces. She stuck the item in her pocket and turned toward the window.

  “I’ll be right back, Caelen. I’m just getting – “

  Arya was just as startled as the woman when she entered the bedroom, her eyes wide with shock.

  Crap! You are truly losing your touch, girl, if you can’t even sense a woman walking up on you. And she wasn’t even trying to be sneaky, for Hades sake!

  “Wh-who are you?” she gasped out. “Did Dave send you?” And with that assumption, an angry flush came over her face. “You tell that asshole that he’s not seeing his son until he pays me my goddamned child support!”

  Arya shook her head dumbly.

  “What do you want?” the infuriated woman demanded. “I don’t have any money. I’m a single mom and my son, oh my God, don’t hurt my son!”

  A flash of sympathy and annoyance coursed through Arya simultaneously.

  Lady, I’m not even armed. Get a grip.

  “No one will get hurt,” she replied quickly. “I’m leaving right now.”

  She spun toward the window and raised the pane in one smooth motion. But as she threw her leg over the sill, a shot rang out and the glass over her head shattered.

  Stunned, Arya whipped her head around to gape at the mother.

  What the ever-loving hell?!

  She pinned the shocked woman with a glare. She didn’t know which of them was more surprised by the aggressive action. The woman’s mouth dropped as she stood beside the bedside table, the drawer still opened, the gun still pointed toward Arya.

  “You just shot at me!? Are you fucking crazy?”

  The sudden paling of the woman’s complexion confirmed to Arya that she had reacted without thinking. Then the sudden sound of footsteps hurrying down the hall mobilized both women.

  “Mom! Mom, are you okay?”

  Again, she raised the gun, a look of determination filling her face. Arya didn’t wait around to see if the woman would follow through. She managed to throw herself from the second-floor window to the ground, rolling toward the house and out of the terrified mother’s view.

  She heard the boy’s frantic questions above her head and she waited, knowing that the mother would need to put the gun down to comfort him.

  Hopefully before the police arrive. Boy, did I fuck up this “simple” job.

  I’m charging Rowan double for this. Danger pay.

  She began to crouch-run around the corner of the house, hoping she still had time to get away. She used any cover she could find to steal through the neighborhood and make her way into the alley.

  In minutes she was back on the Sapphire Strip, standing before a beaten down psychic shop. She bypassed the storefront and instead made her way up the side stairs to the second-floor apartment.

  “Well that was something,” Rowan chuckled as she entered. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  “You could have at least warned me that she had a gun,” Arya grumbled. “I would have gone about this much differently. You know, like armed. Or not at all.”

  “I’ll give you that danger pay you wanted,” Rowan snickered and Arya was embarrassed that her aggravation had projected to such a distance. The high sorceress extended her palm toward Arya, demanding the priceless brooch.

  “Can you imagine that a Deviant would pawn this thing for a fix? What have the mortals done to this place? Even the immortals are selling themselves crack or heroin these days. Unbelievable,” Rowan grumbled. “It pains me that I have to pay to get it back when it should never have been sold in the first place. And what do you want to bet that the woman bought it for ten bucks at the hock shop? Shameful.”

  Arya nodded in agreement, knowing that the brooch contained a powerful element, but what it was exactly, she couldn’t say. Spell-casting and rituals were not her forte. Her talents were subtler – and illegal.

  “Is this from the Lanuarius Collection?” she asked Rowan without thinking.

  “You should not ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Rowan chuckled darkly. Arya resisted the urge to respond. Rowan was Arya’s best client, having brought her into the world of theft and robbery over a decade earlier and training her. She decided it wasn’t in her best interests to antagonize her powerful associate.

  Rowan wasn’t known for her patience. She was a renowned priestess and well respected on the Sapphire circuit and Arya had always been grateful for her patronage.

  It had only been recently, however, that the jobs had included high end stakes, objects which could not be replaced as opposed to other less important thefts or retrievals.

  I’m finally in the big game, she thought with satisfaction. But she knew with bigger risk came greater danger.

  Like being shot at.

  Rowan reached into her sweeping gown of coral and retrieved an envelope, handing it to Arya. But before the sorceress could accept it, Rowan pulled back, her crystalline eyes locked on her face.

  “You are troubled,” she murmured. “I can see it in your face.”

  Arya snorted.

  “I think that is my life’s motto,” she said. “What else is new?”

  “No…” Rowan said slowly. “This is different. This is…”

  She paused, snatching Arya’s hand and gripping it tightly. The redhead smothered a groan. Oh, how she despised Rowan’s impromptu readings. It was as if the high sorceress purposely overlo
oked the fact that Arya also possessed the ability to foresee.

  This is exactly like going to therapy. I don’t need to waste my time having someone else telling me what’s wrong with me. I am aware.

  “It is not about a man this time,” Rowan began, and this time Arya could not supress the sigh, the heat of humiliation staining her peaches and cream cheeks.

  “It was never about a man,” she insisted but Rowan shushed her, fingertips tracing the lines of her hands as she continued to read. Her brow furrowed and her head jerked up to meet Arya’s gaze.

  “How long has it been?” she whispered, and Arya’s aggravation blossomed into fear.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Rowan, and honestly, I’m a little late as – “

  “The sickness. How long has it been?”

  “What? What sickness?” she hedged.

  Rowan stared at her intently, a darkness shadowing her light blue irises.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Arya.”

  Arya felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her and she yanked her hand back defiantly.

  “It’s nothing!” she snapped with more fury than she had intended. “Damn you, Rowan!”

  Arya didn’t care that she risked upsetting her best client. She felt sick to her stomach as she snatched her money from the table, whirling to leave the stuffy apartment.

  “Arya,” Rowan called after her, and while she did not turn, she paused to listen.

  “It will get worse. Much, much worse.”

  Tears of anger filled her emerald eyes and she slowly turned to stare at the high sorceress balefully.

  “You don’t know that,” she choked, hearing how empty the words sounded. Of course Rowan knew. Rowan knew as well as she did.

  “Ignoring it won’t make it go away,” Rowan told her patiently. “I know you are scared, but I can help – “

  “No, you can’t!” she cried. “No one can…”

  She didn’t permit the witch to respond, bounding down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her.