Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

by Laura Kaye

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She’d told him she loved him.

  It was the first thought that entered Tara’s mind as she woke to the bright light of day. She was in a bed but had no memory of how she’d got there. Christian must have brought her after the last time they made love.

  He wasn’t with her, but how could he be with the sunlight pouring through the open blinds. She was in the penthouse, and far below her Christian would be sleeping away the day. She concentrated and felt the faint hum of his presence in her mind.

  She’d told him she loved him.

  She couldn’t get it out of her head, and while he hadn’t said he loved her in return, he had shown it with his every action. He had made love to her so sweetly and with such intensity, it had made her cry.

  At the back of her mind welled a deep, residual sorrow for Chloe. It would probably always be with her, but a sense of excitement for the future now overlaid her grief. A future with Christian.

  So he was a vampire, but she was half-demon and half-fae. They would never have a normal life, but so what? They would have a life. Christian had promised he would keep her safe, and she trusted him.

  Still, she wasn’t going to sit back and let him do everything alone. He would keep her safe but she planned to do the same for him.

  Rolling over, she encountered something soft and warm. It was Smokey, and Tara pulled his body against her as she had so many mornings of her life. He purred and her fingers smoothed the soft fur of his head.

  Beneath the sheet, she was naked, and it flashed through her mind just what Smokey was. Or rather who he was. She shrugged—he’d seen her naked so many times, it hardly mattered. Sitting up, she tugged the sheet over her breasts and pulled Smokey on to her lap. He stared into her face, his eyes unblinking.

  “You and I are going to have a chat very soon,” she said. “I’ll give you some leeway, because I know you’re grieving for Chloe, but prepare yourself. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

  She hugged him to her until he meowed, and she let him go. He jumped off her lap but settled on the bed and licked his paws.

  There was a tap at the door and it opened, revealing Graham standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a pair of black silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. They hung low on his narrow hips. Tara gave him a brief glance then looked away.

  “I thought I heard voices,” he said.

  “I was talking to my cat.”

  “The elusive Smokey, turned up at last. When did he show?”

  “Last night,” she said, not wanting to get into a discussion on the subject.

  “I’m glad, I know you were worried. Do you want a coffee?”

  Tara nodded. She made to get out of bed but remembered her lack of clothing.

  “Don’t get up,” Graham said. “Christian told me to look after you. He said you’d had a rough night. So wait right there.” He paused at the door. “I’ve got to ask, but what was with the whole lock down thing last night?”

  She shrugged. “We were practicing safe sex.”

  “Right, don’t tell me then.”

  Graham returned shortly with two steaming mugs of coffee. Tucked under his arm was the matching top to his pajama bottoms. He put the drinks on the table by the bed and handed Tara the top.

  “I sense you’d be happier covered up, though you don’t have to worry about me. You’re not my type. Now, that nice friend of yours—Jamie wasn’t it—he disappeared last night before we had the chance to get to know one another, but if you want to set us up, I wouldn’t complain.”

  “I’ll do that.” Tara struggled into the top under cover of the sheet while Smokey squinted up at her through narrowed, yellow eyes.

  “Anyway,” Graham said, “Christian wouldn’t let me stay here with you if he thought I’d make you uncomfortable.”

  “Just what are you doing here? I thought you had your own place.”

  “I do, but Christian doesn’t think it’s safe at the moment, so I’ll stay here till he gives me the all clear.”

  He picked up one of the coffees and handed it to Tara, then sat on the bed next to her, long legs stretched out, and picked up his own.

  The coffee was still too hot, but Tara breathed in the wonderful, aromatic scent.

  “I only saw Christian briefly,” Graham said. “It was nearly dawn when he brought you up here. Did you find out anything useful?”

  Tara took a sip of her coffee. “I’m not human.”

  It felt good to say it aloud. To know that there were people in this new world that she could talk to.

  Graham put down his drink and studied her. “So what are you?”

  “Half-demon.”

  He didn’t seem shocked. “And the other half?”

  “Fae.”

  “Wow, I’ve never heard of that before. So are you expecting to turn red and grow horns anytime soon?”

  “Do demons have horns?”

  “Not always, but some of the fae do.”

  “I think I would have grown them by now, if I was going to.” She took another sip of coffee and frowned. “I hope I would have anyway.”

  “You know, they’re not all bad—demons I mean. In case you’re worried that you’re half-monster or something.”

  “Actually, I’m worried that I’m all monster, but I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

  “Christian will look after you.”

  A flicker of irritation pricked her. “I don’t want to be looked after. I want to be able to look after myself. In fact, you can help me with that.”

  “I can?”

  He sounded so worried that Tara had to bite back a smile. “Yes. I want a gun.”

  “You do?” He raised one eyebrow. “Christian told me to get you anything you wanted, but I’m not sure he had a gun in mind.”

  “Can you get me one?”

  “Probably, there’s an arsenal in the basement. Most of the security guards are armed.”

  “Good, and I’ll need someone to show me how to use it.”

  “Well, don’t look at me, sweetheart. I’m definitely not your man.”

  “But do you know of someone?”

  “Again—probably. I’ll have a word with Carl Hanson. He’s the head of security here.”

  “Does he know what Christian is?”

  Graham nodded.

  “Is that safe?” Tara asked.

  “Well, Carl’s not exactly” —he paused as if unsure of the right word to use— “normal.”

  “What is he?”

  “He’s a werewolf. Most of the security guys here are.”

  “Right. A werewolf. Great.” She glanced at Smokey, still sitting beside her, listening to the conversation. “Are they the same as shifters?”

  “No, they’re different. Shifters are born that way, or at least I think so. Weres are born human and turned. A bit like vamps, I suppose.”

  “I should have guessed there’d be werewolves somewhere,” she said almost to herself. “You know, I think I might just pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep. Try to pretend all this isn’t happening. That I have my nice, normal life, that I’m not in love with a vampire, and I’m not about to have shooting lessons with a werewolf.”

  Graham grinned. “You can have a normal life—all you have to do is redefine normal.” He frowned. “Hey, did you just say you were in love with Christian?”

  Heat washed over her, warming her skin. She nodded.

  “You’re blushing.”

  “Am not.”

  “Am!” He laughed and patted her arm. “I’m glad. I know Christian likes you.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Oh yeah, big time.” He swung his legs off the bed and took her empty coffee cup. “I’m going to make some breakfast then get you a gun. God help us all.”

  Tara stood in reception as the people came and went. The place was buzzing, and she stared, trying to work out what they were, wondering were any of them human. In the end, she h
ad to ask.

  “Is anybody that works here human?”

  Graham looked hurt. “Hey, I’m human.”

  “Well anybody else then?”

  “Actually, nearly everyone is human, and only a few of them know anything about the vampire stuff—just some of the security guards. It’s not hard to keep separate.” He glanced down at the cat at her feet. “Does he go everywhere with you?”

  Tara picked up Smokey. “Not normally, but he’s feeling a little insecure right now.”

  “There’s Carl, come on.”

  Tara studied her first werewolf. Or maybe not her first. She’d seen other security guards, and Graham had said most were wolves. Carl was a stranger though, and she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as she crossed the room toward him.

  He was tall, with short dark hair and an upright posture. He wasn’t in uniform like most of the guards, but faded jeans and a khaki T-shirt. His wary green eyes met hers, and he held out a hand. Tara put Smokey on the floor and grasped it. As his palm slid against hers, a frisson of sensation ran through her. He felt it as well, and something feral moved behind his eyes.

  “Carl, this is Tara.” Graham made the introductions.

  “Tara,” Carl said, nodding. He brought her hand to his face and breathed in deeply. “Hmm, I can see why Christian likes you.”

  “Well, I hope it’s for more than what I smell like,” she snapped, tugging her hand away.

  He let her go and grinned. “I’m sure it is. Now, I hear you want a gun. What’s it for?”

  Wasn’t that obvious?

  “To shoot things with.”

  “What sort of things—big things, little things?”

  “Demons,” she said. “I want to shoot demons. And maybe fae.” She thought for a moment. “Make that, probably fae. Does it make a difference?”

  “Anything else? Vampires? Werewolves?”

  “You never know,” she said. “Ask me again in half an hour.”

  He grinned again. “Come on, let’s go down and get you kitted out.”

  Five minutes later, Tara stood in front of the gun racks and stared at all the weapons. “Wow, what a lot of guns.”

  She ran her fingers over a few and came to a halt at one particular large impressive pistol. “I really like the look of this one.”

  Carl ignored the comment and moved along the rack, finally selecting a small pistol. He turned it over in his hands before handing it to Tara.

  She took it from him and looked at it dubiously. “It’s not very big.”

  “Has no one ever told you that size isn’t everything?” Carl said.

  Graham snorted behind her, and Tara scowled. “That’s great coming from someone who’s six-foot-three,” she grumbled.

  “It’s a Sig Pro 9mm,” he said. “And I can give you bullets for that thing that will blow a demon into tiny little pieces.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course, you need to be able to hit something first.”

  She held the gun out as she had seen people do on the TV, holding it at arm’s length and sighting down the barrel. “How hard can it be?”

  “Let’s go see. The shooting range is right next door, unless you want us to go out and find you a demon.”

  “The range will do for now.”

  Tara followed him into a long room almost bare of furniture.

  Carl took the gun from her. “You need to insert the magazine, like so. Then to load the chamber you pull back the slide, like this” —he demonstrated— “and release it. Easy. Here you go.”

  He removed the magazine and bullet and handed the gun and ammunition to Tara. She slotted the magazine, chambered the bullet, and grinned. Carl grasped her wrist, and pressed her hand downward so the gun was aimed for the floor. “Which leads us to the most important rule of all. Never aim your gun at anything you aren’t willing to kill.”

  “Oh.”

  “Take out the bullets. We’ll have a go without them first.”

  He stood right behind her. “Now,” he murmured into her ear, “grip your pistol firm in both hands, but keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.” His hands rested on her shoulders, he was so close she could feel the heat of his body through their clothes, and a prickle of awareness ran through her.

  “Your feet should be shoulder width apart,” Carl slipped a leg between hers and nudged them apart. “Stretch out your arms, and lean slightly forward, but stay balanced. Now take a deep breath, exhale halfway, hold it, and squeeze the trigger.”

  She squeezed, the pistol made a slight clicking noise.

  “Okay, let’s try it with bullets. Load up.”

  She took the magazine from him and reloaded while he pressed a button. Halfway down the room, a target swung into position. Carl stepped back from her this time, and she took up the stance he had shown her, arms outstretched, feet apart. She closed one eye, sighted down the line of the pistol, took a deep breath, and squeezed. Her whole body jumped at the explosion of noise, and her finger seemed stuck to the trigger. She kept squeezing but at least she was facing the right way.

  After what seemed like an age, she felt hands on her shoulders. “Relax, Tara, let go of the trigger.”

  Somehow, she managed to relax her finger. Her eyes were screwed tight shut and her arms trembled. She dropped them slowly to her sides, and opened her eyes.

  “Did I hit anything?” she asked.

  “Probably, but certainly not the target.”

  “Oh.” Perhaps this was harder than she’d anticipated. Graham was standing in the corner, grinning. He held Smokey, the cat’s head hidden in the crook of his elbow. She scowled at the pair of them.

  “Okay,” Carl said. “Let’s go again and Tara—”

  “Yes?”

  “Try not to panic, this time.”

  The second time wasn’t much better, but at least she kept her eyes open through the whole thing and saw the bullets miss the target.

  She stared at the pistol in disgust. “I think it might be broken.”

  Carl took the gun from her hand, spun round, and shot a bullet into the center of the target without even aiming.

  “Show-off,” she muttered as he handed her the gun back.

  After half an hour, Tara hit somewhere on the target every time. She was moderately pleased and didn’t feel quite so helpless. Her hand ached, and she handed the gun over with a sigh of relief. Carl emptied the bullets, slotted it into a holster, and gave it back.

  He took her hand and massaged the fingers.

  “My advice is, lull them into a false sense of security—”

  “How?” Tara interrupted.

  Carl eyes drifted over her. “I don’t think that’s going to be the problem. Just let them get right up close, and then blow them to bits.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve been kind.”

  His eyes were half-closed, a small smile playing across his lips. “Honey, I am never kind.” He took her hand, brought it to his face as he had earlier and breathed in. “If you need any more lessons, guns, knives, hand to hand” —he stroked his thumb over her palm as he spoke, and Tara shivered as sensation shot through her— “just let me know.”

  “What was it with you and the werewolf?” Graham said as they got into the elevator. “All that hand holding shit.”

  Tara rubbed her hand down her thigh; it still tingled where Carl had touched it. “I was just saying thank you.”

  “Well, don’t say thank you where Christian can see.” He looked at her for a moment. “Carl probably just wants to wind him up.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “Hey we’re talking about a werewolf here. I’m not sure ‘wise’ comes into their decision-making process. He likes Christian, respects him, otherwise he wouldn’t work here, but there’s still friction between the two of them.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, vamps can control weres, because they start out as human, and I guess the weres don’t like that. But Car
l’s pretty high up in the werewolf hierarchy, and I doubt even Christian could compel him to do something he didn’t want to do.”

  “So why does he work for him?”

  “It’s a good job, pays well, and he gets to play with guns.”

  …

  Tara felt the moment Christian awoke, like a light flicking on in her brain.

  Minutes later, he strode into the penthouse. He hadn’t bothered to dress, just pulled on a pair of jeans, and she stared at him, unable to look away. Then she jumped to her feet, her book clattering to the floor, and ran to him.

  He didn’t speak, just gathered her in his arms and kissed her. She melted against him, her fingers digging into the bare satin skin of his back. After a few minutes, he raised his head.

  “You smell of werewolf,” he growled.

  “I had a shooting lesson with Carl.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How did it go?”

  “I wasn’t very good.”

  “And did he behave himself?”

  Heat spread across her cheeks. “Of course.”

  Christian smiled. “There’s no of course about it. Tell him, if he touches you again, I’ll rip his throat out.”

  “I’m not going to tell him that. He was actually very kind.”

  A look of complete disbelief flashed across his features. “He’s a werewolf. They don’t do ‘kind.’ Now come here.”

  Tara went into his arms and he kissed her again. After long minutes, he put her from him and stepped back.

  “I have to go out. Piers arranged another meeting with the Walker. I’m going to find out what I can about your mother.”

  “I want to come.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not going to go anywhere near the fae, especially not the Walker. He’s an assassin and he wants you dead. Look, this is our best bet to find out what happened. I’m also hoping we can come to some sort of arrangement with the fae—get them off your back for good. You’d be free.”

  “Well, free of the fae, just the demons to cope with.” She forced a smile. “What it is to be popular.”