Corbin hadn’t been amused and said Duke lacked anything in the way of phone etiquette. Duke could have told him that to start with.
He answered the phone. Hell, the apocalypse could be starting and Duke suspected Corbin wouldn’t want him getting called over it. “What?”
There was silence on the other end. Duke waited a fraction of a second and hung up the phone. He wasn’t in the mood for bullshit. If it was important, they’d call back.
The phone rang again.
“What?” he practically shouted as he answered it again.
“Hello?” came a voice that was soft and sweet, extremely feminine and hot as hell, making his loins stir, surprising him. “I was told to call. Did you get the information I sent?”
As much as the voice moved him, its owner was making no sense. “What?”
“Do you know how to say anything else?” she asked, sounding annoyed with him. Most people tended to after short bursts.
He stiffened. “You called to give me crap? Striker put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“Striker?” There was beeping on her end. “I can’t talk long. They’ll hear me.”
“Woman, you’re not making any sense.” But damn if her voice wasn’t making him hot and bothered. He was nearly ashamed of his reaction to her. It wasn’t like he made a habit of getting a hard-on for random callers. The idea of phone sex had held little appeal to him before but now, hearing this woman’s voice, he was fast changing his outlook on it.
“I need to know if you’re them,” she said.
“Them who?” As turned on as he was, he had reports to get done and the conversation wasn’t going the route of phone sex so it needed to end sooner rather than later.
“Them. The one Test Subject 87P told me to send the information to,” she insisted.
Great.
Sexy voice and bat-shit crazy. Just his luck. He hung up on her. Whatever game Striker was playing wouldn’t work. Duke was busy. Too busy even for hot voices with riddles.
Duke rotated his neck, running his hands through his shoulder-length dark hair, working out a kink as he sniffed the air, the wolf in him catching the scent of pending rain.
Good.
The area needed some rain. He grinned, knowing he’d be running free in it soon enough. Well, as soon as he finished this damn paperwork. He didn’t understand the point of it. It wasn’t like the organization existed to anyone who asked about it—not that anyone even would. They were ghosts. Operatives who never were and never would be, at least on paper.
What the fuck did they want with a paper trail then? Did they enjoy redacting crap later? Maybe the guys who sat around drawing black lines through important information had blackmail photos of people in high positions and threatened to expose them if they didn’t get enough papers passing across their desk.
Made no sense to him.
Not much involving the people running the PSI show did.
Seemed like they’d be keen on keeping no records. Records proved a lot. Immortals tended to avoid them, photographs and the like. It was getting harder and harder to hide in the open. The fucking internet was a curse as far as he was concerned. You wouldn’t catch supernaturals taking pictures of themselves and posting them on the internet.
Most supernaturals took great care to reinvent themselves every so many decades. It threw off suspicions. He’d been the sole beneficiary of his own fortune several times over already.
Duke liked to reinvent himself, as far as the human public was concerned, every twenty to twenty-five years. That was as long as he could pull off not aging. That was hard. Most supernaturals kept it around fifteen years. Then, they’d go off the grid for just as many. In the beginning it had been hard knowing he’d never be able to see the human friends he’d made within that invented persona’s lifespan. With time, it got easier and he found himself befriending fewer and fewer humans to avoid issues at a later date.
PSI gave him a network of supernaturals in like situations. That was part of why he stayed, despite the technology advances and dumbass higher-ups. He liked the good they did as well, but he’d rather everyone not catch on to that tidbit.
Do-gooder didn’t fit his manly code.
It was simply easier to hang with others like him. He was young as far as PSI was concerned. And he was hardly a pup. Most of the people within the organization had been part of it a hell of a long time. Longer than any administration had been in control of the White House. From what Duke had been told, longer than there had even been a White House. They operated above the law and didn’t answer to anyone but themselves. Certain people within positions of power in the government were on a need-to-know basis regarding PSI-Ops.
Most didn’t need to know jack shit, so they didn’t.
Duke liked it that way.
The ones in the loop were supernaturals, hiding in the open in front of humans. Duke nearly laughed at the thought of it all. He’d seen enough humans freak out over the course of his lifespan to know they couldn’t take the truth. Hell, they couldn’t handle much at all, let alone knowledge of immortality.
Immortality.
The idea would lead one to think of eternal life. Of invincibility. Nah. That wasn’t how it was. It just meant an immortal was harder to kill and tended to live a lot longer than a mortal. Enough of his family and friends had fallen to know they could be killed.
Time and volume did nothing to lessen the losses. And there always seemed to be more losses ready to pick open the scabs of the old ones.
He hated people who died.
Hated them.
The phone rang again and Duke’s already thin temper wore through. He snatched the receiver up and put it to his ear. “What!”
“Please, I need to know if you’re them,” came the sexy-as-all-get-out voice.
His nostrils flared. “Woman, this is a private line reserved for shit you can’t possibly wrap your mind around. Stop using it for your crazy.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“Oh, you just go around talking about test subjects all the time?” he asked. “Let me guess, you were taken by aliens who did naughty things to you.”
“I’m sorry, what?” she responded, huffing.
“Hey, if it’s an anal probing you’re after, I’d be happy to volunteer.”
“You are a pig,” she shouted back.
“No. I’m a wolf. So, is that a yes or no to the anal probing?” Damn, she had a hot voice and he’d love to have her bent over before him. His dick throbbed at the idea.
“Jerk!” she yelled before hanging up on him.
Whatever.
For more information about these titles and other bestselling Mandy M. Roth titles please visit www.MandyRoth.com
The Impatient Lord by Michelle M. Pillow
Bestselling Dragon Shifter Romance
An unlucky bride…
Riona Grey lives life on her own terms, traveling wherever the next spaceship is flying and doing what she must in order to get by. When her luck turns sour, she finds herself on a bridal ship heading to a marriage ceremony. A planet full of dragon shifters seeking mates wasn't exactly what she had in mind as a final destination. Just when she thinks things couldn't possibly get worse, she wakes up months later in an isolation chamber with a sexy, hovering dragon shifter by her side telling her they're meant to be together...forever.
The impatient groom...
After years of failed marriage attempts at the Breeding Festivals, the gods finally revealed Lord Mirek's bride...a day too late. Eager to have her, he defied tradition and laid claim. But it is a mistake to go against the gods and his new wife was the one to pay the price of his impatience.
Now almost a year later, his bride is finally waking from her deep sleep. With one look from her, he feels the eagerness to claim her overtaking him once more. Fearful she'll slip through his grasp once again, he's hesitant to anger the gods by taking her to his bed too soon. But, how can he resist the one thing that would make his life
complete, especially when she looks at him with eyes of a seductress? This is one test he can't fail, and yet with one of her sweet kisses he knows he may already have lost.
The Impatient Lord (Dragon Lords) Excerpt
“What happened to you?” Alek eyed Mirek in concern. “Did you have to wrestle negotiate with the Syog again?”
“My wife.” Mirek stopped his slow, ambling walk and leaned against the corridor wall. Not that he would complain, but Riona had taken to intimacy with a vivacious force he’d ever dreamed possible. “She’s, ah, fully recovered now.”
Alek quirked a brow. It took him a long moment to understand what was happening. His concern turned into hard, full laughter. He clutched his stomach and bent over, struggling to breathe.
“What’s going on out here?” Bron appeared from the scroll room, holding a stack of yellowed parchments. He eyed his brothers curiously.
“Lady…learned…sex…balls,” was about all of Alek’s answer they could understand.
Mirek grimaced. He should have known better than to admit soreness to one of his brothers. Why hadn’t he lied and said he’d been getting his privates kicked in a Syog ball racking negotiation? It would have been an easy lie. Those aliens were rough on the manhood, even if they used a semi-protective plate. No one would have questioned his claim. They would have still laughed at him, but they would have believed him.
“Mirek?” Bron asked in concern.
“Riona, ah—” Mirek began.
“He can’t handle…his wife,” Alek interrupted in merriment. “He’s walking like this.” Alek ambled around the hall like an old man with a cane, stumbling all the more in his fit of laughter.
Bron arched a brow and nodded his head. “Nicely done. We’ll have another nephew to add to the family soon. Well done, brother.”
“If she didn’t break him,” Alek inserted. “I always suspected you were a little soft, Ambassador. All that flying in space and drinking lady wine with the aliens.”
Mirek shoved Alek into a wall. It didn’t stop the laughter as the man slid to the floor. “At least I don’t smell like a ceffyl herd.”
“I deserve that,” Alek admitted, not bothering to stand as he grinned up at them. A change had come over him since his marriage. He was happier and smiled more. Whatever Kendall had done to her husband, she’d managed to tame the stubborn man.
“You’re going to tell everyone, aren’t you?” Mirek sighed, not really worried. His wife wanted him. That was a good thing. Actually, she wanted him…and wanted him…and wanted him…and—
“Oh, yeah,” Alek nodded. “Everyone.”
“Alek,” Bron broke in. “Maybe we should keep this to ourselves. If my wife is any indication of how the women were raised, her sister will not like being talked about in such a way. She will consider it insulting.”
Alek instantly agreed. “Of course, I didn’t think of it like that. I would never gossip about my sisters if it made them uncomfortable.”
“Thank you,” Mirek mouthed. Bron nodded once.
“Have either of you seen the updated communications plans?” Bron asked, nodding at his armload. “We’re having a hard time locating some of the buried mountain lines to see if they’re salvageable. Aeron wants to get the construction plans finished before the baby arrives and keeps asking if they’re lines or transmit boosters. I honestly have no idea how they work.”
“Why don’t you just grab a line on one side and pull?” Alek asked, shrugging. “See where it leads. If it doesn’t lead anywhere, I’d say we have transmit boosters. I don’t know what a transmit booster looks like, but we can send the boys out to look for one in the trees or wherever.”
“Apparently checking the line that way will take longer. Aeron ordered a ground imager but it won’t be here until after the baby comes. She is very focused on getting this done. Now.” Bron looked at them hopefully, an almost desperate plea on his face as he wanted to please his pregnant wife. “So have you seen the updated plans?”
“Updated as in the ones from fifty years ago?” Mirek frowned. “Did we even have plans? I don’t ever remember seeing them. I seem to remember Sper just making it work. He’d go out with tools and come back later with everything working again.”
“Alek?” Bron prompted.
“No clue,” Alek said. “I think Sper kept all the plans in his head. When he died, he took the information with him. Though, come to think of it, after he died the network stopped breaking down so much. I wonder what that man was doing?”
“Intergalactic transmissions,” Mirek answered. Sper never married, never even tried to marry. He was a very rare exception to the Draig culture in that way. “Something he called moving, moodies, movies?”
“Blast!” Bron frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of. Aeron is not going to be pleased. She is a very organized woman.” To Mirek, he said, “She was always like that, but it’s getting worse. At first, she just arranged clothing in the closet according to styles and color. But then I caught her trying to alphabetize your giant trade agreement reports in my office in the middle of the night.”
“Wait until your bride starts hiding your favorite throwing knives,” Alek said. “I wish Kendall would merely reorganize reports.”
“I believe that is part of the joys of pregnancy,” Mirek offered. “I’m told women do that kind of thing.”
“Kendall is doing many strange things. When I threw a couple knives in the house she scolded me for ruining the wood on the new throwing post. Then she tried to take away all the sharp objects and put them really high in the home so not even I could reach them. How’s it going to be a throwing post if I can’t put weapons in it and soften it up for my boy to learn? And how is my son going to reach the weapons if they’re glued to the ceiling? You’d almost think she didn’t want the child to have a sharp blade.” Alek took a deep breath and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Then, as I’m rubbing her wonderful giant belly and tell her I want at least thirteen children, she tried to hit me with a plate of chocolate and an ore sample she was looking at. My Kendall is not a violent lady.”
The fathers-to-be shook their heads, completely at a loss.
“One visiting dignitary told me he and his wife called it nesting,” Mirek said. “Toward the end time women start doing strange things to the home. They can’t help it. You should probably help them. I don’t like the idea of my pregnant sisters climbing high and lifting heavy objects. They seem a little off balance of late when they simply walk down the hall.”
“Like a baldric slaughtering prey to make nest bedding,” Alek concluded. “That actually makes complete sense. Perhaps that is why she is putting the knives up high. She’s building a nest.”
“Nesting. Aeron has been taking all the covers and pillows and surrounding herself with them at night. And quite frankly, some of the strange things she’s been eating resemble food a baldric might enjoy—not in taste so much, but it looks disgusting. I think you may be right, Mirek. We should find a way to help them with this nesting process.” Bron shared a determined look with Alek.
“At times like this I miss our mother. She would have told us what to do,” Mirek said.
“How hard can it be to build a nest?” Bron’s bearing seemed lighter than before. “Mirek, thank you. I’m glad someone in this family understands these women things.”
A King’s Ransom by Reagan Hawk
(pen name of Mandy M. Roth)
Book One in the Masters of Pleasure Series
On a quest to find his brother, King Kritan of Katarius on the planet of Panucia finds himself ambushed, beaten, tortured and then sold to fight in the arena games. The people of Tamonius—his rival kingdom—condone slavery, take public sex to new lows and try to turn a profit off anything they can. Nothing can change his hatred for everything Tamonius… That is, until he meets the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes upon. Surina of the House of Argyros, daughter to a powerful senator, stirs the beast within him, making it w
ant to lay claim to her as badly as the man does.
Free or not, Kritan is a master of seduction, and has selected Surina as his newest prey. But this virginal beauty has secrets of her own—ones that change everything. And destiny just might have the last laugh.
Excerpt from A King’s Ransom (Masters of Pleasure)
City of Vesta in the Kingdom of Tamonius on the Planet Panucia…
Kritan of Katarius walked through the streets of Vesta, a city known across the planet for its corruption and wickedness. He drew his black cloak around him more—to hide the sword at his side and the dagger in the top of his left boot. The clothing he wore was appropriate for the area, though nothing he’d normally want upon his body—the material was something a commoner would wear and not to his liking. He preferred trews to the tunic with a roped belt. He liked his boots, not the ones he wore now that were more of a sandal, leaving some of his foot exposed. He disliked, too, the ring that held his sword, preferring his sheath. He had not dared to bring his personal sword and shield. They were things that would give his origins—and his role—away.
It was important to blend. At least for now.
Cool wind from the north, from across the Ice Seas, blew past him. It was welcome against the heat of Tamonius’s summer. Kritan preferred slightly cooler weather. While he could warm his body naturally by allowing his beast to rise, he could not cool it as easily.
King of Prey: (A Bird Shifter Novel) Page 11