by Beverly Rae
Enjoy the following excerpt for Romancing the Stones:
Detective Vaiden stared at the shattered edges of the weathered oak door on the Blair residence. It hung sideways with the top hinge completely disconnected from the jamb. Split wood fanned out along the lock like plumes. The boards covering the windows kept the inside of the house dim even though it was late morning. Not a sound floated outside on the cool air to give him a clue about the condition of the home’s occupant, Charlie Blair.
Rob Vaiden drew his SIG Sauer, holding it to his chest just below his jaw. He exchanged a wary glance with his partner, Jarod Ronan. They had wanted to be in and out of here as fast as possible. The investigation was dragging out. Too many false leads. But by the looks of the door, things had changed. So much for asking the homeowner a few questions.
With a nod directed more to himself than to his partner, Vaiden nudged the door inward, then shoved hard with his shoulder. He held his position and motioned Jarod inside. Jarod entered just ahead of him and crossed the room to check for intruders.
A huge black creature streaked out of the shadows near the staircase, rumbled past Vaiden, and escaped to the front yard. Vaiden blew air out quietly, calming his breathing. Just a dog.
He stared at the disarray. A small mountain of papers and books littered the center of the room. The drawers of the file cabinet hung open at varying degrees. The desk nearby had been rummaged to the point of destruction.
Jarod stepped into Vaiden’s line of vision and shook his blond head. No one on the ground floor then.
Vaiden moved toward the stairs. “Call it in. I’ll check the second floor.”
As his foot landed on the first step, he heard the sound of running water. A thief who showers in the victim’s home, he mused. That was a new one. He’d be surprised if anyone could hear him above the roaring water, but still, as he eased upward, he kept toward the wall-edge of the stairs to avoid telltale squeaks.
The bathroom door stood slightly ajar. A sliver of bright light marked the hallway floor. Vaiden swallowed. Please let this be a simple robbery, rather than more of Orion’s handiwork. He didn’t want to find another dismembered body.
Ever.
“Mr. Blair? Police officer. Are you all right?” Vaiden pushed open the door and stepped inside with his gun held out shoulder height. Ugly orange and brown tile, floor to ceiling. He could’ve fit two normal-sized bathrooms into this one.
“Mr. Blair?” He moved to the shower, closed his eyes for only a second, and whipped back the plastic curtain.
An empty bath, with the water running full blast. The musky scent of strawberries, soap, and steam. But no sign of an occupant. It didn’t make sense—until he heard the door close.
He made a note to check behind the door next time.
“Throw the gun into the tub and put your hands up.”
Vaiden scrunched his brows together. A woman? That explained the strawberry scent, anyway. He hesitated, then placed his weapon carefully into the shallow end of the tub, switching off the water with his free hand. He wasn’t worried. Hell, Jarod was right downstairs if he needed him. Given the right distraction, Vaiden knew he could take her down, with or without the weapon.
He straightened, turned his head, and froze.
She was naked. And wet. And pointing a Glock at his chest.
“There must be some mistake,” he said, wondering why his voice had gone thin. “I’m—”
“I don’t give a rat’s foot who you are. And turn around!” Her cheeks were bright red, and he couldn’t help but notice that the flush extended down her graceful neck and across her breasts.
“Now!” Her eyes flashed.
He couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or angry. But he’d take a perp like this any day. He followed her orders and looked away smiling. He might not be able to see her, but her naked image was burned onto a screen inside his head. Average height, medium length brown hair, and curvy. Very curvy. Hell, it might be worth taking a slug just to have another look.
“Ma’am, I’m with the police department. We came here to speak to Mr. Blair, and discovered the front door had been forced open.”
“A likely story. Now move around toward that wall.”
He shrugged. Jarod had to have heard her shouting. He’d burst in any moment and tackle her. “Maybe you should move away from the door.” He peeked at her over his shoulder. She’d slipped into a huge terrycloth robe and moved toward the window.
“Can I at least show you my ID?”
She frowned, staring at his shoes, but when he inched his upper body forward, she jerked her eyes back to his face.
“I just got here twenty minutes ago. My door was in perfect condition. You’re full of it.”
“Vaiden? What’s going on in there?”
The young woman’s attention wavered for a fraction of a second. Vaiden lunged toward her, in a single motion chopping her wrists with one hand and squeezing them together. The Glock clattered to the tile floor.
Jarod swept inside, recovered her gun, and grabbed Vaiden’s SIG Sauer from the shower. He looked toward Vaiden, one eyebrow raised as he dried the weapon with a towel.
Vaiden pulled her arms behind her back and cuffed her. “Good timing, partner.”
She went from stunned softness to spitfire in three seconds flat. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Vaiden pushed her toward the hallway, careful not to tread on the hem of the terry robe that dragged behind her.
They descended the staircase, Jarod walking in front of her. “You broke in here, wrecked the place, and threatened an officer of the law with a gun. You’re under arrest, lady.”
Vaiden frowned at the newly arrived uniforms milling around in his crime scene. From this side of the room he could see for the first time the coat rack that had been hidden behind the door. On it hung a well-worn black leather jacket—a woman’s jacket. And a backpack-style purse.
He stopped the woman on the landing, an uneasy feeling creeping over him. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”
Paler now that she had a room full of people staring at her, but still just as angry, she lifted one eyebrow and licked her top lip. “Charlie Blair.”
Being dominated was her secret desire…
Azazel
© 2008 Dawn McClure
A Fallen Angel story.
Alexia has no complaints about her job as an assassin in the Alliance, battling rogue vampires and demons. However, on a personal level, she has hit a sexual hiatus. Men from every race, every continent and every skill level have tried to bring her down—and turn her on. All have failed. Until a man with a body made of sin stirs her blood for the first time in over two hundred years.
Azazel, a demon of the First Angelic Revolt, is one of Lucifer’s most prominent—and dominant—assassins. His current mission leads him to Alexia, a fighter like himself who lives in the moment with no promise of tomorrow. A sexy vampire assassin whose secret sexual desire is a perfect match for his…skills.
His decision to give her exactly what she wants leaves them both hungry for more. But to delve into desires that might be best left unexplored, they’ll have to overcome a pack of rogue demons—and possibly Satan himself.
Warning: This title contains graphic language, graphic sex and naughty fantasies of the sexually depraved.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Azazel:
Picking up Kelsey’s scent was proving to be difficult. Paris was a popular vampire oasis. He’d been searching for her for days. Even now he could smell vampires as they mixed in with the humans, trash and car emissions.
The scent of vampire was strong. Growing stronger.
Frowning, he turned to look over his shoulder.
Pain shot up his right arm and he slid down the roof of the cathedral, barely gaining a grasp on the edge. He looked up, holding his body weight with the tips of his fingers.
A familiar woman stood above him, looking every bit as sensual and dangerous as the night he had
come upon her. Her hair was tied back, her red nails clutching the same dagger she had used to skewer him during their first fight. She balanced herself perfectly on the slanted roof.
“Miss me?” her slight British accent teased.
He growled, swinging himself up and onto the roof, flying above her head. He landed directly behind her.
She spun around to face him. He didn’t give her the chance to thrust the dagger into another part of his body. He snatched it from her hands. To his surprise she didn’t move or flinch.
She was smiling.
Angry at her dismissal of the threat he posed, he snapped at her. “All you will do is slow me down.”
She rolled her eyes. “I notice you haven’t found her yet. I don’t think you could get any slower.”
He could feel his eyes glow red. This bitch was seriously starting to piss him off. “And you? I see you have nothing better to do than track me down. What, is Ambrose through giving your incompetent ass missions?”
Her flippant stance melted into a fighter’s warning. He’d struck a chord.
Given the chance, she would pounce on him, fangs bared. Amazingly, the thought of her fangs piercing his skin aroused him.
“I’m here to find my friend, which you don’t seem capable of doing.”
He’d had enough of their banter. He would never pick up Kelsey’s scent with this woman in his midst. “Well, when you find her I’m sure you’ll have the stomach to kill her, which is the only way to get the flock of demons out of her body.”
She paled. “That’s not true. You can command them out. It was done in biblical times.”
He held his arms out. “If you haven’t noticed, I don’t walk on water, sweetheart.”
For once she didn’t have a comeback. She looked lost. She focused her light blue eyes on the roof and shifted her weight from foot to foot.
Yet another side of her. He had glimpsed this side only briefly during their second encounter. The fear for her friend had been evident then. The concern she was now displaying intrigued him. Though he carried no such feelings for others as she obviously did for Kelsey, he felt her worry as if it were his own.
He found himself doing something he hadn’t done in centuries; he offered comfort. “If there is a way to spare your friend, I will endeavor to find it.”
She looked back up at him, her eyes misting, though no tears fell. She was regaining her tough exterior, fighting for it an inch at a time. He admired her strength. Having built an outer shell himself, he could see that she was struggling with her own defenses. She didn’t want to let go of her authority.
“Thank you.”
Believing those two words were foreign to her, he felt himself soften toward her. They were of the same origin. Born fighters. “You’re welcome.”
She straightened, regaining her composure. “So what do we do first?”
We. He inwardly cringed. He worked alone. Always had. He tried not to think about the schematics and focused instead on the overall job. She could be of help if she quit trying to kill him, begrudging every breath he took. “We locate Kelsey.”
“How do we do that?”
“Slow down.” He turned away from her, senses alert for an impending blow. As a fighter she would see the trust he was trying to establish. If they didn’t trust each other they would never be able to work together, and they would accomplish nothing. He ran his thumb over the worn ivory of her dagger. “Stealth will only get you so far. What do we do when we find her? The only way I know to take this pack of demons out is to kill her.”
Although if the spirits had escaped the pit, who was to say they wouldn’t pull off the impossible again? Would they counteract the pull of the pit? As with Legion, he expected that upon the death of their host they would go back to hell.
She walked up behind him. “Exorcism doesn’t work?”
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He forced himself to look down at the city surrounding the cathedral. Tiny sparkling lights blinked back at him. She could easily push him off the roof, and powers or no, he didn’t have the ability to fly. That kind of damage to his body would take him weeks to recover. “Have you ever heard of a demon performing an exorcism?”
“No.”
“There you have it.” Unable to trust her at his back any longer, he turned to face her. The glint in her eyes made him believe facing her had been a wise decision. “We’re unable to call upon the forces that enable a person to perform an exorcism. We’re not permitted to pray, because that would anger Luc. And if he found out, well, all hell would break loose on that demon’s ass. Literally.”
Her gaze traveled over his body as if she were sizing him up for another fight. “You afraid of me?”
Hardly. He smiled. “Do you use underhanded tactics?”
“Absolutely.”
He let his gaze wander over her leather-clad body, just as she had done with him. Her tight black shirt fit snuggly over her breasts, and he could vividly imagine the way she had slid her petite frame into those leather pants. If sin had a look, she would be the cover model. She defined the term. “My name is Azazel.”
She barely masked her surprise. Giving her his name could have been a dangerous move, but he had heard her thoughts the night he met her. She didn’t know the demonic language that was needed to command a demon. According to Luc, the one book that contained the spell had been destroyed centuries ago.
She held out her hand. “Alexia.”
He didn’t take it. Having recognized the fighter in her and respected it, he wouldn’t push this trust issue too far. He hadn’t lived this long to be taken out by a sexy vampire assassin.
She lowered her hand, and the edge of her mouth tilted up. She thought he had backed down, and perhaps he had, but standing at the edge of the roof and taking her hand wasn’t something he was willing to risk.
“Let’s go.”
She nodded. “After you.”
Fuck that. “Start moving.”
She glared at him, unwilling to make that first move. He couldn’t blame her. She knew who had the upper hand.
“You’re the one who said you fall back on dirty tactics.”
She raised an eyebrow. “When I’m fighting. I didn’t know you and I were engaged in battle.”
“Always.”
She smiled, straight white teeth and fangs showing. “I concur.”
They were one and the same, he and this woman. If he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t toss his ass headfirst off the roof. Not until he had helped her friend, anyway. He passed her, once again giving the fighter his back. He was getting soft.
Her faint chuckle irritated him.
So it was to be like that? Without warning, he quit walking to the steps leading into the cathedral, turned around and wrapped her in a crushing embrace. Before she could struggle he had materialized them to an alley off the Avenue des Champs Élysées.
He released her and she stumbled to the ground. Vampires and humans became weak and dizzy when teleported to a different place. She would do well to learn not to mistake his consideration for weakness.
She sat on the concrete and cursed. What she was experiencing would make vertigo feel like an afternoon stroll. He dropped her dagger by her side. “You’ll get your bearings in a minute or so.”
She had no comeback. She was likely fighting off nausea.
On the streets once again, he found himself lost in a variety of fragrances, both good and bad. Across the street a café lent its freshly ground coffee scent to the air around him. Coffee didn’t sound so bad right now.
He poked her with his boot. “Coffee?”
She glared up at him, looking a little green.
“Suit yourself.” He left her sprawled on the ground and crossed the street. The café had black iron tables and chairs sitting in front of their establishment. Various tourists and locals lounged at the tables conversing in low tones. Many conversations were cut short as he passed by.
He walked up to the counter
and ordered. “Deux cafés, s’il vous plait.”
He paid the woman and stood back to wait as those around him gave him a wide berth. Humans could sense evil, though most registered the evil far too late. By the time the hair on the back of their necks stood on end, or shadows caught in the corners of their eyes, evil was already smiling at them. The girl behind the counter handed him his drinks. He smiled as he took the two coffees. “Merci.”
Alexia looked ten shades of pissed when she joined him at the table. He set her coffee in front of her. “Sugar and cream are inside. And don’t even think about spilling this shit on me.”
“Oh, what are you now, a mind reader?”
He took a sip of the hot, rich liquid. If only she knew.
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