Wicked After Dark: 20 Steamy Paranormal Tales of Dragons, Vampires, Werewolves, Shifters, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More

by Mina Carter

  Aged blue eyes narrowed as she regarded him for a moment. “I know what you have been with women, Jet. I won’t have you adding this one to your lists. It won’t do. This is not about fun and games. We need this one whole. I don’t want her lost and mooning over you.”

  “Trust me, she has no interest in me.”

  The dowager shrugged. “It is your way to interest the poor lovelies you come across, and then, well never mind, much as I wish otherwise, so it has been. However, this time you need to remain focused on the job at hand.”

  “Don’t ye think I know that?” Jethro McBain snapped. He didn’t like discussing any of his love life with his grandmother.

  She sighed and moved slowly back to her chair and sat heavily. “Jet, I am eighty-three and almost too tired for this new battle…almost, but not quite. This time it is more important than all the rest. This is do or die.” She tilted her head and eyed him. “Are you having dinner alone with her?”

  “Och no, but I feel a cad to leave her to her own devices on her first night in Ireland.”

  “A cad is it? And since when have you ever cared about looking like a cad?”

  He gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to argue with her. His grandmother was old-world. He waited for her to proceed.

  She scoffed and closed her eyes. She opened them and spoke. “So, don’t be a cad, then. Take her along to the Village Pub where she might meet and mingle with new friends. It would do well for us if the village didn’t think you were squirreling her away—we have enough gossip to contend with, and I don’t want to give them anymore fodder to chew on.”

  He nodded slowly. “Ye are playing a deep game, Granny love, and ye should know better than to try and draw me in. I don’t care what the gossips chew on. Maybe if I give them enough they will choke on it.”

  She smiled at him and said softly, “I won’t always be here, Jet. Humor an old woman now and then.”

  “Guilt, is it? Well you’ve used that on me one time too many, Granny love. Ye’ll be here forever.” Jethro chuckled and then sighed heavily. “Aye, then—so be it. At least this might serve until she can fend for herself.” He pulled in his upper lip with his teeth. He thought deep and hard. “However, I can’t have all the lads lining up at my front door…and this one…this one will have a queue of them with their mouths open and their tongues hanging out.”

  The dowager snorted. “But not you, eh, Jet?”

  “No, not Jethro McBain. I know better. My salad days are long past.”

  “Hmmm.”

  He crossed over to her, dropped another kiss on her forehead. “Would ye like to join us then?”

  She smiled fondly at him. “I have Molly to keep me company but I will send ’round for the child tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll take tea together and I can take her measure.”

  “Och then, Granny, ye will feel it—and you will see that steel she carries to control it.” He shook his head. “Right then, I am off to do m’duty.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “Duty, you call it?” The dowager scoffed. “Just make sure she meets people her own age. It will at least fulfill part of my promise.” She had always tried to control Jethro with a touch of guilt, mixed in with love and good sense. In the end he knew she knew he was his own man, and he would do what he saw fit.

  “Aye. Just as ye say, m’dear one,” he answered and laughed as he closed the door.

  ****

  His grandmother sat for a long time letting her mind wander after he left. A memory of menace lingered in her thoughts. The threat had started in medieval times and swelled with each new century. And it had always been near. Aye, it had a stout vessel now, this evil. Over the last twenty years she had sensed it double its might. Through her cards she observed the waft of darkness that had traveled the generations, threatened, grew, and took on unthinkable power.

  And now that darkness raged for the forbidden, for something it had to have, and it was right at their door.

  All those thousands of years ago, did the Fae know what they were doing when they randomly took humans to their beds and tossed them but crumbs in return?

  Did they know what bitterness they were unleashing in some of those offspring?

  Did they know what evil might come of it?

  Chapter Four

  JETHRO STRETCHED, CROSSED his legs at his ankles, and folded his arms across his chest. The dance floor pulsated with bodies; however, he found a direct line of vision to what he wanted to see.

  Chazma danced with an acquaintance he had introduced her to, young Inspector Tom Murphy of the Brionn Village Garda, and from the looks of it, they were getting along just fine.

  His nose wrinkled ever so slightly as his thoughts bumped into one another. Something dark inside his chest snarled as his eyes narrowed into slits. Aye then, the lass was flirting up the inspector and Tom was making some very expert moves. He didn’t like it, not one bit.

  Inspector Tom Murphy looked younger than his thirty years, and he appeared far more innocent than he really was. Early in their acquaintanceship Jethro had discovered the inspector was a much deeper character than a small village garda. In fact, he was more than just a knowing young man, capable of looking after the tri-coastal village population. Inspector Murphy knew a thing or two about the old ways, the old ones, and quite a bit more about magic and its consequences than he let on.

  Jethro clenched his teeth as Tom bent to whisper in Chazma’s ear. She laughed, and for a moment Jethro McBain was caught in a whirl of irritation. She was a stunning beauty and she didn’t even realize it. Her eyes flirted, but she didn’t use her looks, or her body, to egg a man on. It was more, so much more, like her laugh—light and musical that a man could get lost in.

  The laughter she shared with Tom chafed Jethro’s resolve to sit tight.

  His brows met in a display of irritation. Tom didn’t know what she was. She didn’t even know what she was—and she was a damn contradiction of herself. The darkness hovered deep within her, and it was reaching for the surface. Yet, her store of resolute honor and deep-rooted decency shone through. She was so complex.

  Jethro knew what lay entrenched within a region of her brain. He knew that she was fully aware of what she controlled, but he wasn’t sure she recognized the enormity of what she possessed. He knew she didn’t realize others could use her power.

  Jethro had sensed it, felt the vibration of her inner demon pounding for release. He could feel it there, ready to be utilized, and he knew that one day soon she intended to do just that. The question remained, would she be able to control it and retrieve herself?

  Jethro’s eyes narrowed with annoyance. Tom Murphy was out of his element flirting with such as she. Chazma was too much woman for Murphy—for most men.

  It bothered him that he was sitting back watching her dance in the arms of another man. He recognized the alpha male in himself demanding possession of the girl. He turned on his alpha self and beat it down. With teeth gritted, he felt his resolution to keep his distance from her ebb away. He wanted the nearness of her body and he didn’t like the part he played of chaperone.

  All at once, he lost control. This was intolerable, his mind shouted. Bloody hell!

  Something deep inside of him churned, and he wanted to get up, steal her away, and explore her. All of her.

  His grandmother had forced a promise he might not be able to keep: to keep his hands off Chazma Donnelly. Hell, what was a dance or two? But he knew it was more.

  Chaz’s head tipped back as she laughed out loud. Pale golden hair fell back over her shoulders as the silken locks swayed near her waist. He wanted to take a handful of her hair and tug her right into his arms.

  Tom pulled her close and Jethro started to get up. Tom bent toward her but she quickly put a hand between them and said something with a smile. Tom tried again and held her waist with both hands to keep her close. Jethro stalked across the floor. A nerve in his brain had snapped but not before it sent a message to his body: claim her—take her!


  Moving with the stealth of a stalking predator, he made his way through the throng of dancers and tapped the young garda’s shoulder. “Time’s up, Inspector Tom.”

  Tom came from a family of big, husky men, and the garda was no exception, but, Jethro towered over him.

  Tom’s face, while not quite handsome, was extremely engaging. A local, heart and soul, a simple man looking for simple answers to the problems of life.

  Jethro knew Tom liked him, in spite of the rumors that surrounded his life. However, Jethro also knew Tom had never trusted him. He gave Jethro a long, calculated look. “Aye, then.” He grinned, but there was a question in his gray eyes. “I can’t be blaming ye for wanting to, er…dance with the lass, seeing as I have been hogging her company a goodly while.” He turned and took Chaz’s delicate hand to his lips and smiled at her. “I’ll not be forgetting ye, lass, or the lovely conversation we were having when we were interrupted. I mean to pick up where we left off the next time we meet…and meeting we will be doing, soon, very soon.”

  ****

  Chaz sensed a certain undercurrent in the inspector’s words. Something other than flirtation had just occurred. However, she allowed him a warm, friendly smile before she turned and looked up at Jethro McBain’s hard-lined, chiseled face.

  First question to herself: what was wrong with her? And something was wrong, because her knees had just caved. Second question: what was it about him that managed to suck out all the air from her lungs? She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

  Jethro McBain was so much more than good-looking. He occupied so much more space than his large, muscular body mass should. He eclipsed all other men in the room. The odd, inexplicable air of possessiveness about him rattled her.

  A shiver of anticipation racked her body. A strong hand rested on her waist, and snuggled her close against his sculptured form. Although his hand lingered near her butt, she chose not to object.

  The band played the sweet melody of “Danny Boy,” but the buzzing in her mind blotted it out. Head bent so his lips nearly touched her ear, he murmured, “Aye then, lass, I have been waiting for this.”

  The dark energy inside her discovered a twin inside of him. The electricity in each of them met, touched, recoiled, and then accepted the fate of the meeting. Something for which there was no verbal identification, but was real and alive, as though it was a separate entity came to life. It bubbled from inside each of them and merged as it recognized an untamed savageness in the another.

  In a place beyond comprehension, Chaz trembled with this new sensation. Energy inside her exploded into something so bright, she felt blinded and then just as suddenly drove her into darkness where there were only shadows.

  Blackness rose from deep within her. She explored it, rejected it, held it at bay, but it hovered, and it momentarily enveloped them within its perimeters. Is it just my darkness? Or is it his as well?

  At that moment, only the two of them existed. No other people were on the dance floor—what dance floor?—just the two of them, connected, and floating in a starlit mist.

  The fireworks in her head and the beating of her wayward heart drowned out the music. Sensation—raw, carnal, and alive took over. It breathed inside her and begged her to succumb to its will.

  His hold tightened and his hand slipped and caressed her ass, before it returned to her back. Was he experiencing this primal emotion? Was he? He must be, she couldn’t be feeling this alone.

  Chaz had never experienced anything like this. Hell, this isn’t love at first sight; this is lust at first touch!

  Power surged through her to him and back again. The thing inside her forever trying to gain control reared and bucked. It wanted out. It wanted to explore him, be one with him. She lifted her face to his. Her eyes found his, and in that moment she saw blue but it raged like molten lava.

  She had to stop this. She had to stop it now—right now.

  “Chazma…” His voice was low and husky as he held her away from himself and saved them both.

  She felt his strength. He was taking over, resurrecting her self-control—rescuing them. Yes, he was saving them. Saving? she thought.

  She looked up into his dark blue eyes. A storm of emotion resided there. She could only imagine what he must think. What had she done?

  She couldn’t speak. So he did it for her. “Aye, lass. Be at ease.” He said it in a voice that sounded stronger than a normal voice. It held the resonance of many. She knew about such a voice: the spell of compulsion. Only very strong and sophisticated Caillefires—warlocks—could claim such power.

  What was going on here? She had scanned him and came up empty. He was not a warlock, of that she was certain. What is he?

  Be at ease? He had commanded her to be at ease, as though he knew she was out of her element. She realized she gripped his muscled arm like a lifeline. Her body had tensed and she was rigid. Jagged breaths escaped her lips in spurts.

  Whew! Get a grip. She had to regain control, to find a way out of her heat. “Yes. I don’t know what came over me. I must be more tired than I realized.”

  “Come, let’s sit.” He led her to their booth.

  She tried thinking about something else. This entire night was turning out to be nothing like what she expected her first night in Ireland to be, and she sure hadn’t expected to be out pubbing with her boss.

  His dinner invitation had come as a surprise, and although she was leery about an evening out with the lord of the manor, she had accepted.

  It had been an easy meal full of light conversation. However, more than once she found herself having to lean in close to him to hear what he was saying, and discovered that closeness sent rivers of heat rushing through her. She ignored the sensation.

  The pub was already loaded with locals intent on having a good time, when they were seated. They ordered their drinks and a light fare, and Chaz was thoroughly enjoying the ambiance.

  Many of the locals stopped by their booth out of easy friendship with McBain, and curiosity to meet her. She realized of course, she was the new girl in town.

  When Tom had come by to lightly fist Jethro’s shoulder and say, “Well then, are ye going to keep this beauty sitting with the music calling her to the floor, Jet? Can ye no see her pretty feet tapping? Shall I help ye out there and take her for a spin?” He had grinned wickedly and an age-old male challenge lit his sparkling eyes.

  Jethro smiled good-naturedly and waved her on, and she had felt suddenly, ridiculously deflated. Her reaction was to flirt it up with Tom in lighthearted and easy terms, and she had some satisfaction when she noticed that his lordship McBain could not take his eyes away from her. Why should she care? Better ignore the question because that sort of thinking would impact her behavior and get her nowhere fast. However, without warning, he had sent Tom Murphy off. He took hold—no possession—of her, and she was so much more than in his arms. Incorporated into his sphere, she experienced shudders of desire so intense it had blotted out the world.

  Time out, she cautioned herself. “I am sorry to call an end to your night, but, my lord…I mean, Jethro, I don’t think I can keep my eyes open any longer.” She wanted to run to her bed and forget her dance with Jethro McBain.

  He frowned. “Damnation, lass—I am so sorry. This is getting to be a habit with me when I am with ye.”

  “A habit?”

  “Forgetting my manners. Of course, ye must be jet-lagged. Come on then, I am taking ye home.”

  It appeared to her that he had already completely forgotten their heated moment on the dance floor. She brushed her hair from her shoulders and looked away while she recouped. He hadn’t felt a thing. All that heat—all that energy, hers alone?

  They didn’t speak as he led her to his luxurious car where he saw her seated, but she didn’t feel awkward about the silence, in fact, she was too engrossed in those few moments remembering in detail what just occurred.

  She sighed to herself after a few moments and took to looking ou
t the window and into the dark.

  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Jethro shot her a surreptitious glance. Sexual tension charged the atmosphere. Ludicrous. It was all in her head. He wasn’t making any moves on her.

  He threw some light and inviting chatter her way, the tone of which strongly suggested to her that he was trying to set her at ease. She knew, of course, what he was doing but she wasn’t at first able to do more than smile. Okay. Come on, Chaz, idle banter, babble, words.

  Her speechlessness surprised her. Normally babbling was something she did well.

  His chatter died off and they sat in silence. Chaz was certain he was reviewing his own flashback of the evening as she was.

  Chazma’s memory left her blushing in the dark. Her body tensed and the yearning she experienced made her try to shut off the memory. Think about the pub, and his friends.

  Nearly everyone in the pub seemed to know one another. She had listened to McBain’s lighthearted, easy style as he made the rounds and introduced her. He had made it clear to one and all that the two of them were not an item. His jesting had been designed to keep things light, but she quickly realized that this was what he did. A longtime acquaintance to all, but none got too close to Jethro McBain. A lone tiger.

  Women drooled over him (even those escorted by their mates) and sighed. If she wasn’t careful she might find herself doing the same.

  Magnetism and sexuality floated around him with an aroma that drew women. He gave off a scent that made a dark and silent promise to take a woman to that special place no one else could completely take her to.

  There was a great deal more to Jethro McBain besides the promise of tantalizing sex. He had magic in him, but was it dark magic? Chaz couldn’t put her finger on the answer. Something about his eyes hinted of otherworldly blood.

  He broke into her reverie. “Appease my curiosity, Chazma. Tell me what makes a young woman such as ye spend her summer in a dusty old library in an ancient mansion in a small village with little hope for youthful entertainment? I read yer résumé. I don’t think it is the money.”