by Dianna Love
“Ever the hellion.” He leaned down to kiss those sexy lips while he got busy unclipping her bra and baring her breasts to his eager fingers. “Mercy. How did I end up with the most beautiful woman in the world?”
She smiled, a gift he’d never take for granted.
He touched her tightly budded nipples and dragged a moan of pleasure from her. He pulled away from her mouth just long enough to warn, “Don’t expect to walk for a week.”
“Talk, talk, talk. Is that all you can do with that mouth?” She ran her hands over his chest.
He reached down and slipped his hand inside her jeans, fingering her damp heat until she lifted off the blanket.
When she sucked in enough air to come back to earth, Evalle started unbuckling his belt with impressive speed, but then she was a Belador. Her eyes flicked up at the sky for a moment, then back to her task.
He assured her, “I’ll have you home before daylight even if it kills me to leave this blanket.”
“What’s with the blanket outside? You have a bout of camping fever?”
“Not even. The house smells of the witch doctor whose name we will not speak tonight.” He pushed Evalle’s shirt off her shoulders. “I’m not spending another minute in that place with her taint floating in the air. I’m sure as hell not taking you around it again.”
She sat back on her elbows, some important debate going on behind those bright green eyes. “How do you feel about living in an underground apartment with a small gargoyle?”
He bent down and kissed her, just because he could when he’d never expected to be able to again. When he broke the kiss, he studied the face he was sure he’d need a lifetime to memorize. “I can live anywhere with you, I just can’t live without you. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to show you how much you mean to me.”
She smiled with contentment. “Just do me a favor and don’t worry about me not being able to go outside in sunlight, okay?”
“Okay.” He hadn’t actually lied to her. He wasn’t going to waste time worrying when he could do so much more.
There was plenty of time tomorrow to start working on what he had in mind.
For now, he’d show her what it was like to make love for hours under the stars.
WITCHLOCK
Belador book 6 (June 2015)
After finally earning her place among the Beladors, Evalle is navigating the ups and downs of her new life with Storm when she’s sucked into a power play between her Belador tribe and the Meb coven. Both groups claim possession of the Alterants-turned-gryphons, especially Evalle, as an influx of demons and dark witches into Atlanta threatens to unleash a war between covens, pitting allies and friends against each other. A legendary majik known as Witchlock escalates the conflict while driving powerful beings mad, forcing Evalle to put her own sanity at risk to save her loved ones, or Atlanta will fall.
Please Enjoy this BONUS Short Story
DEADLY FIXATION
“I adore the city of Savannah. . .but this story reveals a side of it I’ve never explored! With incredible imagery, Love has created not just another Savannah, but another world.” ~~ Sandra Brown
Devon Fortier eased forward through pitch-black passages where death waited for foolish humans in Savannah, Georgia’s forgotten underground.
He was neither foolish nor human.
Deep voices growled up ahead in what had once been a rum cellar. The argument echoed off the packed-dirt walls that seeped water. Dank odors of rot, urine and unearthly creatures clogged every breath Devon inhaled.
Creeping closer, he made out three shapes hunched around something on the ground that cast an orange glow across the trio of predators. Two were ten feet tall. One had scaly skin and the other had pointed ears that curled up to his bald head.
Trolls.
Devon’s informant looked to be spot on about some black market deal going down with trolls in this coastal city.
The third figure appeared to be a human male of average height. But he was probably a glamour-concealed troll.
Whatever those three had pinned down snarled, “Let me go you stinkin’ vermin!”
Devon sighed, recognizing the voice. He ought to let the trolls continue.
A fourth-generation leprechaun and pawnbroker, Coldfinger had just enough majik to be dangerous. A sick piece of work the world wouldn’t miss if the trolls wanted to finish him off.
But Devon’s oath as a Belador meant he had to protect everyone—even a slimy bastard with the integrity of a jackal—if those trolls decided to chow down on orange fast food.
He moved closer for a better view.
Curly-ears held his prey in place with a four-toed foot as wide as a briefcase. He shook his head at Coldfinger. “You think faerie dust is gonna cut it? Think you can screw us?”
Trading faerie dust was illegal, but a petty infraction of VIPER laws. Not enough for Devon to risk his skin arresting three carnivorous beings. He couldn’t spend much energy on this bunch when nothing here fit the profile of a major operation.
Beladors served as one of the enforcement arms for VIPER, an international league of warriors that protected the world from supernatural predators...like trolls.
And deadly leprechauns.
“How dare you accuse me of scamming,” Coldfinger whined in a voice bloated with insult.
Devon rolled his eyes. How could someone with no conscience be insulted?
All the trolls started yelling, threatening to dismember Goldfinger.
Baldy bared his fangs. “We got you the scrying dish. Where’s the spell?”
“You lying ‘chaun.”
Devon used the cover of their voices to close the thirty feet that had separated him from the argument.
Coldfinger’s voice tiptoed up an octave with fear. “Calm down, I got it. I got the Noirre Fixit spell.”
Oh, hell, no. Noirre majik definitely fit the profile of his black market investigation. Devon had no choice but to take all of them to headquarters now...if they didn’t kill him.
Trolls were a nasty bunch who ate their opponents, which left no evidence and made it hard to try them in a Tribunal court. Devon could attempt to call in Belador reinforcements, but he had faulty telepathic ability at best, especially underground. No worries. He might have gotten shorted in the telepathy department, but his other gifts were just fine.
Besides, lowering his personal shields to call Beladors would blow his element of surprise.
Murdering trolls had no business getting their hands on Noirre majik, especially a fixation spell that could freeze a person long enough to do harm. As the deadliest of black majik, Noirre carried a high penalty for dealing, even death.
Human law enforcement didn’t know VIPER or supernatural beings existed. Handling trolls, leprechauns and Noirre fell to agents like Devon.
He paused. Most trolls wouldn’t touch Noirre since few of them were powerful enough to control it.
Ah, hell. Could these be Svart Trolls?
Only if the gods really wanted to piss on Devon’s day.
The Swedish term for black, Svart trolls were preternatural black ops mercenaries.
Reaching over his shoulder, Devon slid his short sword from the leather sheath attached to his back.
Bullets only annoyed Svarts.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you, Lambert?” a throaty female voice called out from the other side of the trolls.
Devon stilled. No way.
He leaned right to see past the criminals. One look confirmed he had the worst luck ever handed out in this world.
Joleen Mac, a pain-in-his-ass bounty hunter whose four-inch heels on black lace-up boots boosted her height to just under six feet. Viper-tongue-red lipstick accented lips that could sink a man to his knees when she smiled—or issue a deadly spell. Black hair flashed past her shoulders, two long braids slicing down the side of her face. Scary as she was gorgeous, Jo worked for Dakkar, a rogue mage who ran a bounty hunter operation. VIPER allowed Dakkar freedom of
movement as long as Dakkar’s hunters didn’t interfere with official missions.
Like this one.
Devon’s recon mission just turned official with Noirre being traded and Svart Trolls congregating. But he needed backup on this and he had no way to reach anyone from down here.
Lambert, the troll in human glamour, grinned. “Jo, baby. Good to see ya. We got business?”
“You could say that.” Joleen stepped close to the group. A tangerine glow washed across her loose-hanging rawhide coat, saddle-brown leather vest and jean shorts. She held a compact weapon with a short, squat barrel built to shoot two-inch-thick rounds that could kill a demon.
Devon had seen that weapon once before.
She pointed the muzzle at Lambert. “You’re coming with me.”
The two big trolls stared at her with bright yellow eyes and green saliva dripping from their lips. They growled low with menace.
“No, he’s not going with you,” Devon said, stepping from the shadows. He dropped his personal shields, allowing his power to radiate. Call it male arrogance, but he wanted the first shot at intimidating the trolls...and he liked the way Jo’s cheeks flared with color when his power brushed across her skin.
“Stay out of this, Devon,” she warned in a voice spiced with French influence.
“Alll-right, now we’re talkin’,” Coldfinger said, enthusiasm bubbling. “What say we all go topside, grab a brew and discuss this like sociable folks.”
Joleen kept her weapon trained on her quarry, but ignored Coldfinger’s bravado, pinning her gaze on Devon. “Lambert’s behind a contract killing of a Connecticut witch.”
Coldfinger howled. “You trolls tradin’ stolen goods?”
Lambert said, “No, she’s lying.” He sneered at Jo. “I ain’t goin’ with ya.”
“Yes, you are,” she said without a hint of concern.
Devon sighed. “No, he’s going with me.”
Jo shifted the weapon toward Devon. “We’re having a communication breakdown. That could be dangerous.”
“You don’t want to threaten me, Jo,” Devon warned. “I caught them dealing Noirre. Makes this VIPER business. Lambert’s got to face a Tribunal. That’s the law.”
All the trolls swung around to look at Devon.
Coldfinger howled again and glowed bright as a warning beacon. “You idiots. He’s Belador. Heard everything you said. Stinkin’ morons.”
Jo asked Devon, “How can this be a sanctioned operation?” Her gaze shifted, scanning quickly before a smile teased her lips. “Where’s your team? VIPER doesn’t send their people in without backup. Doesn’t want them hurt.”
She was goading Devon over how she’d used that same weapon to kill a demon hanging on his back the last time they’d met.
He owed her and she was calling in the debt.
But he couldn’t pay up right now. “I have orders to pick him up.” Big lie. “Let’s work together this time. You cover them and I’ll call in backup.”
Her eyebrow arched sharply in a saucy smirk. “What gave you the idea we were negotiating, Dev? Lambert’s mine. You can have the other two and the orange toad.”
“You can’t prove nothin’ without Lambert,” Coldfinger yelled.
Not technically true, but if Lambert was running a Svart Troll op Devon needed him most of all.
Lambert inched a step away.
Jo swung her weapon back at him. “Let’s go.”
Hellfire. Devon could use her help, but he’d just have to contain them without her. “Sorry, Jo, but VIPER laws take precedence over bounty orders. I’m taking them all in.” He turned to Lambert and bluffed about using telepathy. “I’ve already sent word to VIPER for backup. Resisting will only make it worse when you face the Tribunal. You three, face down on the ground next to Coldfinger.”
Intelligence gleamed in Lambert’s eyes. He shrugged and turned to his two giant sidekicks. “Sorry guys, I know I said this would be a quick job. Guess there’s nothing to do but...kill them!” He ducked and the huge trolls roared.
One giant rushed Devon and the other one dove at Jo.
A flash of green light burst through the room. Some kind of stun grenade? That wouldn’t stop a Svart.
Devon swung his sword in a high arc. The blade sang with sentient power, but a second flash of light from Jo caused a strobe effect that threw off his timing. He slashed across the troll’s arm and dodged the snap of fangs so close to his neck that his hair stood on end. Losing an arm didn’t slow the bellowing monster, whose armhole spewed murky-colored blood that smelled like sewage.
These ornery things were hard to kill, which was why Devon couldn’t miss again. With the next swing of his Belador sword, he severed baldy’s head. It bounced away...the only sound in a sudden brittle silence.
Not good.
Devon walked over to where chunks of troll lay scattered around Jo. So the flash had been a high-bandwidth laser? He glanced at a slender barrel camelbacked onto the demon blaster, then at the ground were Coldfinger had been. Had being the operative word.
Glowing yellow-orange embers sizzled on the dirt floor.
“Any chance that means you got him, Jo?”
“No. That’s residue from Coldfinger’s body being held still too long. He escaped with Lambert.” She stood ten feet away with her blaster hanging from a shoulder sling and hands propped on her hips. “They’ll have made it to where the tunnel dumps into the river by now. What a krikin’ mess you made of this.”
“Me? You’re the one who wouldn’t keep this simple.” He turned on her and moved forward with each word.
“Stop right there.”
Not a chance. Nothing intimidated this woman.
He couldn’t decide between wringing her stubborn neck and kissing her. Like that adrenaline-pumped kiss they’d shared the last time they’d survived a bloody battle. Was she thinking about that kiss? “With a little cooperation, we’d have hauled in all four and gotten you a nice fee for helping.”
“I don’t work for chump change...or VIPER.” She raised her weapon and shoved it into his chest. “And if you get in my way again, there won’t be enough of you left to feed a gnat.”
That’d be a “no” on her thinking fondly of their last kiss.
This woman had unusual hunting skills. And based on what he’d seen, a little majik. She could be a witch. When you moved in a world where a broad spectrum of majik was the norm, identities were tough to nail down without information.
Jo might find Lambert faster than Devon could pull together a team. He had to cut a deal for any hope of stopping Svart trolls from accessing that Noirre spell. “I get that Lambert was your bounty, but—”
#
“Not was. Is my bounty,” Joleen said, setting Devon straight. Which goddess of fate had the twisted sense of humor to stick Devon Fortier in her path again? Blonde strands fell loose from where he wore his shoulder-length hair tied back. Those dark hazel eyes were flecked with gold and seemed to maintain a perpetual anytime-is-playtime look.
A look that could make a woman do asinine things.
And make tactical errors. Like kissing Devon after their last unplanned meeting. She should shoot the cocky Belador just for interfering again.
“We can work out the money on this, Jo.”
“It’s not about the money or I’d charge you double and be done with this. I have quotas. I’m behind and need to hand in Lambert by tomorrow afternoon or Dakkar will cut me loose.” That could not happen. Dakkar was the sole person who could keep her identity secret. And he would. For a price. She couldn’t lose this gig or allow Devon to ruin it for her.
“What’s the big deal on this troll, Jo?”
“He’s not just a troll. Lambert is the bastard son of a Svart Troll and a black witch. He’s slippery. I’ve been tracking him for days.” She glanced past him. “Where’s your team?”
He gave a half-assed look over his shoulder. “Should be here soon.”
Liar. “You didn’t call any
one.” She let her weapon swing down and under her coat. “I got a bounty to pick up.”
Sliding his sword into the sheath on his back, Devon said, “Then we better get rolling.”
“Don’t make me tie you up, Dev.”
His grin ignited with lust. “We don’t have time for that, but I like the way you’re thinking.”
One round from her demon blaster and he’d be little Devon pieces. Tempting. “I’m not joking.”
His sigh accused her of being as much fun as rain at a picnic. Tough. She had been fun at one time in her life, but someone had stolen that life.
Devon scratched his whisker-darkened jaw—as unshaven as the last time she’d seen him. Did he never shave? He sighed and his voice shifted from teasing to serious. “Here’s the thing. Based on what you said about Lambert, he’ll use that Noirre spell if we don’t stop him.”
“Don’t see how theft is my problem.” She beat down her surge of conscience. Nobody would waste that level of a black majik spell for simple robbery.
“Theft? That’s a Noirre Fixit spell. Most fixation spells just freeze a human for a minute, but Noirre could be much worse.”
Could be? He didn’t know for sure what that spell was capable of? Damn him. She couldn’t let this Belador go off thinking that. “If it’s Noirre, it’s not just a fixation spell that freezes someone long enough to rob them.”
Devon crossed his arms, waiting.
She cursed herself. Why couldn’t she be like Dakkar’s other bounty hunters who put their own needs first? “Using Noirre Fixit will freeze everyone within twenty feet of a single person hit by the spell. The freeze will last approximately two minutes, but when it dissipates, the memories of every person affected or watching the spellbound area will be wiped clean. They’ll continue living as if nothing had happened, but without their memories up to that point.”
Devon’s words came out slow and tight. “I can’t share all my intel, but it’s looking like Lambert has a team here for a specific hit. Based on what I know about his ability and now about now this spell can affect large masses, I’m betting his target involves the St. Patrick’s Day Parade tomorrow.”