The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

by Trisha Telep

  That was brave of you.

  There are two hunters behind you, about a quarter of a mile. One is closer.

  Yes, I can scent them now. The wind had changed direction, giving Mac some information on where the hunters were located. Damn it, he could smell Lily too. She was too damn close to the men.

  It’s impossible for me to lose them in this snow. They can track every move I make.

  One of the hunters is coming closer. Get out of here now, Casey. I’ll stop him from following you and catch up to you later.

  But they’ve got guns. He’ll kill you.

  He won’t kill me. Even in his mind, Mac’s voice came out filled with low, cold fury. Go!

  Casey hesitated a moment, then dashed off into the woods.

  Moments later, the hunter entered the clearing. Mac lowered his head and laid his ears back, growling. Slowly, he circled the man, staring him down. The hunter was dressed in green snow gear, a brown ski mask covering his face.

  “You’re a big one. Derrick said you were. You’ll make a nice addition to my wall.”

  Do you make a habit of hunting down unsuspecting teenage boys for sport? Do you murder kids often? Maybe pick off toddlers on the weekends?

  The hunter was taken by surprise with the telepathy. “I don’t consider that thing a boy or a child at all. It’s an animal, like any other. Just like you.”

  We’re all animals. Humans are animals too.

  “You know what I mean. Don’t start that bullshit equal-rights crap with me.” He turned and spit into the snow. “Won’t work.”

  Did you come alone? Mac let a long, thin growl trickle from between his lips. You know that was stupid, right? Come alone and end up food for the scavengers.

  “You wouldn’t eat me?”

  I wouldn’t touch your mangy hide even if I were starving. The vultures can have you.

  The man repositioned the rifle in his gloved hands. He seemed to be stalling for some reason. “I didn’t come alone. The others have the woman and are toying with her a bit before they kill her, that’s all.”

  Mac lunged forwards, snarling, and the hunter raised the rifle with a jerk, betraying his nervousness. “Watch it or I’ll shoot you now.”

  Why wait? Oh, I get it. You’re under someone’s authority. Did the boss tell you not to ruin his fun?

  “I don’t take orders from anyone.”

  I don’t know. You look like the omega to me.

  The omega was the whipping wolf in a pack - the one everyone else took their frustrations out on. It was a deceiving title, since it sounded like it would take a weak wolf to occupy such a position. In fact, it was a position of honour, held by one of the strongest members of the pack, a wolf able to withstand the beatings of the others. In fact, quite frequently the omega eventually became alpha. To a human, though, being called the omega was a high insult, since they lacked a finer understanding of shifter society.

  “Shut up,” the hunter snapped, the rifle shaking.

  Oh, he’d hit a nerve.

  Mac growled, hunkering down and ready to leap at the man. He needed to extricate himself from this and fast. This man lacked the cojones to pull the trigger without his boss’s leave. Human pack behaviour wasn’t all that much different from a wolf’s. This man wasn’t alpha material - not by a long shot.

  “You seem antsy. Are you worried about the woman? Don’t be. I’m sure she’s dead by now.” The hunter shrugged. “Nothing to be concerned about any more.”

  The hunter raised his rifle and sighted down the barrel at Mac. Mac balanced on his paws, ready to spring. Out of nowhere came a streak of black. The hunter went down with an anguished yelp of terror and the gun fired, shot going wide.

  Somewhere in the distance, he heard a woman scream.

  Mac bounded towards it, leaving behind him the sound of a growling Casey and an ever-widening red stain in the snow.

  “What is it with you and the shifters, huh, Lily? What’s with the fucking fascination?” Derrick shook her. “What’s wrong with your own kind?”

  “If we’re using you as the model, Derrick, lots.”

  He pushed her down into the snow and pointed the rifle at her head. The sound of a bullet loading into the chamber made her shiver and her stomach go loose and nauseated with butterflies. Lily had never had a gun muzzle pressed to her forehead. She imagined she could even smell it — old blood and cold metal. The scent of her death.

  She would like to be able to say she was fearless, but having a man so full of hate press a gun to her head made fear scream through her body and soul. She searched within for courage, scrabbling for every ounce she could find among the overwhelming flood of stark terror.

  “I didn’t want to have to do this. You weren’t supposed to fucking be here and you weren’t supposed to recognize my voice. All we wanted to do was draw Mac out here to an area he wasn’t familiar with, so we could pick him off.”

  “Why Mac? Why do you care?”

  “He’s just good sport, Lily. Nothing personal.”

  Rage flared hot and hard in her. She kicked out with her snowshoe and caught Derrick in the shin. He stumbled, off balance.

  She dived to the side to avoid the misfire of his weapon, snow cushioning her lunge. A ringing crack sounded in her ear and then all was silent in her head. She’d gone deaf from the close proximity of the fired weapon. There was a flash of a silver-tipped wolf, a splash of red. Derrick waved his rifle, fired it into the air, then turned to run, only to be pushed into the snow by Mac.

  Lily turned her face away, melting into the welcome quiet where there was no violence.

  Hands grasped her arms and turned her. She opened her eyes to see Mac’s concerned face, his mouth moving. He’d shifted back to human form. Little by little, the sounds growing louder, his words became audible.

  “I’m OK,” she answered, then launched herself into his arms, not even caring about the blood that stained his chin, throat and the front of his coat.

  Mac held her close, rubbing her back with strong hands. She melted against him, feeling for the first time in years - no, maybe for the first time - that the man who held her truly cared. In his arms, she was cherished. She shuddered against him, shaking off the sensation of the gun pressed to her skull, and the echo of her death she’d seen in Derrick’s eyes.

  A black wolf came bounding up to them and she recognized Casey. Lily knelt in the snow and wrapped her arms around him. With shaking hands, she explored the wolf’s haunches, legs and stomach. He was uninjured. Lily had never been so happy not to have to act in her capacity as nurse.

  She let out a pent-up breath and hugged him. Maybe she would never quite be able to let go of the child she’d once lost, but this one was going to be all right.

  They made their way back to Pack City. Not far from town, Mac made a call to the proper authorities to let them know of Casey’s well-being and where they could find the bodies of the hunters.

  Lily and Mac stood at the top of the hill overlooking Pack City, watching Casey, still in wolf form, make his way down to the clutch of emergency vehicles at the base. Humanity and shifters alike swarmed the place. People everywhere. Just watching them all, anticipating their questions, made her tired.

  “So, what are you planning to do now?” Mac asked.

  “Now?” She sniffled. “I still have this cold, so I should probably get some rest.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Pause. “I’ve got some tea left.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “It’s an invitation for a whole lot more than tea, Lily.” Mac’s voice was low and husky.

  She smiled, happy warmth suffusing her face and chest. “Consider it accepted. Can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. Can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend my time with.”

  In silence, they continued to watch the swarm of people. The news crews had arrived. One of the reporters spotted them on top of the hill and began to make his way up. Ugh.

  “So, are you read
y to let go a little?” Mac asked, watching the man scramble in the snow towards them.

  She looked up at Mac, enveloping his hand in hers. “I’m not letting go, I’m taking hold.”

  Together they turned and walked back into the woods.

  ♥ Scanned by Coral ♥

  How to Date a Superhero

  Jean Johnson

  “Man, that was a great movie! Thank you again for inviting me this afternoon.” Silver-gloved hands cut sharply through the air, wielded by blue-clad arms. “I didn’t think an Ascendant could’ve survived that big an explosion at the end, let alone a normal citizen, but the way he did it... brilliant! Movie magic at its finest.”

  Red-and-silver limbs wrapped around the nearest blue arm, hanging — literally - on his every word. A female voice cooed, “Oh, I don’t know; I think you’d have come out of it without a scratch.”

  The man’s tanned mouth curved up in a wry smile below his blue-and-silver mask. “I may be a working Ascendant, a living, breathing superhero . . . but I’m no stunt-double. Those guys are tough. Besides, even if I did survive, the conflagration would’ve burned up my costume. I wouldn’t be able to show my face afterwards, for fear of being recognized!”

  “Believe me, if your costume burned off. . . who said we’d be looking at your face?” Laughter accompanied her words, as did the hint of a blush. Across the table, a body in orange-and-silver snorted with amusement, while the others around the briefing table smiled.

  Carrie tried not to be sullen, but it was very difficult. She crossed her spandex-covered arms more tightly across her violet-and-silver chest. The only good thing about the rest of her night was that she wouldn’t have to see the two lovebirds seated to her left interacting any more.

  The door to the briefing room hissed open, giving her a respite from the flirting happening next to her. Sitting up a little more in her seat, showing respect for the silver-and-white uniform that had entered the room, she settled her mind firmly into her working persona.

  It was time to stop being Carrie Vinson, part-time pottery artist, and time to start being Foresight, Ascendant superhero -defender of justice, peace and the citizens of Belle View City. Not everyone was born with the genetic potential to become an Ascendant. Not everyone who was born with the genes actually made the transition from normal to super. But whatever it was that turned a normal person into a real, live, spandex-outfitted superhero, she had it.

  It also meant she had the responsibility — along with the seven other people in the briefing room — to use her abilities to protect and defend her fellow citizens from any number of extraordinary dangers. Sometimes it was an earthquake or a building fire; sometimes it was a bank robbery or a toxic chemical spill. Sometimes they had to fight a Rescindant: a former fellow Ascendant who had turned evil.

  But nowhere in the Ascendant League’s Manual of Conduct did it say she was allowed to wallow in sullen jealousy over the close camaraderie of two of her fellow teammates. Rather the opposite (even if fits of sullen jealousy weren’t mentioned specifically). So she straightened up, pulled her mind into work mode, and gave her boss, Oversight, an attentive look. The fact that her arms were still jealously folded over the purple-and-silver plastron of her superhero suit was immaterial.

  “Good afternoon, Ascendants,” their supervisor greeted them. He started separating the stapled printouts stacked in his arms, handing them out to each of the team members. “I hope you all got a good night’s rest, because it’s Friday night, and the weekends are usually busy. League surveillance suggests that Rescindants Dr Mockery and the Pincushion might also be looking forward to this weekend. The Mayor’s Educators’ Ball is tomorrow night. I hope you got your ball gown and tuxedo dry-cleaned this last week, Foresight, Steelhand.”

  Carrie groaned. “Not again! We covered the Charity Ball last weekend. Why do we have to do it again?”

  Oversight smirked. “Because both of you can do a decent foxtrot. Bomber never learned, Backhand is too big to blend into the crowd and Hindsight is even more touch-sensitive than Steelhand. And, as far as I know, the other ladies never even learned.”

  “Actually, that’s not true,” Farshot, a.k.a. Valerie Romano, interjected, her brown eyes flicking flirtatiously towards Steel-hand. “I can do a passable foxtrot, and even a waltz or two.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind for the next society ball,” Oversight said. He gestured at the printouts he had passed around. “Let’s focus on tonight’s assignments, shall we? Farshot, Bomber, we need you to focus on the Eastside; rumour has it the Pincushion’s minions have been nosing around the edge of town, somewhere between the industrial sector and the suburbs. It’s an unconfirmed rumour, but it’s all we have to go on right now. Nearsight, we still haven’t found any concrete evidence of a Quad crime syndicate link to the Pearson Shipping Company on our end of things. You’ll have to continue your undercover work a bit longer.

  “Backhand . . .” Oversight paused, sighed heavily, and pinned the burly, black-clad Ascendant with a disappointed look. “You’re lucky we’re still short on replacement staff, because I’d put you on probation if I could. Next time you get into a street fight with a Rescindant, don’t throw a car at them. There was a perfectly good - and considerably cheaper -street lamp you could’ve torn off and used. As it is, your wages are being garnished for the cost of the repairs to the citizen’s SUV.”

  “Citizen?” Backhand protested, visibly affronted by the word. “He was one of Dr Mockery’s minions! He was trying to get into his car and escape with the isotope last week. Just because I was efficient at ruining his escape method and in thwarting the Doctor from setting off his viral bomb . . . !”

  “We have no concrete evidence that he was indeed a minion, so there’s no way for the League to consider him anything but an innocent bystander.” Oversight planted his silver-gloved palms on the table, facing down the younger man. “You have a very bad habit of overusing your super-strength, Backhand.”

  Backhand grumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

  Oversight swept his gaze over the other young men and women in the briefing room. “The Police Forensics and Public Justice Departments have requested once again that Hindsight visit their evidence lockers to do a scan of all items picked up during the week.”

  “Once again, I’m stuck with the most boring, horrific job on the planet. Please tell me they didn’t pick up any bloody murder-scene weapons this week?” Hindsight, team healer and touch-sensitive clairvoyant, muttered ruefully.

  “Sorry. The City Morgue has an unidentified piece of human bone they want scanned,” Oversight told him.

  “At least you get hazardous duty pay,” Backhand grumbled.

  Oversight continued. “Foresight and Steelhand, obviously you’re on Westside patrol. The League also wants you to stop by the ballpark tonight. The Belle View Batters are playing the Star City Novas. Don’t disrupt the game - the Batters have a chance of getting into the division championship. Don’t enter the stands; just do a couple of circuits of the concourses, meet and greet the citizens shortly after the game starts, then get on with your patrol.”

  Steelhand’s blue-masked face twisted. “Ugh . . . photo-ops. Do I have to?”

  Oversight sighed.

  Steelhand wrinkled his lip. “Little kids are always trying to touch my mask. Why can’t Backhand do it? Or Bomber?”

  “Because you’re partnered with Foresight, and because the two of you are very photogenic together.”

  Carrie heard Valerie’s obvious sigh of disappointment.

  Photogenic, sure . . . but not together, Carrie lamented. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Valerie’s silver hand slide under the table to sympathetically squeeze Steelhand’s blue thigh. She was all over him. It made Carrie sick. She sighed heavily. Then a thought occurred to her. “Oversight... uh ... why don’t Farshot and I switch partners?”

  “Because you’re still mentoring Steelhand,” her supervisor returned dryly.

  �
�But it’s been a month,” she protested. “Surely he’s got the hang of the city by now. At least enough to be switched to a new partner?”

  “You don’t want to be my partner any more?” Steelhand peered at her.

  The disappointment in his voice made her want to squirm. Carrie didn’t know how to answer without delving into her very personal problems to do with him; in specific, her problem with his lack of interest in her.

  Tightening her arms across her chest, she shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m just saying . . . you know . . . you don’t have to serve out the rest of your probation period with me. That’s all.”

  Oversight studied her. “Foresight, do you have a problem with Steelhand? Is there something we should know, since you’re his mentor?”

  “What? No!” she quickly protested. Lies were firmly and officially discouraged among League members. As Steelhand’s team mentor during his settling-in period, if her team supervisor asked her for an evaluation, she had to give an honest one. “Officially, as his mentor, I’m saying that he’s smart, he’s competent, he’s good at the job and he’s ethical as well as efficient. Overall, he’s a great asset to the team. I’m just saying . . . that . . . you know . . . he’s good enough. He could be paired with someone else ... so why not pair him with someone else?”

  From the way the others stared at her, she didn’t think they were buying it.

  “Foresight, did you foresee something?” the green-masked Hindsight asked her.

  “Or is it ... a personality conflict?” Farshot/Valerie asked. It didn’t help that the corner of her mouth curled up below the edge of her mask. It wasn’t a big smirk, but it was definitely a smirk. Valerie knew damned well that Carrie was interested in Steelhand . . . and that he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in return.

  “It is not a personality conflict,” Carrie stated crisply, losing her temper at the other woman. “Not with his personality. If anything, I’m tired of your constant innuendos, your monopolizations of his time and energy and attention outside of actual fieldwork. I don’t even get any time during briefings and debriefings to discuss cases with him - you’re always there! You know what? You want him? Have him. Then maybe we can all get on with our work without further wasted time or effort.