Dark and Dangerous: Six-in-One Hot Paranormal Romances

by Jennifer Ashley

Rickert sat next to her, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” Was what she’d been thinking so obvious?

  “Nothing, lass. Hungry?”

  “Famished.” She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as he spread jam on a thick, flaky biscuit. “Thank you. And not just for bringing me breakfast.”

  “Last night was fun, no?” There was that devilish smile again. It shot quivers of desire straight to her center. “Eat up, because when you’re done, I intend to do it all again.”

  “You...do?”

  “Yes. I haven’t had my fill of you,” he said casually, not looking up from his task. “And given how you responded to me, I’d have to assume the same is true for you.”

  “Responded?” She was so taken aback by his matter-of-fact tone, she wasn’t sure what to say. Yet again, this man had knocked her off-guard.

  “You’re a very sexually responsive woman, Neyla. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  I am? But then she remembered how many times he’d brought her to climax. What did he mean, he hadn’t been expecting that? She’d have to imagine that the other women he’d been with had experienced the same thing. They had to have. How could they not? Sex with this man was...beyond exhilarating.

  “In case you didn’t know, we men are simple folk. Pleasuring a woman easily, like I clearly did for you last night, is very affirming for us.”

  She’d never really considered that before. “It’s good for your ego?”

  He quirked up a brow. “Ego?”

  Maybe he wasn’t familiar with the word. “Your sense of self. Your manliness.”

  “Aye. When a woman comes off so quickly, a man feels powerful and strong.”

  That sounded so primitive, so barbaric. And it totally turned her on.

  He held the biscuit impatiently in front of her. “Here. Take it. You need to eat. I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I brought a little of everything.”

  She could get used to being pampered like this. “Thanks.” She took a bite and— Oh God, it was delicious. The pastry was buttery and tender, almost melting in her mouth. The preserves were made of raspberries and another fruit—maybe mango? Wait. Probably ogappa.

  Rickert didn’t take nearly as much care with his own. He quickly slathered another biscuit with jam and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth in one bite. As they ate, she thought about how well she’d been sleeping. It occurred to her that she hadn’t had a nightmare about the train accident since coming through the Iron Portal. She would’ve thought she’d be having all sorts of terrible dreams over here, but she felt wonderfully refreshed and relaxed for the first time in—geez, she couldn’t even remember. Even after that stressful incident at the market. Which reminded her...

  “What did that guy in Greenway mean when he called me a baby-snatcher?”

  The butter knife Rickert was holding fell to the tray. “They’re idiots.”

  “But that’s not a normal insult.” She took another bite, licking the jam from her finger. “I thought I heard someone say the same thing in one of the shops, too. What does it mean?” It had to be slang for something, or an old wives’ tale. They did have some strange terminology here.

  He grabbed one of the small silver chalices on the tray and took a long drink. “How did you discover you had a Talent?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

  She thought about insisting he continue the conversation, but she knew men well enough to know that he’d be more likely to open up to her once his belly was full. She’d press him later.

  “Wait,” she said, recalling his stunned reaction in the market and their brief conversation on the ride home. “You had no idea you were a Telekinetic-Talent until yesterday, did you?”

  A tiny muscle in his jaw twitched. “No.”

  “But what about igniting the torches in the portal tunnels?”

  “That’s nothing special. If I concentrate hard enough, I can make something spark. I’ve done that all my life. But the market...”

  He made a move to stand, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. She knew firsthand how strange it was to discover you had a latent Talent.

  She had a million questions for him. “How old were you when—?”

  “I don’t want to talk about me,” he said quietly. “I want to know all there is about you, Neyla. Your family, your friends, your life.”

  How was it that this incredibly powerful and sexy man wanted to focus on her, rather than himself? Most men like him had egos the size of Texas. She didn’t want to think about her life on the other side. Instead, she wanted to pretend this was her life. A life where she and Rickert were together.

  “It’s important to me,” he said, evidently sensing her reluctance. “Tell me how you discovered you were a Talent.”

  She sighed. Whatever Rickert wanted from her, she knew she’d eventually comply. But it wasn’t because he was strong and she was weak. It was because she wanted to please him, to do what made him happy.

  Her thoughts went back to that cold winter morning. It had rained and everyone was wearing hooded Gore-Tex jackets or holding dripping umbrellas.

  “I was running late for a meeting,” she told him. “Mom had called earlier, saying Dad was sick again and that she was taking him to the clinic. I was going to cancel my appointment, but she insisted I just meet them at the hospital when I was done.”

  “What kind of meeting couldn’t be canceled when a family member is in trouble?”

  Clearly, he placed a big emphasis on anything family-related. And he was right. She should’ve been there. If she had been...

  “It was the final gown fitting for an important client’s wedding the next weekend, and Mom knew how hard I’d been working on it. All the bridesmaids would be there. It wasn’t like Dad hadn’t been sick before. I got on the train and planned to wrap things up as quickly as possible, then head to the hospital. We were just pulling into the station...when the Cascadian bombs exploded.”

  She closed her eyes, still hearing the crunching, screeching metal and all the screams, as if it had happened yesterday. “Although the railcar flipped and landed upside down on the platform, no one inside was badly injured. In fact, ours was the only one in the front half of the train to have any survivors. The authorities suspected someone riding in the car was a latent Protection-Talent who instinctively ran an aura of protection around everyone. After a few tests, they discovered it was me.”

  When Rickert didn’t respond right away, she glanced over. Though his mouth hung open in shock, it didn’t surprise her. Most people found the story hard to believe. She found it hard to believe, especially since she didn’t recall doing anything special at the time. She had been screaming just like the rest of them, hoping and praying she wasn’t going to die.

  “Cascadian bombs? My people?” His tone was quiet, yet as dangerous as his assassin’s knives. “You think we’re responsible for a train explosion that killed innocent people?”

  This wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting. “Well, uh...”

  “I’m in charge of all of the raid operations through this portal, and blowing up trains isn’t part of the plan.”

  “But your people,” she protested. “You’re fierce fighters. I’ve seen them.”

  “Yes, but we kill only Pacifican soldiers when they’re searching for entry into our world—because we know what they do when they find one.” A shadow fell across his features, making something shift inside her chest. Tightening, squeezing till it almost hurt. “We don’t kill innocent people, Neyla. We just don’t.”

  And then she knew. Why else would he risk his life leading team after team through the portals and be gone from his home for months at a time?

  “What...what happened to her?” she whispered.

  “Who?” It was almost a growl.

  She glanced at the ever-present cord around his wrist. “The woman in your locket. Maris.”

  He exhaled slowly, the tiny m
uscle in his jaw twitching, but he said nothing.

  Did it hurt too much to explain what had happened to a woman he loved? She touched his arm and tried again. “Please, Rickert. I...I’d like to know. She must’ve been a very special person. What did they—my people—do?”

  “Your people?” His bitter laugh surprised her. She was taken aback for a moment. “Believe me. You’re nothing like them.”

  “But I’m—”

  “No,” he repeated, looking her straight in the eye. “You’re not.”

  For several long moments he said nothing else, his intense gaze flickering across her features as if he were searching for something within her. Her body felt jittery, jumpy. She wanted him to find what he was looking for. She wanted to be what he needed.

  When he finally spoke again, his tone had softened. “I’ll tell you, but Neyla, they are not your people.” He gave her arm a little jerk, emphasizing his point. “It sickens me to hear you say that.”

  She thought about the army. Indeed, she was a fish out of water there, trying to find her place yet never feeling as if she quite fit in.

  “Okay, you’re right,” she said, stroking a hand over his chest. Touching him seemed to ground her, to clear her mind. “Those are not my people. You...you’re my people.” There. She’d said it. And it felt so right. So true. Although not everyone had accepted her, she did feel more at home here with him than on the other side without him.

  He hesitated, as if he were wondering whether he’d heard her correctly. Then he leaned over the food tray and kissed her. Slowly, tenderly, his mouth undemanding on hers. In this world so different from her own, the pieces of her disjointed life were knitting back into place.

  Assuming he wanted to make love again, that the rest of this conversation would have to continue another time, she set the tray aside and reached for him beneath the quilts. He was almost fully erect. Good. She wanted him inside her again.

  He gently pushed her hand away. “No. We talk first. I want to tell you about the locket.” He unwrapped the necklace from his wrist, carefully setting it on his night table. Then he lay back on the pillow and pulled her with him. “Several years ago, Pacificans discovered a portal we didn’t know existed. They crossed through and raided one of our villages.”

  She’d never heard of Pacificans coming into Cascadia. “Raided? Why would they do that?”

  His arm tightened around her and he cleared his throat. “They killed almost everyone that day, including my sister, Maris. I...I don’t want to forget her or why I’m fighting. Ever. Keeping the locket near keeps my focus on the reason I do what I do. I carry it everywhere and leave it only when I go through the portal.”

  She glanced at the necklace as her mind swirled with all this new information. Wow. Maris was his sister, not a former lover or wife. But one thing was abundantly clear—Rickert was relentless in his fight for justice for his family. He’d dedicated his life to it. He was a more noble and honorable man than she’d first imagined.

  She rubbed her hand over his muscular chest, wishing she could take away his pain. “You said almost everyone. A few survived?”

  “My nephew Kel.”

  It felt as if someone had punched her in the gut, and her hands started to shake. Little Kel was his nephew? She recalled the boy Rickert had picked up in the main hall when they’d arrived at the castle. She’d played with him a number of times in the village square. He was a sweet little boy, all smiles and very animated, although she’d never heard him speak a word. She’d even asked Petra about it, wondering if the boy was deaf, and she was told only that something traumatic had happened to him as an infant. “My God, he’s only four or five years old, isn’t he? He...he survived the raid?”

  Rickert nodded.

  “But how?”

  “He was an infant at my sister’s breast when the raiders stormed the village. I found him crying, hidden in a basket of fabric scraps.”

  Her breath came in panting gasps and she began to feel lightheaded. Maris must’ve had enough warning to know they were in grave danger. Neyla couldn’t imagine what the woman must’ve felt, knowing she was going to die but doing what she could in an attempt to save her son.

  She didn’t want to ask him to tell her more—it was obviously very difficult for him—but she had to hear what happened. She had to know the truth. “Hidden? Because they would have...killed him, too?”

  “No,” he said flatly.

  Her head snapped up. Had she not understood him correctly?

  Sounds from the courtyard filtered through the shuttered window. Children laughing. A horse whinnying. Several men arguing about a broken hookah pipe. Funny how the outside world could continue on and be so normal when her own world was falling apart.

  For a long moment, he stared at the ceiling, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “The Pacificans come to our villages looking for babies.”

  The sudden lump in her throat made it nearly impossible to breathe. “Babies? But...but why? I don’t understand.”

  “To steal them.”

  A dull roar sounded in her head, drowning out his voice. The man at the market. He’d called her a baby-snatcher.

  “Some say our children are the most beautiful,” Rickert was saying. “Smarter. Stronger. Healthier. Lots of reasons have been bandied about as to why they want them. Some even say they eat them.”

  “Eat?” Bile rose in her throat. Oh God, she was going to be sick.

  “No one really believes that, Neyla, but we all grew up with the songs.”

  “Songs?”

  “I think you call them nursery rhymes.” He flashed an impish smile. Grateful, she recognized it as his way of lightening up the heavy atmosphere. Then he cleared his throat and began to sing. She was stunned at how beautiful his voice was. Although it was a child’s melody, his tone was rich and deep. How strange that an assassin could sing like an angel.

  Would he ever stop surprising her?

  When he finished, it dawned on her that she hadn’t been paying attention to the lyrics. “Sing it again. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening to the words.”

  He sang it slower this time.

  Run, ye lads and lasses, for the devil’s men draw near.

  Wi’ hungry maws and blackened hearts

  The end is almost here.

  They cut ye wi’ a knife and fork and sprinkle ye wi’ sollet.

  One. Two. Three. Four.

  Ye’re down the devil’s gullet.

  She knew most nursery rhymes contained an element of truth and that many were quite macabre. “That’s about...Pacificans?” She’d almost said us. “They’re the devil’s men?”

  “The truth is, although most of the old magic of our world is gone, it still resides in some of us.” He patted his chest. “There are those in your world who want it and that’s why they come here to get it. They want the power—our power—to defeat us and expand their control in your world.”

  She tried to follow what he was saying. “Magic resides in you? You mean, people with Talents?”

  “Yes. Not all of us have them, but Pacificans breach the portals to take our children, hoping that some of them have the fata blood in their veins.”

  “Fata?”

  “We are an ancient race of people, descended from the Fates, and our world once held a very powerful magic.” He glanced at her quizzically. “Are you sure you don’t know this?”

  She shook her head. It sounded like Celtic lore, not real life.

  “Three brothers, two born with powers and one without, controlled the three kingdoms. A power struggle, stemming from jealousy and greed, where one brother wanted what the other ones had, started the Obsidian Wars. The Fates finally had to step in and create the separate worlds.”

  “And where does the baby snatching come in?”

  “If they take our children who have it inside them, they can use them to their advantage.”

  She had grown up in a world of technology and computers, not magic and kingdoms. And yet..
.

  Her thoughts spun with all this new— “Oh my God. The hospital ward.”

  “What?”

  “All recruits are required to get mandatory birth control injections in case...in case...”

  “In case what?” he coaxed.

  “In case the barbarians—I’m sorry, Rickert—overtake us in the field.”

  Neyla recalled when she got her first birth control shot as part of her induction into the army. They’d been told that Cascadians were no better than the marauding Vikings had been centuries ago, raping innocent women and fathering bastard children. During orientation, they’d watched a heart-wrenching video about a woman who’d been assaulted by a Cascadian raider. She’d given birth to a child that she gave up for adoption.

  “I was late for my appointment at the women’s health center, and I got lost in the hospital.” The unmarked corridors were so confusing. “Somehow, I ended up in front of a nursery. I peered through the glass to see a half dozen or so swaddled infants. Some were crying. Others were sleeping. All of them had small white cards taped to their clear plastic cribs, with a single number written in black ink, no names. Baby number three, a little boy—well, I assumed he was a boy because he was wrapped in a blue flannel blanket—was sucking his thumb, just staring at me.”

  Something about the place had seemed off, she recalled. Maybe it was the drab, grey tiled room. Or the absence of any smiling parents. Or the heavyset nurse propping bottles in the cribs to feed the babies rather than cradling them in her arms. For some reason, those disturbing images had reminded Neyla of photos she’d seen of Romanian and Chinese orphanages. All those babies and no one to love them.

  “I wondered if they were the bastard children I’d heard about. I felt sorry for baby number three for being the product of—of a violent man and an innocent woman.” She started to falter, but Rickert’s hand covered hers, urging her to continue. “I heard something behind me and turned around.”

  She told him about the two nurses coming out of a door she hadn’t noticed before.

  “Are you an applicant?” the first woman had asked. She wore her hair in two burrito rolls that framed her pinched face. “Because if you are, you’re too early.”