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

by Jennifer Ashley

  The kid snatched the twenty. “She might hang out under the overpass at Dobson and Granite Reef, but I doubt she’d be there now. Night’s coming on.”

  “Oi!” shouted the man with dreadlocks from the wall.

  Adam ignored him, addressing the crowd. “All I want is to take my sister home. Get her the help that she needs. I am willing to pay anything to get her back.”

  The boy slid his gaze over to Dreadlocks, waiting.

  “Do you know how much anything is?” Adam pressed. “Enough to buy a comfortable life for each one of you.”

  Come on, give me something.

  The group hesitated on the edge of interest. Even to Adam’s ears, a big cash outlay sounded like a false promise, but he meant every word. Whoever helped him find Talia O’Brien would be set for life. Based on appearances, these kids had nothing to lose.

  Dreadlocks jumped off the concrete wall and sauntered over to Adam. Dirty jeans. Limp black T-shirt. Flip-flops. Braided hemp cord knotted around his thin wrist.

  He glanced at the picture. “Yeah, I’ve seen her.”

  “Where? I’m going to need specific information.” Adam didn’t have time to waste here. Police might have a better handle on university sublife. Local hangouts. Ideal abandoned buildings.

  Dreadlocks looked over at the sun, now dipping below the tree line, and frowned. “Come back tomorrow. Sun sets and the beasties come out. I got to get my people inside.”

  Adam’s attention arrested. “The beasties?”

  “Demons. It’s the end of the world, man, but no one can see it except us. End of the world.” He gestured to the blaze growing on the horizon. “Sun sets fast here and the beasties come out. You ever heard of Sweet Drink?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a band, man. Their music tells how it’s gonna be. How it is. End of the world. End of death. It’s coming with the setting sun. Listen up: Demons walk and demons feed. Take away all human need. Join the army. Break the curse. The human race to crush Death first.”

  “I don’t understand,” Adam said, but the lyrics still sent chills across his hot back and reminded him somehow of Jacob.

  Dreadlocks cocked his head. “You musta inherited that money then, ’cause I’m saying it as plain as I can, and you just don’t get it. I’m saying the sun is setting, and if your sister has any brains at all she is going inside somewhere or she will be the demons’ feed.”

  “Where inside?” Adam pulled out a hundred, held it up.

  Dreadlocks waved the bill away with a grimace of disdain. “End of the world, man. What the fuck is that paper going to do for me? For any of us?”

  “It’ll get you off the street.” Just tell me where.

  “I can get me off the street. I’m here by choice. I’m here because here is real. It’s you and your fancy shirt that are shit, man. You live in the dark; you just don’t know it.”

  Adam kept his voice calm, his expression controlled even though he wanted to grab the punk by the throat. “I want to see, too. Help me see so I can find her.”

  “If she’s here, she’s inside. Or she should be. Tally likes to live dangerously. Doesn’t trust anybody. I offered her a place in my family, but she refused. Where she’s got to now, I don’t know.”

  Adam’s chest burned, an emotion he couldn’t name breaching containment. He glanced down at the photograph in his hand. “I never said her name.”

  “Well, I told you I’d seen her. You didn’t believe me?” Dreadlocks grinned, spreading his arms wide to invite a laugh at Adam’s expense from his crew. The group tittered on cue.

  Adam didn’t care as long as he got information.

  “Well then, maybe now you’ll believe me about the demon night,” Dreadlocks said.

  Adam already believed. “Where inside?” Please.

  Dreadlocks sighed. “Try Priest, man. North of Santa Maria. Mountainside.”

  “Priest?” Adam controlled himself through a long inhalation, though his heart pumped to act. He kept a choke hold on his hope.

  “They’re roads, man. You know what a road is?”

  Only Jacob ever talked down to him, but Adam was too grateful to be irritated.

  “I get that you don’t want my money.” Adam stopped and corrected himself. “Don’t choose my money. But it’s all I have to give. That and my thanks.” He pulled out his wallet, took every bill in the leather sheath, thumbed a couple of business cards—the personal ones with his direct mobile number—and held them out. When Dreadlocks didn’t lift a hand, Adam dropped the lot on the ground.

  “Call me if you ever need anything. If you want to tell me more. If you are in trouble.” He lifted his gaze to the crowd of kids. “Goes for all of you. If your demons are what I call wraiths, you’re going to need my help. Now get inside.”

  Adam jogged back to the car, his body humming with anticipation. He glanced over his shoulder toward the bonfire glow of the setting sun, and then faced Custo.

  Custo must have read the excitement on his face. “She’s alive,” he concluded.

  “Calls herself Tally.” Adam could barely speak over the buzzing in his ears.

  “Where?”

  “Priest and Santa Maria.”

  “A church?” Custo typed rapidly into the rental car’s GPS.

  “Roads, man.”

  Black spots swam in Talia’s vision. If she twitched her eyes left, the spots skated left. If she twitched them right, the spots skated right. No matter how hard she tried, she could never examine one of the spots dead-on. Bothersome game. Like keep-away from childhood, but more frustrating because the pastime—and that’s all it was good for, passing time—made the intense pounding behind her eyes worse. Nauseatingly so.

  She gave up for the moment and focused down the alley on the soul-sucking monster at its entrance. Talia was trapped at the other end in a belly made of concrete wall and pavement. The hulking brute blocked the exit of the garbage lane to her apartment complex to stand sentry, to watch for her as he’d done when he caught up with her in Denver, then Las Vegas.

  This time she had spotted him first and turned down an unfamiliar alley rather than ducking through the gate to the complex’s square of scraggly lawn where a couple of teenage girls had set out chairs to sun themselves. Stupid to ruin their skin and cost her an escape route. But she couldn’t very well lead the monster to vibrant young lives. Not after Melanie. Therefore, the alley.

  She’d been here a day and a half and smelled just as bad as the garbage. Good thing her shadowy shield obscured more than light or the monster would have discovered her that first day. The dark cloak dampened most sensory perception of her; sight, smell, and sound all concealed under its folds. With the exception of her pulse, she was a shrouded ghost.

  Talia worked her thick and uncooperative tongue on the roof of her mouth to swallow. Frustrating reflex—nothing but glue to work with, and the motion made her lungs burn.

  A day and a half. Sooner or later something would have to give.

  Talia crept forward, palms and knees on blazing pavement, around the side of a sagging yellow mattress that inclined against the back wall of the alley. The small movement set her heart beating wildly, and the throb in her head intensified. But it was worth it. From this position, the cast of her strange shadows matched the trajectory of the sun’s waning light, affording her the chance to rest against the musty, but soft mattress.

  As soon as her head dropped back against the pillowed surface, the world upended, vision blanked, sound roared in her ears as unconsciousness tried to swallow her. She fought back. Blinked hard. Shook her head. Forced the world back into focus. Her gaze darted to the monster.

  He had pushed away from the wall and turned to face down the length of the alley, nose in the air, sniffing. Gaze searching.

  Talia grabbed at her shadows, eyes wide and dry, fixated on the monster that had scented her. She gathered the darkness tightly to her so her shield would not slip off again.

  No resting. Head stays
up.

  The monster strode the alley’s length, pausing at the gated walkway leading to the apartment commons to sniff, then moved deeper into her corner. He pulled the mattress off the concrete wall, swaying over her position. His pant leg brushed her cheek.

  She held her breath. If she were going to die, she wouldn’t need oxygen anyway. Breathe and die. Don’t breathe, maybe die. Every decision was much simpler when reduced to an exercise in logic.

  The mattress toppled sideways, twitched aside as the monster strode by her, back to his position at the end of her alley.

  Talia held herself upright, the black spots in her vision growing, obscuring sight. Her head full of static fuzz, she was going to throw up.

  Okay, now breathe. In. Out. Again.

  No way she could remain upright. Gravity, inertia, and the last dregs of the flamingo sunset all conspired to lower her to the ground. But she kept her eyes open.

  Just a little longer. Breathe.

  Adam and Custo pulled up to a busy intersection. Cars rushed by with bright headlights, windows down, music blaring. The desert deepened with twilight as night-blooming flowers filtered dusky-sweet fragrance over exhaust. Custo parked along the street. Adam jumped out of the car while Custo listened to his mobile phone, face drawn in concentration as he waited for a detailed crime report for the neighborhood.

  Adam took in the layout of the intersection. All the day’s untapped energy, anxiety, and tension transmuted into a certainty that lit a fire in his chest. She was here somewhere.

  To the north, small single-story houses butted against tall cinder block walls. The houses broke off abruptly at what appeared to be an old strip of stores. A dirty gas station occupied another corner. To the east, an office building of four or five stories. And behind him stood an apartment complex. Large lettering on the side of the building read MOUNTAINSIDE.

  It’s an apartment complex, man. Dreadlocks was one cocky son of a bitch.

  Adam waved Custo toward the entrance. “You find the super.”

  Custo nodded and jogged down the broken sidewalk to the main entrance of the building.

  Adam turned down a rear access road for a quick canvas of the area before the day’s light was completely gone. The single large building turned into four, arranged around a yellowing square of grass at the center. A long stretch of his legs took him down its length. The busy street hummed to his left, cars speeding though the intersection without slowing. To his right, beyond a rusted, squealing gate, lay a black hole of an alley.

  “Anyone there?” His breath suspended for thick moments, the sound of his own heartbeat dominating the pressure in his head. Nothing. He had to check it out in person, but he wished he’d brought a piece. The talk of demon feed made him edgy.

  Adam moved into the press of blackness. “Hello?”

  “Shhhh,” a voice hissed.

  Adam’s eyes adjusted; the darkness thinned to heavy gray. In the litter of the alleyway, a young, filthy woman lay collapsed on the pavement. All eyes in a narrow white face.

  Two months of searching, of studying her face in photographs so that he could be prepared for the moment of recognition. He knew every contour by heart. There was no mistaking the angled tilt of her glassy eyes. The curve of her jaw. The straight, thin line of her nose. Talia O’Brien.

  The monster glided forward, closing the distance between him and his prey, a man ducking down the alley to help her.

  The Good Samaritan was going to die. Talia had witnessed it many times since Melanie: The inhuman strength, the vicious teeth, the kiss. Then the dark, sick pull as the vital essence was ripped from a person.

  She couldn’t let it happen, especially now at the end of everything.

  A part of Talia stretched, not her lethargic body, but something deeper. The last bit of herself extended a lifeline to curl around the man’s form and mask his presence from the oncoming monster. To share the shelter of her cloak.

  Her shadows enveloped then inundated him, his features snapping into focus. Dark hair, clipped short. Pale, intent eyes in an angular face. Vital body, tall and strong. Trim waist, belted slacks. His polo was a perfect fit over a strong chest and shoulders.

  And still more. This deep into her veils, her sight penetrated the surface of the man. He was lit inside with a blazing column of purpose and will. Light permeated every cell of his body with vibrant life and intelligent power.

  Spirit. Awe bloomed within Talia and clogged her throat. So beautiful. Too beautiful to be consumed by the oncoming horror.

  Talia swallowed hard and tried again. “Please be quiet.”

  “Talia O’Brien?”

  Frustration closed her lungs. She couldn’t save him if he wouldn’t cooperate. Her shadows weren’t going to be enough.

  Talia concentrated on her body. Flattened her palm on the hard concrete, pushed herself upright. Her head swam; the world rocked hard on its axis. She pulled a foot under her, took a deep, shuddering breath, and propelled herself forward.

  Adam tried again. “Talia?”

  He stepped forward and held his arms slightly to the side, palms open in the universal posture of peace and friendship. He didn’t want to scare her.

  Talia darted forward out of her crouch and put a hot hand over his mouth before he could take a full breath of surprise.

  “You’ve got to be quiet now.” Her voice was rough, barely audible. Urgent.

  The darkness swallowed the alleyway again. He blinked hard, but his eyes wouldn’t clear. Wouldn’t focus. His senses were suddenly muted, except for the press of her hand at his mouth.

  She pushed against him, and he allowed her to back him up. He tripped over alley debris underfoot, and a metallic sound rang out, oddly distorted. Then he hit a hard plane—the wall of a building. He raised his chin to disengage her softly, without force. But she held fast, hand clamped over his mouth.

  Footfalls shuffle-stepped on the pavement nearby. One or two people approached, no more. Another step, heavy with echo. Just one, then. Probably male.

  Adam’s arm circled Talia’s waist. He kept his touch light and easy on her back. She was short and much too thin. Her body heat burned through her clothes as if he were holding on to a bolt of lightning. She smelled sharply rank but feminine. Probably hadn’t seen a shower in days.

  He didn’t draw her in, but kept his hold possessive enough to let the other man know she was with him. Now that he had found her, there was no way he was letting her go.

  “Here, kitty-kitty.” The man’s singsong voice doubled up and bounced off the buildings, menace lacing his words.

  Adam’s gut twisted with understanding: Talia had been trying to warn him. The man was a wraith. A hungry hunter.

  He needed a damn gun.

  Cold hatred hardened into resolution, blocking all extraneous emotion. No room for fear or panic. Just action.

  He yanked Talia hard against him and secured her body with a tight arm around her waist. With his other hand, he found her wrist and forced her hand away from his face.

  She resisted, but it took little strength to bend her arm down to her side.

  He put his mouth to her ear. “Stay behind me. I can’t protect you if you run.”

  Couldn’t protect her in the dark very well either. Why didn’t the wraith attack? The dark wouldn’t have stopped Jacob for a moment.

  “He’s a monster.” Her words exhaled across his jaw like a soft caress.

  “I know,” he murmured. “I won’t let him touch you. We just have to get to my car.”

  Adam shifted her weight and turned so that she pressed against the wall, safe behind his body. He faced the darkness, Talia at his back.

  Glass crunched into the pavement. Close.

  Adam slowly crouched down until he felt rough concrete under his fingertips. He felt around with his palm until his fingers hit smooth metal. He drew his hand along its hot length, identifying a riveted pipe.

  “Kitty cat,” the wraith called. “There’s no way out.”<
br />
  Adam stood, pipe gripped in his hand. He couldn’t stop the wraith for long. Not alone. Where the hell was Custo when he needed him? Didn’t matter. Adam was not about to fail now. Not when he was so close to finding his answers.

  “He can’t see you. Use the dark,” Talia whispered from behind.

  Her suggestion didn’t make sense. Not unless this wraith was somehow defective. Wraith senses far exceeded human ones. The woman didn’t know what she was dealing with.

  Adam steeled himself. All he had to do was get past the wraith to the street. It would not attack in public and risk exposure. Street and light. Custo and the car. Safety.

  He reached back to Talia with his free hand and found hers. He gripped it in a silent signal. Stay with me. As he stepped to the side, he pulled her with him, but her weight stayed at the wall.

  Not a good time for her to resist. Force then. Adam traded her hand for her waist. He’d drag her if he had to.

  Then the alley abruptly lightened as her body sagged into him, unconscious.

  The wraith stood ten feet from them, broadly built and aggressive with an exaggerated grace. He was pale and fair, his expression ecstatic, as if caught in a moment of rapture, anticipating a feed.

  Adam let Talia fall in a heap on the ground and brought the pipe up.

  The wraith whirled toward him and screeched loud and high like an ancient bird. Then he lunged.

  Adam swung. Connected with a hard thump.

  But too low. The pipe struck the wraith at his jaw. The impact stunned, but didn’t disable.

  The wraith lashed out his arm. Knocked Adam in the chest.

  Adam flew back and hit the building over Talia’s limp form. His lungs screamed as all the air suddenly burst out of his body, heart arresting for a moment of agony. He fell on top of her body, rolled, and sprang to the balls of his feet. He clenched the bar. Swung again. Slammed the pipe against the bridge of the wraith’s nose with a crack, then staggered back to shield Talia.

  The wraith’s face was broken and bloodied, eyes sunken and turned, without vision until he could heal.