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

by Jennifer Ashley

  Adam spat the pill onto the rug and raised his face to Jacob. Voice thick with sarcasm, he said, “Okay, then. Take me to your master.”

  Jacob rolled his eyes, then lashed out an arm. Connected.

  The world shuddered dark.

  “If I could just take a deep breath, maybe I wouldn’t feel so light-headed.” Talia made a show of reaching over her shoulder for the ties lacing her snugly into the corset. The rasp in her voice made her lie that much more convincing.

  “Sure,” Zoe said. “I guess I should’ve thought about that, what with your injury and all. I’m sorry.”

  Talia walked into the dressing room and waited until Zoe closed the door behind her. The club’s pumping music rounded into muted thumps and whines.

  The click of the lock made Talia’s pulse jump with satisfaction.

  Now for a little information.

  Zoe stepped deeper into the room and Talia pulled shadows down. Layered darkness surged into the room and all sense of mortality was blotted out entirely.

  “Talia?” Zoe’s voice was thin in the dark.

  Talia took Zoe’s hand, shared her senses with her, just as Zoe’s fear coursed across their connection. No wonder people needed to be ushered across the divide of death. Humanity would be utterly lost without the fae.

  Zoe’s gaze found her and focused. Her eyes were wide with alarm. “What’s going on?”

  “I wanted to have a private chat with you,” Talia said softly, careful of her voice. “Just you and me, with absolutely no interruptions.”

  Zoe swallowed audibly. “What about?”

  “Adam.”

  “Uh...What about him?”

  “Where is he?”

  Zoe’s eyes flicked to the right, preparing to lie. “I don’t know. Didn’t he tell you?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Damn him. “But I know you know.”

  Zoe fidgeted with her feet, but met Talia’s gaze. “I have no idea. Honestly.”

  Honestly? Even now Zoe’s emotions communicated her duplicity.

  “You’re lying. You know where he went.”

  “I don’t. Now let me go—you’re scaring me.” Zoe pulled her hand out of Talia’s grasp.

  Talia knew the dark would swallow her, deafen her, choke her with its absolute vacuum of stimuli. She let the horror of that isolation settle in for a moment.

  When Zoe began to shake, Talia touched her shoulder lightly and leaned into her ear. “I’m a banshee. I’m supposed to be fucking terrifying.”

  “Let me out of here right now.” Zoe’s heart had to be beating furiously. The surrounding shadows trembled with her. Her terror swept across the fluid veils.

  Talia was unaffected. The little brat was going to spill if Talia had to make her pee her pants in fright to do so. “Tell me where Adam went.”

  “I don’t know.” Zoe shrugged definitively. Her eyes shined with tears, reflective like mirrors in the magic of darkness.

  Talia kept her voice whisper low. “Then we’re at an impasse. We’ll just have to stay right here until we can come to some kind of agreement.” How to speed this up? Her turn to lie. “However, you should probably know that it may not be good for you to remain in my shadows for any length of time. These are the shadows of death and will by nature have an adverse effect on your longevity.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes, batting away the wetness. “Abigail says I live to old age.”

  Talia’s laugh burned in her throat. “Abigail can’t see the fae. There’s no way she could see this coming.”

  “You wouldn’t hurt me.” Zoe crossed her arms over her chest.

  “But I am hurting you. Right now. How bad it gets is up to you.”

  She released Zoe’s shoulder and stepped back, allowing the screaming nothingness to inundate her again. Talia whipped the veils to quicken her thinking process, to goad her fear into real panic.

  Zoe’s chest hitched as her breathing became irregular. Her heart beat frantically as black eyeliner ran down her cheeks and her trembles turned into full-bodied shakes.

  Stupid kid. All dressed up to welcome Death. Truth was, she didn’t welcome death any more than anyone else.

  As if in agreement, Zoe spoke, “He went to the Styx. To destroy the demon Death Collector.”

  Shock washed Talia’s skin with ice. She dropped her shadows abruptly and the veils hissed back out of existence.

  “He went where?” It was her turn to be horrified. “How did he plan to accomplish that? I thought only I could call Shadowman!”

  “Adam found a way.” Zoe stepped back, her hand reaching for the doorknob.

  Talia lifted the shadows again, flung out a hand, and held the door closed with a wave of darkness. “What way did he find?”

  “Uh...I...” Zoe didn’t finish her answer, and Talia didn’t want her to. The implications were already spinning. Back at Segue, Philip had spoken of a way. An ancient death rite. To usher an immortal monster out of the world, someone had to sacrifice their life. A life to balance out death. Adam had fought the idea then. But now, he couldn’t possibly intend to— He did.

  Over her dead body.

  Talia grabbed at the back of her skirt. When the clasp wouldn’t come undone, she yanked hard on the fabric at the waistline, ripping it. The skirt puddled at her feet. The slip followed. She didn’t have time to wrestle with the corset, not when Adam could be facing the demon at any moment.

  “There was no stopping him, Talia.” Zoe’s words tumbled out in a rush. “Abigail said he was going to go, no matter what. He wouldn’t listen to her when she said he couldn’t win against the Death Collector. She couldn’t stop him.”

  “Maybe she couldn’t,” Talia snapped back, throat aching, “but I could have.”

  Damn Abigail and Zoe to hell. How hard would it possibly have been to lock him in a room for a couple of days? How hard would it be to counter his decision with one of their own? Change the future.

  “We acted in your best interests. Me and Abigail and Adam. What will be, will be. You need to heal. If his way doesn’t work, then your scream is the only thing that can save us. You can be safe here.”

  “You’ll tell me exactly where he is and how to get there, or I swear I will kill you myself.” With no other clothes available, Talia yanked on the skinny black leggings Zoe had worn before the party. Talia shoved her feet into Zoe’s discarded combat boots.

  Zoe’s gaze hardened. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Talia’s voice rasped. No way to scream. Frustration at her weakness had her snapping the laces as she tightened them.

  “Won’t. When you’re healed, then—”

  “By the time I’m healed, Adam will be dead.” Talia stood. “And why should I care about saving the world if Adam isn’t in it?”

  Talia ignored Zoe’s stricken face, took her roughly by the arm and made for the rear exit, dragging her out into the night.

  “There’s no stopping him,” Zoe said.

  “There’s no stopping me either,” Talia said. “Where do I go?”

  When Zoe hesitated, Talia gripped harder and shook. “Where, damn it?” Her voice broke and she had to work for air.

  “The ferry waits at the Seventy-ninth Street Boat Basin.”

  “Ferry to where?”

  “The Styx. It’s a boat, the Death Collector’s lair.”

  Talia gathered shadow as she pulled Zoe down the slim lane of the alley to its junction at the street. Not a busy street, by any means. Dirty, littered, undoubtedly dangerous. Gang tags decorated a boarded building on the corner. A few blocks up, cars chased each other through a busy intersection. They could get a cab there.

  The combination of anger and shadow gave Talia the strength to haul Zoe’s sniveling ass down the three blocks to the intersection. She’d have preferred to have left the girl back at the club, where she’d be safe, but who knew what important tidbits she’d left out. Talia didn’t trust the girl for a second.

  For that matter, sh
e didn’t trust Adam either.

  Stupid man. What did he think he was doing? Going off and leaving her with a bunch of freaky babysitters. She’d kill him when she found him, if he weren’t already dead. And if he were dead, she’d call his sorry ghost back from Beyond and kill him all over again. Stupid, arrogant man.

  When Talia reached the corner, she held her free hand up in the air while Zoe sulked.

  “The Death Collector will kill you,” Zoe said. Her expression was partly mutinous, partly imploring. “I won’t be party to your death. You can’t make me go.”

  “Oh, you’re going all right.” A taxi pulled up to the curb.

  Talia opened the door and pushed her inside. Roughly.

  “Where to?” the taxi driver asked.

  “Seventy-ninth Street Boat Basin,” Zoe muttered.

  The cabbie shook his head. “No, ladies. They haven’t caught the Riverside Park murderer yet. I’m not taking you there.”

  Zoe mouthed the word wraith with a look of triumph. “The park borders the dock,” she explained. “Someone or something in the park is preying on stupid people who venture there. It’s all but deserted now.”

  Talia ignored the implied insult. “Sir, I’m going straight to the dock. I promise I won’t linger in the park. I’ll be safe.”

  The man shrugged and pulled away from the curb into traffic.

  Zoe sneered over her shoulder at Talia. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to do. How can you possibly help Adam now? All you’ll accomplish is to ruin the world’s chance at destroying the Death Collector.”

  Talia smiled. “Not so. If Adam fails, and if I fail, then there is a world full of people who can give it a try themselves, sacrifice themselves to kill the demon.” Her voice grated painfully over the words, probably ruining all the healing she’d done that day. But her words did the trick.

  Zoe went white.

  “That’s right. Anyone, even you, can teach the Death Collector to die. You can lecture me all you want when you’re prepared to face him yourself. Until then, shut up and let me think.”

  Okay. So the scream was gone. She still had her shadows. She couldn’t kill the demon, but maybe she could rescue Adam’s sorry—but mighty fine—ass. He rescued her, once upon a time. In that alley in Arizona, he’d pitted himself, weaponless, against a wraith and they’d come out alive. She could do the same for him now. Damn him.

  The taxi traveled down West Seventy-ninth, dipped under an overpass rumbling with traffic, and turned into a wide circular drive surrounded by trees, presumably the lethal Riverside Park. The black ribbon of the Hudson River glimmered beyond, the city lights twinkling on the water. Its smell infiltrated the cab, yeasty and rotten.

  Goose bumps spread up Talia’s back and across her scalp.

  “Stop here,” Zoe said. She gestured to a break in the concrete barrier. “Down the steps. Keep to the sidewalk. You’ll want the Charon—it’s moored at the dock on the far right. The deserted one, you know, as in deserted because everyone knows to stay away. The ferryman will take you to the Styx, but please don’t make me go. I’ve seen what the wraiths do. I want to live.”

  “If you’ve left anything out...” Talia began hoarsely.

  “I haven’t. Go on and die now, if you want, just leave me here.”

  “Fine.” Talia got out and slammed the door.

  “Lady?” The driver asked, leaning out his window. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Talia didn’t look back as the taxi pulled away. She followed the concrete road to the steps, and then jogged down those to the center of the lower level of the concrete circle. A deserted café was dark and shuttered. The place echoed with silence.

  Though deep in her shadowy cloak, Talia’s heart hammered as she traveled down the sidewalk and across the jog path. The gate to the pier was open, as if the ferryman were expecting her.

  Something knocked against the planking with a lonely, hollow sound. Exactly the sound her heart was making in its own mooring.

  At the end of a walkway, a man stood, leaning on a staff. She couldn’t make out much about him, but by the hunch of his shoulders, he seemed very old.

  Talia released her cloaking veils as she approached.

  He blinked up at her sudden appearance, but didn’t stop chewing on the gristle of his white-bearded chin. His face was weathered and wrinkled like a brown paper sack. The faded plaid shirt he wore was far too warm for the summer night.

  “Hello,” she said.

  He chewed.

  Talia frowned. “I need to get to the Styx. I was told you could take me.”

  The old man chewed his whiskers again. “It’ll cost you.”

  Damn it. “I don’t have any money with me, but I will come back tomorrow and pay you whatever you ask. I promise.”

  The old man grunted. “I’ll take you to the Styx for a lock of that gold faery hair.”

  The man seemed out of myth himself; Talia was not surprised that he could name her origins.

  “A lock of hair?”

  He nodded and gestured to a boat with an open-air seating area in the back. The interior was dirty, with a crust and smear of brownish red covering the rear seat. Probably blood.

  Talia’s stomach rolled with nausea. “Okay.”

  The old man pulled a pocketknife out of his pants pocket. He held the wood handle, glossy with age and handling, and flicked open a blade. He reached up and cut a curl from the mass on Talia’s shoulder.

  “Done,” he said, sniffing at the curl. “Climb aboard.”

  Talia scrambled down into the boat, sat at the edge of the malodorous filth, and held on for dear life.

  The old man went to a grimy control panel and started the engine roaring. He angled out of the slip, away from the hum of the city, and into the lurching dark waters of the river.

  No going back now.

  CHAPTER 20

  The Charon left the glittering banks of the Hudson behind. Talia tensed her body against the deep vibration of its engine and the choppy bounce of its progress on the water. Her nerves already had her stomach roiling. She couldn’t afford the extra encouragement of the boat’s movement. At least the speed of their passage brushed away the onboard smell of decay and whipped her hair in a sweet wind of revitalizing water spray.

  They angled into dark waters spotted by the gleam of other boats, small and large. In spite of the considerable haze of the city’s light pollution, the sky above was brilliantly star-crusted, as if heaven had finally brought its attention to the goings-on of Earth.

  Faster, faster, Talia urged.

  The shoreline fell behind. All hope of safety dimmed as the lights grew smaller. They traveled into an ocean of rippling darkness, as if toward the end of the world. She sought no refuge now, no hiding place from monsters or herself. All that was in her past. Running away was not an option, not when everything that mattered—good and bad—lay in front of her.

  And suddenly, hell loomed on the deep.

  The Styx was a great upside-down anvil of a war cruiser, its deck blazing with the kind of light that drew misguided moths. The armored vessel hulked under the starlight, a product of industry and war, fitted and braced against nature.

  Talia’s heart stuttered at the sight. No doubt the Styx had long seen the Charon’s approach. The demon Death Collector had to know someone was coming—another person ready to trade their humanity for immortality.

  The old man brought the boat alongside the great ship with a wrenching scrape and idled near a narrow ladder. He turned, the pallor of his skin sickly yellowed in the ship’s light.

  “The Styx.” He cocked his head at the wall of gray steel.

  Talia’s nausea peaked as the wind died and the Charon rocked. She clenched her teeth against throwing up and gripped the side of the boat as mute terror blanked her mind.

  “You want me to take you back?” The old man didn’t look like he cared much either way.

  Talia shook her head slightly,
so as not to be sick.

  She could do this. Only yesterday her shadows had protected her and Adam during the failed attempt to save Custo’s life. And in shadow, she could manipulate objects with her mind. The combination of abilities would get her to Adam and then get them both to safety. She wasn’t asking for more than that. The destruction of the demon who called himself the Death Collector could wait for another time.

  Right now was for Adam.

  Her fear transmuted into an electric clarity that ran in a bristling current, just under her skin.

  Talia stood, gathering shadow from the night. The cold veils of darkness hung off her shoulders in billowing layers, at the ready. She pulled them more tightly around her to mask her boarding as she took hold of the ladder.

  The rungs were chilly and wet on her hands.

  A wraith—a woman with the slender face of an angel—leaned down the ladder to look for the demon’s newest supplicant.

  Talia waited, heart pounding. Below, the Charon pulled away, leaving her one choice. Up.

  “Must have chickened out,” the wraith called to the others and ducked out of sight.

  Talia continued her climb, and near the top she glanced about the deck. To one side, a raised helipad hosted a faster mode of transportation to and from the ship. Handy. Wraiths clustered nearby. Ten, twelve, their attention directed on a pair that were sparring. The cracking blows they inflicted on each other would have killed any normal person.

  With this distraction, Talia crawled on deck.

  Across a flat gray expanse was a narrow doorway, rectangular with rounded edges, leading to the interior of a bulky metal structure.

  She forced herself to breathe more slowly, her heart to ease its frantic pace. Freaking out would help no one. She’d start with inside rooms and work through the ship. Check every corner, carefully and methodically.

  Buried in shadows, Talia kept to the edge of the deck as she moved toward the door. She insinuated herself along the natural shades of dark and light that fell in the sharp lines of the ship’s construction.

  She glanced at the Charon, now a spark in the distance.

  A deep-toned click and snap on deck brought Talia’s head back around.