The Community Series, Books 1-3

by Tappan, Tracy

  She crept to the bedroom across the hall, her heartbeat racing despite her efforts to remain calm, and pressed her ear against the Colosseum; in this mansion, the doors were painted with murals of famous European cities to distinguish one room from another. This one was Rome. Hers, to go along with her French décor, was Paris, replete with a soaring Eiffel Tower.

  She leapt back, nearly crying out as she was hammered by some kind of raging rock music cranked to near eardrum-bursting volume. Jesus! Hurrying away from the pounding, howling cacophony, she moved on to check Oslo and then London. No luck, until finally she heard a shower running at Dublin. She inhaled-exhaled. Okay, here goes.

  She opened the door and darted inside, making sure to –

  Wow. Whose room was this, anyway? The décor was extraordinarily tasteful, done in warm and inviting earth tones, hunter green, mauve, and chocolate brown predominating, the bedspread a patchwork combination of all three. A CD of the Cowboy Junkies was spinning on a state-of-the-art sound system, filling the room with soft, bluesy music. Even more surprising, a floor to ceiling wine rack stood against the far wall, large enough to house more than a hundred bottles and nearly full. In front of it was a small table laden with all of the paraphernalia an expert sommelier would need. Well. Whoever lived here had taste and class, and she couldn’t imagine which warrior that could possibly be.

  Not that she had time to figure it out.

  She stole over to the dresser and started to rummage through the drawers. Only clothes, damn it, and a … Penthouse magazine. So much for taste and class. Ugging silently, she shoved the magazine back underneath a stack of shirts and moved over to a chest, lifting the lid to see if –

  The shower shut off.

  Crap! She sprinted soundlessly across the room, grabbing the doorknob and quickly and quietly yanking it –

  Ho, shit! Her breath rammed into her throat, log-jamming right next to her heart as a large hand shot out over her head and slammed the door shut again. It’d taken the occupant of this bedroom exactly one millisecond to open the bathroom door behind her and then arrive at her back.

  “Looking for something?” a dark, smoky voice drawled into her ear.

  She groaned out loud, recognizing that voice. Of all the warriors who could’ve possibly caught her, why did it have to be Devid who …. Hold on. This was Dev’s room? She spun around and –

  Immediately she wished she’d kept her face pasted to the back of the door. The man was stark naked, dripping wet, and standing right in front of her. One hand was still planted on the door by her head, the awesome breadth of his shoulders eclipsing her view of the rest of the room. Her pulse spiked, and it took every ounce of resolve she owned to keep her eyes from sproinging out at him like a Bug-Out Bob doll.

  “Curiosity finally got the better of you, did it? Out of your room at last ….” His silver eyes brightened with a teasing light. “Maybe you’d like to give me that medical examination now?”

  Was the room shrinking? She cleared her throat and pointed a remarkably steady finger at the bathroom behind him. “There’s a towel right in there, Mr. Nichita. Perhaps you’d be good enough to make use of it.”

  A thoroughly masculine smile curved his lips. “I’m sure I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before, right, Doctor?”

  Riiiiiight. She would challenge any female physician in the Western Hemisphere to pull off viewing this man’s body with solely a clinical eye. Not that she was looking at it.

  “Or maybe not.” He took a step back, his smile growing as he held his arms out from his body, presenting himself to her in all of his naked glory. “See anything new?”

  Her eyes latched directly onto the area between his legs. Impossible to stop herself. It was … that was quite a sight. Clinically speaking, it pretty much shot directly past racehorse dimensions and right into elephant-penis status.

  Tearing her eyes away, she made what she hoped was an offhand gesture. “You’re right,” she agreed, “you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

  He lowered his arms, the air seeming to sweeten and thicken as he asked softly, “Maybe a set of fangs, then? That’d be new, I bet.”

  She crossed her arms firmly beneath her breasts, secretly clutching herself. “Actually, no, it wouldn’t be. I’ve seen plenty of those teeth which you people call ‘fangs.’” Everyone in this town had their canines filed down into sharp points. Ouch.

  His deep laugh reverberated through the room, sending a shiver through her. “Ah, but you haven’t seen them elongated, honey, that’s the thing. But never fear, Dev is here.” The gleam in his eyes sharpened as he took a step toward her.

  She jerked backward, dropping her arms and pressing her spine against the door.

  A single black eyebrow arched upward. “I have to get close to you to show you, sweetheart. Fangs can only be provoked to lengthen when the Vârcolac himself is … stimulated.”

  Her lungs grew tight, the air suddenly burning inside them.

  “By the smell of blood,” he went on as if she’d asked, “aggression, or sexual arousal.” A brow arched again, devilishly.

  “That’s a rather convenient set of parameters for you, isn’t it, Mr. Nichita?” And no wonder none of her mate-choices had shown her a set on demonstration day.

  He chuckled. “Well, I guess you could always ask Jacken. He and his brothers are the only ones who can control their fangs voluntarily.” Dev’s eyes danced with amusement. “You want to go see if he’ll give you a demo?”

  “Thanks, but no.” Maybe if she pressed her back to the door hard enough she’d be able to rearrange her molecules and slip right through. “And although I do appreciate that lesson in Vârcolac taxonomy, Mr. Nichita, I think I’ll also have to decline your offer. I have no desire to slice my wrist open or,” she snorted, “do a lap dance just to see you elongate.” His eyes flew up, and she smiled tartly into his startled expression. “Or are you offering to get into a fist fight with me?”

  His answering smile was a knee-melter. “Ah, honey, all I need to do is tuck my face right in here,” he pressed his thumb lightly to the artery in her throat, his fingers curling around the back of her nape, “and I’ll be able to smell your blood just fine.”

  Her pulse reacted crazily to his touch, the wild drumbeat of it pounding from her vein into the pad of his thumb.

  His pupils dilated, a feral darkness seeping into his gaze. “Don’t be afraid.” His voice was thick velvet over her skin, a palpable sensation of warmth and seduction, stirring a singeing heat to life in her blood.

  She pressed her palms flat against the door. Dear God, what … what …? She had the alarming desire to throw back her head and present her throat to him. And if he wanted to fondle her breasts that would be just fine, too.

  He shifted closer, his nostrils quivering. “You smell so damned good, Toni.” He caressed his thumb along the length of her artery.

  Her eyes sagged in their sockets. Hmm, really, you don’t say? Maybe we can ….

  Forcing her teeth together, she blinked past her dizziness and shook the spellbinding fog from her brain. “Stop it, Devid. Whatever you’re doing.” She grabbed Dev’s wrist, jerking his hand from her throat. Then she made use of the YMCA Self Defense Training Course she’d taken a few years back. She gripped the sensitive area between his thumb and forefinger and pressed her own thumb in, hard.

  His eyebrows soared in surprise. “Ow.”

  She hauled his arm down, throwing him off balance, then gave him a shove. As he stumbled backward, she spun around and shot out the door. Not putting it past a man like Dev to chase after her without benefit of clothing, she didn’t even try to make it back to her own bedroom. She dashed directly into Berlin next door.

  Shutting the door hurriedly behind her, she gulped in deep breaths as she listened for –

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She whirled around. Oh, damn. Deflating back against the door, she cursed the universe. Could
n’t she ever catch a break?

  Jacken.

  Chapter Twelve

  Big, Dark and Murderous was standing over by a black entertainment center, his hands planted on his hips and a scowl knitting his eyebrows into a fierce vee. The proverbial tower of manhood and menace. He was dressed in that super sexy all-black workout gear the warriors wore for training, and although he was still his usual scary self, he also looked surprisingly … well … super sexy.

  Toni’s stomach gave a start and then a funny flutter at the sight of him. Powerful muscles stood out in rigid relief against the tight fabric of his gear, his body so clearly articulated with grooves and crevices he could’ve been held up in anatomy class as an example of the perfect male specimen. These are the quadriceps, class, this, the tibialis anterior, and this part right here between his legs is the … oh, my. Let’s just all make a ‘yum’ noise, shall we.

  Toni briefly closed her eyes. She really needed to get some help.

  “Well?” he pressed in a peeved tone. “I asked you a question.”

  “Yes, I’m … uh ….” I’m here to steal a key card so that I can instigate an escape plan. She covertly scanned the room for inspiration on another excuse, figuring the truth wouldn’t go over well with a man of Jacken’s temperament. It was then she noticed just how black his bedroom was: black wooden dresser and entertainment center, sleek black lacquered wet bar, black bedspread with a dark gray geometric design on it. Sheesh. If her bedroom was Louis XVI, Dev’s like a cozy room out of a château, then this bedroom – in keeping with the whole French theme – was Marquis de Sade all the way. Well, at least the bedroom fit the man this time.

  “I just came to see if, um ….” Her gaze zeroed in on a stack of DVD’s in his entertainment center. “If you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a movie.”

  “You ever hear of knocking first? I was about to get into the shower. I could’ve been standing here naked, lady.”

  That gave her pause. Despite all logic, the thought of Jacken naked wasn’t a wholly unpleasant prospect. Not at all, in fact. Clearing her throat, she started forward. “I’m a doctor, Mr. Brun,” she said in the kind of overly patient tone she knew would annoy him. “You surely don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” Mmm, that was about as big a joke as it had been with Dev.

  She drew up right in front of him, and startled as a tingle of sensual awareness lit off a short burst of heat in her belly. She was close enough to smell him now, clean male sweat and a hint of Old Spice deodorant and Irish Springs soap; everything that was completely masculine and just about curled all the fine hairs on her body. An immense power radiated off of him, like the force of a tornado barely held in check, along with determination and confidence and ruthless intelligence, and something … strangely raw.

  Her lips parted on a small breath, all that was feminine in her helplessly reacting to him. What was it about this man? How was it that she was even more aware of all the glorious differences between men and women while standing here with Jacken than she had been with Dev, when he’d been naked as a jaybird?

  “Would you mind backing the fuck up?” Jacken ground out, his nostrils flaring white at the rims. “Being this close to your smell is about as much fun as a fork in the eye.”

  Cured, instantly, of all wayward thoughts. Bristling, she plunked her hands on her hips. “Up yours, Jacken. You’re such a misogynist, I swear to God.”

  His eyes slitted.

  He had the darkest eyes she’d ever seen, so deep a brown they looked almost black … Jesus, they were black.

  “A what?” he snapped.

  “A woman-hater.” She pished a breath. “What’s your problem, anyway? Your mommy neglect to breastfeed you?”

  His face tinged red. “You don’t know jack shit about me, lady.”

  “No?” She slanted an insolent brow at him. “I’ve been watching you from my bedroom balcony this past week, you know.”

  He stiffened, the color in his face deepening.

  “Yes, spying on you,” she needled, “and I’ve seen how you are with women. Every morning you stand in front of Aunt Ælsi’s and hand out muffins or pastries to the warriors going on duty, but when Beth strolls by to go to work, you don’t give her a single thing.”

  “She’s someone else’s wife!”

  “You barely even say hello to her!” she lashed back. “And what about the school teacher? When she came by with her students, you didn’t say one word to her, you just gave her a curt nod. But you sure as hell had the decency to squat down and talk to the kids, didn’t you, even going so far as to ruffle their hair, and – miracle of miracles! – crack the tiniest smile.” She flung out her hands. “So what’s it about women, Jacken, you scared of us or something? You one of those types who’s threatened by the multiple female orgasm because you think it makes you –”

  “Get out!” he growled, grabbing her elbow. “Nothing about me is any of your damned –”

  “Keep your paws off me, you meathead!” She wrenched her arm out of his grasp, pulling so violently against his hold she knocked into his entertainment center, sending his stack of DVDs tumbling off the shelf. “I’m not one of your warrior peeps who you can just boss…”

  She froze as her peripheral vision caught sight of the DVDs at her feet: The Hunchback of Notre Dame, It Happened One Night, Singing in the Rain. Her jaw loosened, shock chasing the anger out of her. She couldn’t believe it. Hard-faced, foul-mouthed Jacken liked old movies? Humphrey Bogart flicks appeared to be his favorite. The Maltese Falcon, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, the incomparable Casablanca. She bent to pick one up.

  She straightened, holding one of her favorites. “The African Queen,” she whispered. She looked up at Jacken, a nostalgic smile pulling at her lips. “I love Katherine Hepburn, she’s always so –”

  He snatched the movie out of her hand.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” She exhaled sharply. “You’re really the most foul-tempered person I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m going to take a shower now.” He flung The African Queen back on its shelf. “I recommend you get the hell out.” He turned around, yanking his lycra shirt off over his head as he stalked toward the bathroom. “Unless you have some demented need to see my pecker.” He stopped and reached for the laces at the front of his black boxer briefs, his eyes narrowed in challenge.

  She didn’t budge. She just stood there and stared, utterly dumbfounded by the sight of his bare chest. It was covered with more of those black, interlocking saber-toothed tattoos, the design starting just above his nipples and climbing up the brutal slabs of his pecs to his collarbone. A strange uneasiness curled through her belly. Something didn’t seem right about them. The skin underneath the marks was dented in places, pockmarked in others. Damaged.

  “Shit.” He bowed his head, losing his bravado in the face of her gawping refusal to leave.

  She walked toward him, and his head instantly snapped back up, his expression guarded.

  “Those tattoos aren’t normal,” she said quietly, stopping in front of him. Her stomach cramped with another wave of disquiet. She stared at him for a long moment, the uneasy tension building inside her until it was painful. “Somebody hurt you, didn’t they?”

  Jacken’s lip quivered on the verge of a sneer as his black gaze met hers in ruthless defiance, silence his only answer. The room suddenly felt stifling. The pounding rock music switching to more pounding Nickelback down the hall was the only noise to invade their mute battle of wills. They stood there for a full minute, just staring at each other. She could’ve stood for many more minutes. The most stubborn girl alive, her brother had called her many times, and although Alex hadn’t meant it as a compliment, the trait served her well this time. Jacken finally caved.

  “My father did this to me.” A muscle in his jaw spasmed viciously. “The bastard hammered ink-soaked tacks into my skin to mark me as his son and turn me into a man. Tack after tack after tack,” he gritted between his teeth, “and I wasn�
�t allowed to make a single sound. You fucking happy now?”

  Bile lurched into her throat and horror invaded her chest. He was trying to shock and hurt her by telling her his story so brutally, to make her wish she’d never pressed him about it. It did all those things and more, planting a picture in her mind of Jacken as a boy – scared, lost, vulnerable, just trying to survive – and she wasn’t sure how to reconcile that image with the stony-faced man before her.

  She turned her head to the side, staring across the room with distant eyes. Was this the something raw she’d sensed in him earlier? Was there a hurt child inside him who mirrored her own, simply a boy who didn’t want to feel so alone? God, did she really share a connection with this man? It felt oddly … right.

  Nickelback switched to something else. The entertainment center shimmied before her gaze as memories unfolded across her mind.

  “My own father,” she said softly, “packed only a single small duffle bag on the day he left. I remember that very clearly because even though I was only about six at the time, it still struck me as very weird he’d take so little. I think it also gave me the vague hope he wouldn’t really leave. But no ….” She pressed her lids closed as the memories sleeted over her. “He stopped in the doorway, leaned down to kiss me on the forehead, and said, ‘Goodbye, Antoinetta.’ That’s it. No, ‘Hey, see you this weekend for an ice cream, kid’ or even ‘I love you.’ Just, ‘Goodbye, Antoinetta.’” She paused as she came to the part of the story that always hollowed her out. “I never saw him again.”

  She turned to look at Jacken. His eerily dark eyes had gone strangely intense, pinned on her in a way that made her think an earthquake could rock the room and he would’ve stayed just as he was. “What father never sees his kids again just because he divorces their mother?” she asked earnestly, almost expecting him to answer. “Other divorced fathers saw their children, right? Weekends and every other Christmas, half of summer vacation. So it must’ve been me, don’t you see. I’d done something to drive him away.”