“Well, yeah,” Sedge said, “but I needed to get another matter cleared with Toni related to topside, so I pressed her for the info.” He picked up a fluted glass of champagne and held it up to her in toast. “Congratulations, Berly. You did it.”
“Yeah, I did. Boo-yah!” She pumped her briefcase up-and-down over her head. “I actually wasn’t sure I could pull off a power interview anymore, but I guess I impressed them.” Bringing a high-dollar client to the table in the form of the, ahem, “Research Institute” hadn’t hurt her chances. Crossing to Sedge, she set down her briefcase and accepted the champagne. They clinked glasses and she took a sip. “So what’s the other topside matter?”
“Oh, no …. We don’t need to talk about it now. Let’s celebrate.”
She set her flute down. “C’mon, spill.”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay. Um … now that you’re going to be spending so much time topside, I’ve been looking into the possibility for you to, uh ….”
When nothing else came out of her husband’s mouth, Kimberly arched a brow. “What’s with all the weird, Sedge?”
He exhaled a whooshing breath. “Here’s the thing. Roth has a sister-in-law named Karrell who lives and works topside, and I think she’s someone who –”
“A Vârcolac?”
“Yes. Roth keeps it quiet because he doesn’t want anyone else thinking it’s okay to live outside of the community.”
“Perish the thought,” Kimberly drawled.
“Kimberly –”
“No, really. I can’t friggin’ believe this, Sedge. For three years I’ve been trying to get Roth to let me live topside, and all this time –”
“Karrell doesn’t come and go – just like you’re not going to – so it’s not a security issue.”
Yeah, Kimberly was being required to live up top Monday through Thursday for work, spending nights in a small apartment, and the rest of the time, she’d be with Sedge in Ţărână. Not optimal, but that was the only way Toni could get prickly Roth to agree.
Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She didn’t want to waste her energy on Roth. He wasn’t ultimate emperor around here anymore, and she supposed baby steps were better than no steps; Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all. “So what’s the deal with this Karrell?”
“Karrell’s a … a therapist.”
“A – huh?”
“Yeah, I … I was hoping, you know, I was thinking it’d be a good idea for you to talk to her.” Sedge lowered his voice to the tone of a cowboy trying to calm a twitchy horse. “You could tell her about what your ex-boyfriend did to you, Kimberly. And Karrell’s Vârcolac, right, so you wouldn’t have to censor yourself. You could also talk about me, if you needed to, about what a pain in the ass I can be sometimes.”
“You’re never a pain in the ass.” No, he was the sweetest man on earth, still trying to help her with the Tim thing.
“You’re not crazy, okay.” He made an adamant downward gesture with his hands. “I don’t want you to think I’m saying that. And I’m not trying to insult your intelligence, either. It’s just that what your asshole ex did to you was really rough, Berly, and I think that maybe you need some help getting over it.” He picked up his champagne glass, but then set it right back down. “So, what do you think?”
“I think…” she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Sedge’s neck, “that you’re the best husband a girl could ever ask for.”
His hands came to rest on her hips. “You’re not mad?”
“No.”
His eyes turned all puppy doggish. “And you’ll go?”
Truth was, she hadn’t been doing the best job getting over it by herself. “Yes.” She eased back and kissed his cheek. “I’ll go.”
He smiled at her. “Good.”
She stepped out of his hold. “Speaking of my ex.” She crossed her arms firmly beneath her breasts. “When I was topside, I saw a news report about him. Apparently both of his knees have been damaged beyond repair. They’re not saying how, but the scuttlebutt is that his career in football is officially over.” She narrowed her eyes on her husband. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Sedge met her gaze with saucer-eyed innocence. “How could I? You never told me his name, remember?” He picked up his bubbly. “He’s a football player, is he?”
She snorted. “Nice maneuvering, slick.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure not.”
“Shall we get back to celebrating?” He downed his champagne. “You want to go out to dinner?”
“Actually ….” She flipped her eyes meaningfully toward upstairs. “I was thinking more like a game of hide the salami.”
He barked out a laugh.
“What, have I already worn you out?” It was amazing what happiness could do for a woman’s sex drive. As soon as Toni had told Kimberly that the community needed a lawyer, pretty much right after Toni had taken over, Kimberly had been making up big time for the long dry spell she’d put her husband through.
“Hardly,” Sedge drawled.
Yeah, great thing about a Vârcolac male, one whiff of a mate’s blood and he was raring to go. Waggling her eyebrows like a villainous lech, she took her husband by the hand and led him up the stairs.
* * *
One week later.
“I really don’t see why this mission is necessary.”
Alex rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded, trying to look like he was giving Roth’s comment serious weight rather than the you’ve got to be kidding he was actually thinking. He glanced around the U-shaped table at the other Council members – a Council being just one of the many great changes his sister had made since taking the co-helm of Ţărână – checking for reactions. Only the primary four had been gathered, Jacken, Toni, Roth, and Alex himself, due to the urgency of the matter that needed deciding.
Dev Nichita was also here, waiting for the Council to give him the nod for this mission. Or not. He was standing at the open end of the U, his hands locked at the small of his back and his legs planted wide. From the steely cut of his bearded jaw, it was clear what Dev’s thoughts were: something along the lines of quit being a pussy, Roth, and let me do my job. Jacken had recently created a Special Ops Topside Team to deal with problems with the community’s new Om Rău enemies, and Dev was the man he’d put in charge of it.
Alex shifted his gaze over to Jacken, but his brother-in-law’s thoughts were more difficult to divine. Jacken was busy eyeballing Toni’s throat, the long stretch of her skin exposed by her up-style hairdo.
Gimme a break. Alex almost rolled his eyes. When wasn’t Jacken eyeballing Toni with a mind on grody stuff? Huh, yeah, Alex had learned the hard way never to go over to the Brun household without calling first. Bleech … although, okay, Alex was admittedly really glad that whatever had made Toni bolt her marriage three months ago – something she’d never discussed with him, surprisingly enough – had clearly been ironed out. He’d never seen his little sister happier.
Alex glanced down at the table, envy over the intimacy Toni and Jacken shared stabbing through him. He’d kind of … well, hell, he’d really figured he’d be linked up with someone himself by now. Guess it’d been a mistake to assume his royal-ness would attract a swarm of female candidates for the future Mrs. Parthen. Turned out the exact opposite was true. The Vârcolac women were so star-struck by his status they barely even talked to him.
He’d lived through one month of this ridiculous dating drought, and then Roth had finally grown as fed up as Alex with the situation and butted in to arrange a blind date. Not surprisingly, Roth’s mate-of-choice for Alex had been a royal Fey Vârcolac by the name of Jennilith.
The blind date had gone pretty well, and now the two of them were seeing each other regularly, but … you know, Alex was still waiting for the wow factor to go off in his heart. He wasn’t sure why it hadn’t yet.
“What’s y
our reticence, Roth?” Toni asked, bringing Alex back to the present.
His sister was seated next to him along one arm of the U, her head bowed as she re-read the email Alex had hacked out of the airwaves. It was a message from their bigger and better enemy, the Topside Om Rău, to their good ol’ everyday enemy, the Underground Om Rău. According to the message, the Topside Om Rău were handing over four Dragon women to the Underground Om Rău at a warehouse in a few short hours. Why any Om Rău would give up one precious Dragon, much less four, was a mystery, but one that didn’t require solving for them to act. At least not to Alex’s way of thinking.
Not so Roth.
“This mission is too risky for the indefinite benefits it would bring us,” Roth argued. “We’ve brought eight women into the community just yesterday, whereas the four we discuss now are a complete unknown. We don’t know if they fit the other required parameters, or if they’re even remotely interested in joining us. I say our resources are overburdened enough already.”
Alex cleared his throat to call attention to himself. “Thing is, Roth, those eight were the only women off an original list of fifty who accepted our offer.” And didn’t the town shit a collective gold brick when Alex had unearthed that many Dragons in California. Yet, finding Dragons had been a whole different deal than convincing them to spend a year in an underground cave away from their families. “Do we really have the luxury of ignoring any we can lay our hands on? They’re the key to the salvation of your race.” Yeah, kind of something he hadn’t thought he’d have to remind Roth about.
Roth frowned. “Many of those fifty have expressed an interest in joining us at a later date, when the timing in their lives is better.” Roth snapped his chair straight. “I assure all of you, I don’t underestimate the value of these women. How many years have I lived with the threat of extinction of my own race? But, need I remind you that on this mission our warriors would be facing down members of both the Underground and the Topside Om Rău. We have no idea how many men that could be, although I think it’s fair to assume that their numbers would grossly exceed ours. We can only spare the barest number of warriors for Mr. Nichita’s team. The safety of our current eight is our first obligation.”
Alex sighed under his breath. The man did have a valid argument. Ţărână’s Om Rău neighbors posed a constant threat.
Toni leaned back in her chair, the look in her eyes that stubborn glint which always popped an uh, oh, into Alex’s mind. Probably Jacken’s, too, if the man had learned anything in nearly four months of marriage. “You bring up all good points, Roth, but here’s the thing that’s itching at my conscience. Four women are about to be handed over to some extremely unsavory men and we’re privileged to know that. Do you really feel comfortable just sitting back and doing nothing to save these poor women, regardless of whether or not they bring us a direct benefit? Because I’m not sure I do, not after my own experiences with these Topside Om Rău.”
Oh, boy. Cranky face Roth.
Dev, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to zip over and kiss Toni.
Toni glanced across the U-shaped table toward her husband. “Can you give us a risk assessment, Jacken?”
“What do you want me to tell you?” Jacken snapped. “The pucker factor on this mission’s going to be damned high, but as you just said, does it really fucking matter?”
Toni lowered her lashes and flicked her husband a look.
Yeah, that hadn’t been so helpful.
Jacken laid an arm on the conference table. “This mission is do-able,” he continued in the kind of hard tone that suggested impatience on a level with Dev’s. “I wouldn’t have put Nichita in charge of it if I wasn’t sure he could handle it.”
Alex glanced over at Dev, the large Vârcolac’s black fatigues barely containing all of the huge, bulging muscles of his body. Alex made a face. Man, he really needed to get into the gym more often.
“And who will Mr. Nichita be leading?” Roth asked curtly.
Dev answered that. “Costache, Pavenic, and Stănescu.”
“Only four men total?” Roth turned back toward Toni to give her an astounded look. “You’re really supporting this?”
“It’s what the warriors train for, Roth,” she said softly. “I trust in their abilities.” She looked at her husband again. “This is ultimately a decision for the Head of Security, though. It’s your men who’ll be put in danger, Jacken.”
Jacken shoved to a standing position almost before the words had stopped coming out of Toni’s mouth. “Put your team in the field,” he ordered Dev.
“Yes, sir.” Dev swiveled an about-face, long strides taking him from the conference room.
The rest of them scraped to their feet.
“You’ll excuse me,” Roth said stiffly. “Other matters need my attention.”
Alex jammed his hands into his pockets as the rear door closed behind Roth. “He’s not going to be the life of the party for a while.”
“The hell with him.” Jacken’s jaw somehow managed the feat of growing even harder. “I hate it when he gets like that.”
“I know,” Toni said gently. “I’m sorry, honey.” She set a hand on her husband’s forearm. “I’m working on him.”
Jacken checked his watch. “Shit,” he growled.
Toni’s brow furrowed. “Will Dev’s team make it in time to save those women?”
Jacken met his wife’s gaze, the line of his mouth grim. “It’s going to be tight.”
* * *
THE PUREST OF THE BREED
BY
Tracy Tappan
Finalist for USA Best Book Awards for Romance
Chapter One
June, 2:36 a.m.
Marissa Bonaventure sat bolt upright in bed. Wood cracked and splintered, a door banged, furniture scraped. She gulped for air, her heart galloping in her chest. A hovering silence followed. She waited, the thundering of her heart trying to outrun her fast breathing, but there was only silence. Okay, Jesus… She squeezed her lids tight then peeled them open again. Only a nightmare. She blinked groggily at the dim numbers on her digital clock—2:36 a.m.—her mind slowly registering that she’d only been asleep for about an hour. She’d worked late cooking at Bleu Boheme restaurant tonight, some lactose intolerant asshole endlessly chewing her ear off about all of the cheese on the menu. Well, yes, sir, this is a French restaurant, after all, and generally—
A gruff voice growled a command, and then her roommate, Lila, started screaming. Holy frick! Not a nightmare.
There were men in her apartment!
Coming fully awake on a searing blast of adrenaline, Marissa vaulted for the cordless phone on her nightstand. Her wildly groping fingers knocked the receiver out of its holder and sent it skidding across the thin synthetic carpet. “Oh, God, crap.” She threw herself after the phone, and crashed off her mattress, the sheets tangled around her legs. Air drove from her lungs. “Crap,” she gasped again. “Crap.” Darts of pain shot through her elbow.
The report of heavy boots in the hallway vibrated through the floor beneath her, the footsteps thundering toward her bedroom. Panic shot through her stomach and clawed up her spine. She stretched one arm toward the phone by her hamper, scooting her body across the floor like an epileptic caterpillar trapped in its cocoon.
The door slammed open.
She jerked to a sitting position, her heart lurching to a dead halt. A broad-shouldered shadow loomed into her doorway, the light from her digital clock offering only a vague impression of dark, baggy clothing, the cut of a hard jaw…and the most sinister eyes she’d ever seen in her life. A scream launched up her throat but stuck there, unable to make it past the strangulation of terror gripping her larynx.
“In here!” the intruder shouted down the hall, his head turning to reveal what looked like stripes of gangrene on his jaw. No…a black flame tattoo.
Another man entered, and her mouth sagged. And she thought Gangrene Face’s shoulders had been broad. The man who’d just s
hoved into her room was twice as big, his shoulders size Incredible Hulk, and a hundred times scarier. She saw him clearly as the lights from a Navy helicopter on its weary way home to NAS North Island raked through her organza curtains like a prison searchlight. A body clothed in a black leather jacket and dark cargo pants was revealed, along with the man’s shaved head, sporting tattoos—same black flames as Gangrene—climbing from above his ears to the top of his bald head. He looked like an Aryan Nation sociopath, brutal and violent and…what could he possibly want with her?
He stalked toward her, and her stomach iced. She scuttled sideways against the wall like a crab, her teeth set in a grimace, her eyes darting toward her bedroom window. Only a few feet away, but…five floors down equaled lots of bone breakage on the streets of San Diego.
“She must be the bit o’ skirt we’re lookin’ for,” Gangrene told Hulk in a British accent which really didn’t fit this scenario.
Hulk drew up right in front of her, six-feet-umpteen-inches of darkness, chilling, ruthless power emanating from him.
She kicked violently at the jail of her sheets and found a scream, finally, belting it out as loud as she could.
“Shut your gob,” Hulk snarled.
Like a genie being commanded into its bottle, her voice obeyed immediately and rammed back down her throat. Yes, yes, upsetting a man like this is an extremely bad idea.
He reached for her.
She pressed backward so hard, she wondered the drywall didn’t crack against her spine.
Grabbing her shoulders, Hulk jerked her out of the wrap of her sheets and onto her feet, the violence of the gesture jolting a cry past her lips. With a bruising grip still on her upper arm, Hulk hauled her at a stumbling pace from her bedroom into the hallway.
The Community Series, Books 1-3 Page 33