Poison and Potions: a Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by Erin Hayes

  Lying alone on the covers she closed her eyes and sought that tiny connection to Xander, his soul she admitted to herself, that was his soul. It vibrated inside her like a harp string pulled taut. She focused her mind on it and suddenly found herself in a bedroom. It was opulently furnished with billowy white curtains and feather bedding. It looked rather comfortable. Until she stepped closer to the white sheets to see blood splattered there. A tiny hand hung over the edge of the bed and Constance jerked back and hit the dresser with a thud.

  She didn’t feel anything other than its solid presence against her back. Nothing moved, not even the curtains that looked like they should be fluttering in the sunny breeze. Constance swallowed. If this was what Xander was punished for then maybe she could understand why Mikon called him a bad person. Trying not to look at the pale lifeless hand she glanced over at the other solid form under the covers. It was bigger and Constance caught the sheen of brown hair fanning across the pillow. Was this his wife and child? How could he have murdered his family?

  The second the thought fluttered into her mind she felt Xander beside her. She stepped away from him. This was likely a dream but she had no idea if he could harm her here, kill her here. This man she’d trusted with her life, numerous times, was capable of this. She should have known, all the reapers were punished for unfathomable crimes, she knew that, and yet not being able to see them made her able to work with them, be near them. The scene before her changes everything.

  “How could you do this,” she asked him, unable to continue holding her tongue at such a display.

  “I didn’t do this,” he whispered. Tears ran down his cheeks in rivulets. She’d never seen a reaper cry like this. She found it a little disconcerting, well, more so than standing in the middle of a murder scene.

  “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head and pointed to the next room. Part of her wanted to end this nightmare. Get out before it was too late, before he took her too but she took this man into herself, there was no going back from that and she needed to know.

  She stepped around him giving him a wide berth and exited via a French door at the side of the room.

  This scene was worse than the last because she could see every gruesome detail. A man lay on the floor, shredded and disemboweled with what looked like a butcher knife. Blood spread across the walls and floor, sprayed out in fans and arcs. After a moment she had to turn away only see the form of the woman again. She took a deep breath and focused on her own self. Her eyes popped open to stare at her own ceiling but the face of the woman and the sight of the man’s entrails spread across gray carpet still swam in her vision. Xander sat at the end of her bed and carefully reached under her pillow for the knife she kept there. Even just holding it gave her a small measure of safety, of comfort.

  “Tell me what happened,” she said.

  He didn’t look like himself, in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, sitting barefoot on the end of her bed. She could even go so far as to say he looked defeated.

  “It was August and I worked nights building the church downtown. Her name was Madeline and my little girl was Sophie. They were my entire world. I had to work nights and when I came home…” his voice broke and he dropped his head into his hands, hunched over. She could feel the sorrow coursing through him via their connection. “I came home in the morning to find that man…”

  He stopped himself again and Connie felt the urge to comfort him. She couldn’t until she knew all of it. She needed to know before she could accept this, all of it.

  He cleared his throat. “That man murdered my family in cold-blood. What he did to them was unspeakable. I stood there and saw him tuck them back into bed for me to find when I got home and something inside me snapped. I don’t remember most of it but when I came back to myself he was there, in pieces on the floor. I realized what I had done and I laughed. I embraced madness that day. The church officials showed up soon after and only a few weeks later I became a punished reaper.”

  He looked up and met Connie’s eyes. “I don’t regret it. Even now, after all these years of torment, I will never regret what I did to him.”

  Connie blinked and looked down at her hands, now clutching the knife in her lap. For less than a second she considered ending her own life with it, severing the tie she had to two murders. But could she truly judge Xander for his crime. If anything could be a crime of passion that would be it and yet the church didn’t recognize those anymore. The reaper ranks swelled with the punished after they abolished the practice. She gave him one last long look and lay back on the pillow. “Are you going to stay here?”

  She heard his whisper into the dark. “For a while to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

  When she woke it was to the sound of running water. She opened her eyes and thanked God that she and Mikon had never slept together in her bed. If she had snuggled into his scent last night she might not have woken up again.

  She sat up, her body sore from the fighting done in the last few days and, she suspected, from the strange magic of becoming a Reaper. "Xander?" she called. He was the only person who could possibly be taking a shower.

  She climbed to her feet gingerly and noticed she did not have pants on. She’d have to talk about it with him later. Xander wouldn't have tried anything, especially with her injured, but removing her pants wasn't on the "to do" list for anyone except Mikon. The thought of him hit her hard. A curious pressure built around her heart and she breathed through it and hardened herself to yell at Xander. If even for no reason other than to expel some of the emotion trapped inside.

  "Xander?" she said, pushing the bathroom door open. A damp cloud of steam billowed out and her vision cleared. It wasn't him inside her bathroom...but Mikon.

  Now her dreams weren’t even her own?

  "They don’t have showers in heaven?" she asked the apparition.

  "Oh they do, but they aren’t yours and they don’t have your body wash."

  "Ah, so you came all the way back to Earth for my body wash. Obviously."

  She smiled, loving him all over again. She reached out and wrapped her arms around his chest until her hands came into contact with something soft. She jerked back and looked at him again, cloaked in steam.

  "I thought I was mad at you. No way my subconscious would give you wings after what you did to me."

  "You’re not dreaming, Connie. And I earned these wings."

  "Come again?"

  "I earned these wings when I gave my life to save Noah’s sister."

  Connie stared at him, mouth hanging open. How could be so dense? She ripped the t-shirt over her head, and then grabbed his hand, bringing it to her neck. He touched it, but jerked back.

  "What did you do?" he asked, his voice wavering.

  She laughed and walked out of the bathroom. He followed on her heels. Just like everyone else in the world, he was selfish and didn’t give a damn about what he did to her. "You’re so proud of what you did for that girl. But what about what you did to me? Do you care about that?"

  "Connie, what did you do?" he asked, more of a plea than an actual question.

  She put her hands on her hips and summoned as much height as she was able. "I claimed the right to take Noah’s soul from the Brotherhood. Then I killed him."

  "No," he whispered. "No." His Adam’s apple bobbed and a something entered his eyes, she might call it sorrow, if the man had a conscience.

  She couldn’t believe he’d be so callus. He should have been the one to explain to her what would happen. Mikon should have been the one to inform her of this choice. "What did you think I would do? Go home and cry into my pillow?"

  "No," he said. "I was coming back. I was always coming back. I though... Bishop didn’t tell you, did he? He told me he would tell you. That he’d explain it so you wouldn’t do anything stupid."

  She shook her head. "He told me nothing."

  Mikon dropped to his knees before her, his wings sweeping out as tall as she was. She had t
o tear her eyes away from them.

  "Constance, I had a split second to consider my decision and that was it. Bishop told me I’d earn a greater reward. He said I would return. To save a life and come back? It seemed like a no brainer since he assured me it might be the only way to get you out safe." He reached out and clutched her hand. "Connie, please. I love you. I just wanted you safe."

  "Did you even think what it would be like for me to see you die?" she whispered. She turned her eyes toward the ceiling to battle the tears building there.

  He gripped her hands hard in his own and shook his head, "no, and I’m so sorry."

  Bishop. That bastard had everything planned out from day one and didn’t think for second to include the lowly mortals in his plans. Those schemes that would affect all of them for the rest of their lives. They were pawns to him and the breadth of his depravity became crystal clear to her. Bishop was never to be trusted. "Looks like Bishop got two novelties this evening. A female Reaper and an angel."

  "I no longer fall under Bishop’s purview," Mikon said. "I answer to Cardinal now."

  "Who the hell is Cardinal?"

  He shook his head, and she added it to the list of secrets they both had to keep. Her anger receded a little. He looked so beautiful and so alive in front of her.

  "What does this mean?" she asked, reaching out to stroke a feather.

  He gasped and clutched her hand tighter. "It means the obvious. I’m an angel."

  "What does that mean for us?"

  "It means I’m back and we can still be together."

  Connie swallowed and dropped to her knees as well. They stung as she shifted, but she didn’t notice anything but him. "But how are these giant things going to fit in my bed?"

  He laughed and swept her into his embrace. He kissed her once, hard, and let her go. When she blinked again his wings were gone. "No, I want to see them," she said.

  And they appeared again. She reached behind him, feeling where they merged with his back, and then rubbing the soft down of the feathers closest to his skin.

  He gasped and pulled her into him before dipping down to nuzzle her neck.

  "Does it feel good?" she whispered against his skin.

  "Yes, very good."

  Then she ran a hand up the arch of his wing while she pressed her mouth to his. He took the kiss deeper, meshing their tongues together until she came away panting.

  "It hasn’t been long, but I’ve missed you," he said, fisting her hair before dragging her in for another kiss.

  She’d lost him for a day and it was long enough. Nothing would ever take him away from her again. When he put his hands under her ass and lifted her with him, she was more than okay with it. And when he threw her on her bed, she wanted nothing more than his arms and his scent surrounding her.

  Mikon lifted his head and smiled down at her.

  "What? Stop staring at me and kiss me," she said, while trying to pull him back down to her lips.

  "I got you a present."

  That was a shock. She didn't remember the last time anyone had given her a gift, and Noah's bribe of jewelry didn't count.

  "Hold on," Mikon said, as he untangled himself from her and walked back into the bathroom.

  He came back to the bed with a book which he handed Connie.

  She sat up and took it, laughing when she recognized the title: An Investigator's Guide to Reapers.

  The End

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  About the Author

  Monica Corwin is an outspoken writer who attempts to make romance accessible to everyone no matter their preferences. As a new Northern Ohioian Monica enjoys snow drifts, three seasons of weather, and disliking Michigan. When not writing Monica spends time with her daughter and her ever growing collection of tomes about King Arthur.

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  The Priestess & The Vampire

  Thea Atkinson

  The Priestess & The Vampire © copyright 2015 Thea Atkinson

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  The Priestess & The Vampire

  When a voodoo priestess uses you to revive a dead lover, life can really suck.

  Jade has had one too many ugly cries over a nasty breakup and she needs a fun night out. A hot guy at a coffee shop invites her to a costume party, and it seems like just the right ticket to drown her sorrows.

  Except the invitation is really a ruse for her date to serve her up as a sexy entrée to an ages old vampire, and the costume she rents comes complete with a spell that helps a voodoo priestess revive her dead lover.

  Now Jade's life really starts to suck, and it seems her only salvation is a sexy, Viking-esque vampire who makes her an offer she can't refuse.

  Chapter One

  WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

  I've always told myself a good old-fashioned cry is as good for the psyche as grease is to machinery, but after four days of slicking my spirit with that particular lubricant, I wasn't feeling any relief. In fact, I was beginning to worry my face would forget how to make any other expression except ugly cry. Four days. A full day for each year I'd devoted to the bastard who had fooled me into thinking monogamy could be as good for the soul as confession. Of course, I'd believed he thought the practice just as spiritual as I did. Of course, I was the sole devout practitioner. Of course, I was an idiot not to see the signs.

  I needed a good exorcism, that was what. Rid myself of the demons of grief and regret. Get the hell out there and just rile things up. Get my party on. Get my drink on. Get my what the hell am I going to do without that bastard blubbering on.

  I settled for a mocha swirl latté because who was I kidding? My complexion looked like someone had scoured it with acid. My eyes could barely peer through the swollen sausages that used to be my lids. No way I could find any sort of Jade juju with my face looking like a raw turkey's ass. I'd need at least a week to recover, and all I had was the weekend. Halloween weekend at that. I'd taken three sick days from the vet's clinic where I worked the desk and I knew by the tone of the vet's voice that if I didn't show on Monday, my ass would never get the luxury of imagining such a wondrous thing as a turkey ever again. Like it or not, it was back to the land of the norms who hadn't had their hearts ripped out by a cheating bastard. Or at least, back to the land where those who had, have at least managed to move on.

  So coffee and sugar would have to do.

  Which is how I met the hot-as-hell Sam.

  Which is how I managed for the first time in four days to find a tattered edge of my self-esteem's cloak close enough that I could steal a tentative grip on it.

  Which is how I ended up on a rampage of apocalyptic proportions trying to find a costume at four o'clock Saturday afternoon for a party that started at nine.

  "This is it? Really?" I said to the rental clerk, a gorgeous mulatto chick at least three years older who obviously never had a man pull on the string of her self-esteem. "This is all you have?"

  She quirked a charcoal brow at me over hazel eyes.

  "Honey," she said, making me want to pinch her sensually thick and
wax-balmed lips. "Any sane woman booked their sex kitten costume weeks ago."

  "Do I look sane to you?"

  Her appraising eye ran my length from hair to heel before she placed her palms on the counter much like a bartender does when he's about to tell a patron he's had too much to drink. I braced myself.

  "What you look like is shit," she said.

  "Exactly. My bastard of a fiancé dumped my ass for a dozen less beautiful women and I just got asked to a costume party by a goddamned gorgeous hunk of a man and I am damned well going to go and find my confidence again at the bottom of a keg of beer or the deep root of said hottie's dick if I have to, even if it means I have to pile on a shit-ton of cover up foundation to look more human."

  I sucked in a deep breath, realizing I had no air left in my lungs after the tirade. "And I am NOT going as Miss Muffet's spider."

  I shook the thing at her for emphasis.

  "You want my advice?" the clerk said. "Put a sheet over your head. It'll solve both your problems."

  Five days ago I would have been quite comfortable giving this sassy clerk a piece of my mind, but this was not five days ago. I felt a now-familiar sting behind my eyelids and had to rip my gaze away from her penetrating one to keep from brimming up. I looked down at the spider costume with its eight furry legs, one of which had obviously been broken at some point, and was now at odd angles to its partners. I imagined myself trying to find some semblance of charisma from within it sufficient to beguile a hot young male. Even as I held onto the thing on the counter, my fingers clenched at the material in a way that made me jerk my eyes from the sight. It was too much. One more blow to my already fragile ego.

  "Please," I said. "One woman to another. I need this."

  I felt her feathery touch on the top of my hand and swept my gaze to hers. The eyes that met mine could have been hard chunks of mossy asphalt and I was certain she would give my skin a pinch, one last retort before she rushed me from the shop and swung her open sign to closed.