Venom & Vampires: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by Casey Lane

  Isa huffed, glaring at him for a minute before dropping her shoulders in defeat. “It’s not, dammit. I just can’t afford to get used to you being here. I can do this on my own. I’ve been doing this on my own for six years.”

  Wren closed the distance between them, tilting her chin to look at him. She swallowed hard as his lips touched her forehead. “Nobody can do everything on their own. You’re going to have to let somebody in eventually, Isa, might as well be the one person created just for you, don’t you think?” he asked, pressing the words into her skin.

  Isa didn’t answer, not wanting to acknowledge the truth of his words. After a moment, Isa realized the kitchen had gone completely silent. Five faces gaped at them in shock. Her brother looked betrayed, but he smelled…scared.

  “I have to get to work,” she mumbled, gently pushing him away.

  She was almost to the front door when Neoma snagged her by the hand. Isa looked down in surprise at the girl’s smiling face. “I’m supposed to come with you. Wren’s going to be plumbing all day, and I can’t go to school with the others. I can help you. I’m excellent in the kitchen; I help Miss Alis all the time.”

  “Neoma,” Wren called from the kitchen. “Isa has to work today; she can’t watch you. You can stay and help me with the drywall.”

  Neoma wrinkled her nose, expression miserable. Isa stifled a laugh. She wouldn’t want to fix a ceiling either. “It’s alright. I’ll put her to work. Come on; now we’re both going to be late.”

  Three hours later, Isa sat nursing her third cup of coffee, numbers swimming on the screen before her until she blinked them back into place. Every time she tried to concentrate on her work, all she could do was think about the previous night. The feel of his lips on hers, the weight of him on top of her. She groaned, snapping her laptop shut and dropping her head on her desk with a thud. What was she supposed to do about him? The man was criminally distracting.

  There was the sound of a body plopping into the seat across from her, before Gen said, “What’s up, buttercup?”

  “Where’s Neoma?” Isa asked, tensing.

  Gen frowned at Isa’s worried expression. “She’s ten feet away learning how to properly stack the dish rack for the sterilizer. What’s got you so on edge?”

  Isa propped her head up on her hand. “Is it possible to fall in love with somebody you met two days ago?”

  Gen laughed. “You realize you said that out loud, right?”

  “I’m serious. Do you think this soul bond…mating bond…whatever these mystics call it…do you really believe that it’s real? Like, really? Do you think that you can be, I don’t know, predestined to meet somebody?”

  Gen squinted at her suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done with Isa?”

  “I’m serious,” Isa whined dramatically. “Logically, I know there is no such thing as love at first sight, but whenever I’m within ten feet of the man I want to jump him, like, I can’t think of anything but being with him. Like I could crawl inside him, and I still wouldn’t be close enough.”

  Gen leered at her with a laugh. “Maybe you just need to let him crawl inside you? Maybe it’s just lust at first sight. Take him for a test drive and see if you still have feelings for him afterward.”

  “It’s not like that. Well, I mean, it is like that. I sort of already did take him-well, not really. I mean I want to...I want him…but it’s not just that. Like that’s not all, I want. I want to aggressively cuddle him while we watch cartoons in our underwear. I want to watch him change lightbulbs. I want to watch him make breakfast in my ugly green apron.” She stared into the shocked face of her friend, and she lowered her voice. “Gen…I just feel like-”

  Gen leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Like what?”

  “I feel like he’s exactly where he was always meant to be.” Isa’s cheeks were on fire at the confession. A satisfied smirk spread across her friend’s face. “Genevieve Duvall, don’t you dare make fun of me. I don’t have anybody else to talk to.”

  Gen held her hands up in surrender. “I’m not making fun of you. I’ve just never seen you so…flustered before. It’s adorable.” Isa flipped her off, which only delighted the fox more. “Okay, seriously. So, say there’s no such thing as soulmates. Say, this man is just a great guy, who wants to take care of you and let you take care of him and has no interest in attempting to take away your alpha status…would that be so bad? Sometimes arranged marriages do work. Even if his family is like the werewolf mafia.”

  Isa groaned her frustration to the ceiling. “That’s a pretty big gamble. Wolves mate for life. I have three kids, four if you count Quinn-”

  “Which you do,” Gen interjected.

  “-which I do. Once there’s a claiming bite, there’s no un-ringing that bell. The bite is forever. Even without a human ceremony. Only a shit-ton of magic can come close to undoing it and, even then, somebody always gets hurt. Besides, that’s not the only thing.” Gen frowned, tilting her head, waiting for her to go on. “Wren said if we don’t claim each other, his father will insist he marry…Neoma.”

  Gen gaped at her, horrified. “The little girl? What? I mean, I’ve heard of these contractual in-name-only matches before, but that was to settle territory disputes and strengthen packs, like, a hundred years ago. Why would Wren’s father want to do that? Doesn’t his pack control most of Tennessee?”

  “Yes, exactly.” Isa took a deep breath. “It doesn’t make any sense.

  Gen’s brows went up. “This is like some kind of supernatural telenovela.”

  Before Isa could confirm Gen’s statement, the stench of cologne and hair gel filled her nostrils. Gen grimaced. “Allister.” She narrowed her eyes at Isa. “But we’re so not done talking about this.”

  The door to the dining room swung open, and Allister sauntered into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway of her office. Both she and Gen looked at him with blank expressions. He shared his russet brown hair and whiskey colored eyes with his son, but that was where the similarities stopped. Quinn looked just like his mother, especially when he wore her glasses.

  Allister was the head of the witches’ council, a position that garnered a fair amount of respect in the witch world, but he always seemed to dress like the day manager at a low-budget electronics store. Today, he wore khakis and a green polo shirt, his hair slicked back and his eyes bloodshot.

  He looked to Gen. “I need a word with Isa.”

  Gen stood, glaring as she squeezed past on her way out.

  “Isa,” he said. His voice was pleasant, and there was a smile on his insipid, doughy face, but Isa knew from years of experience that Allister Talbot had not gotten to be head of the witches’ council by being pleasant. There was always an underlying threat to his words that made her wolf leery. But Isa knew how far she could push him, so she always did.

  “Allister,” she responded, giving him a bland smile.

  “I heard the most alarming thing today.”

  She arched a brow. “Was it that that outfit makes you look like a used car salesman?”

  The easy smile slipped. “You’re in rare form today, I see.” He moved to sit in the chair across from her desk, crossing his legs, ankle over his knee. “I was informed by the council that your fiancé has blown into town. I assured them that this couldn’t be true, of course, because you would have come to me immediately. Correct?”

  Isa refused to squirm under his weighted stare. “Alex shooting off his mouth again?” Allister didn’t confirm or deny her comment, staring at her expectantly. Isa rolled her eyes. “Wren showed up on my doorstep two days ago to ask me for a favor. I sent him away.”

  Allister’s smile returned, and Isa’s stomach felt slippery. “Yet, according to Astrid, he dropped my son and your children off at school this morning, so it seems he made a return?”

  Isa made a noise of disgust. “Really? Having your daughter spy on me? I didn’t realize you were teaching your pre-teen coven recon tactics this semester.” Isa picked up her
pen, twirling it between her fingers. “Besides, what difference does it make if Wren is here or not? Why should the council care one way or the other?”

  Allister’s careful composure slipped away, jaw tightening as he leaned forward. “The council—and by extension, the Grove—has a vested interest in your pack. I thought that was clear, but apparently, you need a reminder. Your parents signed a treaty. Living here in Belle Haven comes with obligations, unlike other towns. You have the privilege of living in a place where you aren’t required to keep your unique gifts hidden from the world. Your mother understood that. The Grove is concerned that you might not.”

  Isa’s stomach soured at the mention of the Grove and her parents. She’d never understand how her parents—two of the most loyal and just people she’d ever known—would make a deal with the Grove. Everybody knew the druids couldn’t be trusted…even if they were in charge. She just couldn’t make sense of it. Her parents would never willingly align with them.

  “I’ve managed to keep them at bay for quite some time, but the truth is you are of age to start mating and breeding. The council encourages it, even. But not with him. The Black Thorne pack is larger than your pack and, quite frankly, your future father-in-law’s business practices don’t line up with our…core values. And let’s be honest, your pack isn’t even a pack. Marrying Wren will allow him to assume status as alpha and, by extension, allow Wren’s father, an elder, to have a say in the business of Belle Haven. That cannot happen.”

  Isa’s hackles went up at the word breeding. “I’m not a show dog. I didn’t invite Wren here, but even if I had, it would be on my terms. My mother led this pack for twenty years and I will, too. I’m not giving up my alpha status to a man.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, you will. You must. Do you think if your father had been a wolf, your mother wouldn’t have conceded her right to rule?”

  Isa barked out a laugh. “And what a disaster that would have been. My father cared about his inventions, his gadgets. He spent his life tinkering in the garage. Do you think my dad would have been able to lead a pack? My mother had to remind him to eat. My father was a good man, but he was no leader. Even if he’d inherited the lycan gene, he’d never have been able to run a pack as large as ours used to be.”

  “How are you going to take care of the children, run the pack and the restaurant as well as grow your pack? No, I think it’s best we find you an omega with good genes. Somebody we can groom to take over for you. You are far too temperamental and stubborn to rule.”

  Isa stood from behind her desk, leaning forward, eyes glowing gold. “My mother made elder in her first seven years as an alpha. Nobody, male or female, has that claim. When my mom died—when the Belle Haven pack died—my mother had more alpha’s answering to her than almost any alpha before her. So, how about you cut the bullshit and stop acting like this is just some sexist crap and tell me what your end game is.”

  Allister smiled. “Perhaps you are more like your mother than I gave you credit for. I want nothing more than to ensure that you’re protected. The Grove has plans for you, for this town, I’d hate for them to think that you’re not a team player. That you can’t follow orders. The town is already starting to draw predators. I need a pack who can defend our borders. The Grove will not lose Belle Haven to monsters.”

  Isa sat back in her chair. “It’s a testament to your ability to deceive yourself, that you can sit there pretending that the people you work for aren’t, in fact, the monsters.”

  “Careful, Isa. We all have our part to play. If the Grove thinks you aren’t with them, they’ll remove you as an obstacle. They’ll also remove the children. Never forget why Kai and Tristin remain with you. There are far worse places for them then under your care. And how do you think your brother would fare without you there to keep his emotions in check?”

  Isa kept her face neutral while she pictured a million ways to separate Allister’s head from his neck. “Will you take your son away from me too? He spends more nights with me than he ever has with you. I’m curious, what will you do when you have to look at your son every day, knowing that he’ll never be anything other than human?”

  He sneered at her. “That’s why they invented boarding schools. I loved my wife, and I’ll do what’s necessary to ensure my son’s safety because it’s what she would have wanted, but the only reason Quinn is still in this town is because you took him in. A human is of little use to me. They rarely live long enough to be of use to anybody.”

  Isa shook her head. “You really are the worst kind of person.”

  Allister shrugged, waving his hand dismissively. “I simply do what needs to be done. You’d be smart to do the same.”

  Isa growled low. “It’s foolish to threaten an alpha this close to the full moon.”

  He grinned at her. “Save the theatrics. If you want a mate, let the Grove find you one. As you said, this isn’t about gender; it’s about politics. This game was set in motion long before you were even a gleam in your father’s eye. Concede your alpha status to the omega we choose and spend your life raising your children, even raising my child if it pleases you, just don’t get in my way. I want your betrothed gone by morning. I mean it, Isa.”

  There was a motion in the doorway, and then Neoma was at her side, curling her fingers into Isa’s. Isa tried to show no emotion as a strange current of electricity ran through her and the little girl. She could smell Neoma’s anger as she gazed at the witch with a ferocity Isa found as impressive as it was incongruous. Neoma didn’t even know what a bastard Allister was.

  Allister stared at Neoma with calculated interest, leaning closer almost as if he couldn’t help himself. Isa pulled her closer without thought. “What an extraordinary child,” he said, almost as if he hadn’t realized he’d spoken. “Who might you be?”

  “Neoma,” she told him, her gaze and voice steady.

  Allister looked between the little girl and Isa for a long minute. “Perhaps I was too hasty. Maybe you should get to know your betrothed before we make any decisions. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rhys

  Rhys stumbled into Earth Science with his eyelids at half-mast. He'd been up since Neoma had wandered into his room at around three in the morning declaring that a dragon had slaughtered some hollow people. At the time, he'd simply accepted her at her word, but once she'd gone back to bed, the words had bounced around his brain for hours.

  No matter how many times he replayed her words, they made no sense. Neoma was Belle Haven's very own Riddler, spouting off nonsensical statements as fact. He'd tried to talk to Neoma alone that morning, but Tristin had already claimed the girl. Before he could come up with a plan to extract her from Tristin's ever watchful gaze, Wren had asked him to make a list of plumbing supplies they needed. He'd just run out of time.

  Rhys had survived the morning, but he’d never be able to recall what happened in in algebra or history, even with a gun to his head. His entire world now revolved around Neoma's cryptic statement. The dragon fed the hollow people my blood...and then she killed them. There was no such thing as dragons and Rhys had never heard of any group who called themselves the hollow people.

  He'd promised her that she could trust him. She thought that he could protect her. How was he supposed to watch over her when he didn't even know what it was that wanted to hurt her? This is why his sister constantly saw him as a screw-up.

  Rhys dropped his backpack next to his desk just as the bell rung. He looked around, noting the rows of near empty desks. None of the coven was there. Rhys felt the momentary rush of relief knowing he wouldn't have to deal with Stella and her lackeys. But still, he'd never known anybody within the coven to miss a day, much less the entire coven.

  There were other things that didn't add up. Alex—Mr. Bishop—wasn't at his desk. He was always at his desk by the time the bell rang. Also, the television in the corner was on, the screen blue just waiting for somebody to hit the play button on th
e remote control sitting on Alex's desk.

  Annoyance replaced Rhys’s brief feeling of relief. They obviously had a substitute. Alex never bothered with boring videos; he preferred to bore them face to face, going on and on about things that were only interesting to science nerds and witches. He already knew how this would play out. Some gray-faced old lady—probably Madam Krug—would force them to watch some boring nature documentary on something stupid like the mating rituals of South American tree sloths, and Rhys would pass out five minutes into it, and then they'd send him to the office and the office would call Isa and Isa would lecture him until his brain liquefied and poured out of his ears.

  The door creaked open like something out of a horror movie. Rhys and the five other students turned towards it warily. It was Alex, shuffling like an old man, clutching his thermos with both hands. He looked terrible. His skin was sallow, looking slack on his bones, his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Even his clothes were a mess, his button-down shirt was wrinkled, and Rhys was pretty sure he'd missed a button, his jeans looked baggy and he the ugly brown cardigan he wore had a hole in the elbow.

  "Damn, Mr. B, you look like shit."

  Alex turned glazed eyes to the boy in the back. "Yes, thank you, Aaron."

  Aaron Yi. He was only eleven, but he was taking all eighth-grade classes. He lived with his uncle Jack who owned the only tattoo parlor in Belle Haven, a place called Enchanted Ink. They practiced Tibetan ink magic. He was the youngest—and smartest—boy in their class, maybe even the whole school. Like most of the small group, Aaron had assumed they’d be learning nothing of interest and had moved on to more interesting pursuits. He had a sketch pad out, and he was already drawing.

  Alex brought the cup to his lips, taking a tentative sip, before shuddering. "God, that's awful."

  Rhys stifled a yawn before asking, "You okay, Alex-I mean, Mr. Bishop?"

  The older man rubbed his fingers against his eyes, jaw tense. "Yeah, I think one of the kids gave me the flu or something. I'm not feeling so hot."