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

by Casey Lane

  Now, she stood on Market Street, watching hackneys drive by, their passengers largely comprised of the upper social set. It was halfway through the night – the best time for attending parties – and normally she’d be loitering in the shadows, eavesdropping and gathering blackmail information from the revelers. Not tonight.

  Walking around to the side of the building, she studied the windows that faced the mews. A shutter had been thrown open, and the smell of caramel and fig carried down to her. Found him, she thought with a smirk.

  Quickly, she assessed the side of the building and then scaled the wall. Being nimble, and having claws on demand, was rather helpful at times. The multi-paned glass window was open, and she balanced on the ledge, staring inside.

  A large bed took up the center of the room, with a small grouping of satchels on the floor next to it. Her former alpha stood in a doorway that led presumably to a small bathroom. He’d shed his jacket and shoes, and was wearing just a white shirt and slacks. A single candle illuminated the room beyond him.

  Silently, Ari climbed through the window and stopped just inside. She willed her claws away, hoping they actually obeyed her command.

  “So,” she said into the quiet, “what did you talk about with the duke?”

  Sebastian let out a yelp that had her grinning. He spun around on the balls of his feet, and settled back when he saw it was her. She wiped the humor from her expression; she didn’t want him getting the idea that she might find him amusing. Because she didn’t.

  “I see you let yourself in.”

  Ari breathed shallowly. The delicious scent that radiated from the alpha was stronger in here, and she didn’t want that clouding her senses. “You left the window open. It was practically an invitation.”

  “Breaking and entering is a crime, you know, one that I am told is not looked upon favorably by the vampires in this town.”

  She could feel the sarcasm.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” She folded her arms.

  “Did you ask one?”

  By the blood, she hoped he didn’t have a memory issue. That would make things awkward. What things, she had no idea. She shouldn’t even be thinking beyond this particular conversation. This would be the last time they dealt with each other. It had to be.

  “About what you and the duke spoke about?”

  “Oh, that. Your father and I had an interesting chat.”

  And didn’t that make her jaw drop? “He actually admitted he’s my father?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  Well, the rest of Skarva knew, but she had wanted Sebastian to remain unaware of her connection to the duke, so that he’d do his business – or get kicked out of the estate, anyway – and then depart. And look how that worked out.

  She’d only been fooling herself, anyway. All the aristo circles in Skarva knew that the duke’s daughter had an eyepatch, and Sebastian had seen her wearing one last night. He would have eventually been able to put two and two together, if he’d stuck around long enough. Which she’d hoped he wouldn’t.

  Looks like things were continuing to go her way, as usual.

  Not.

  Chapter Nine

  Sebastian fought to keep the self-satisfied expression from his face. After all, he’d hoped Aria would follow him back to the inn. It’s why he hadn’t bothered looking for her when he left – he’d sensed her eyes on his back, and that she’d be annoyed at his casual attitude.

  Shouldn’t you be worried that she threatened to skin you alive?

  So worried, in fact, that he’d opened his window back at the inn. He’d wanted to make it easier for her to work out which room was his, even though it let the stink of the city in.

  He let his eyes rove up and down her body, noting the still unsheathed claws, the eye patch, her thrown-back hood and braided honey-blonde hair. Did she wear the patch everywhere? Was she annoyed, was that why her claws were still out? Or was she suffering the problem her father had briefly hinted at?

  “So, why’d you follow me home?” He leaned a shoulder against the bathroom door jamb, deliberately looking as calm and relaxed as possible. He even hooked one ankle over another.

  Her eye narrowed. Sebastian wished he could see the bright yellow of her other iris.

  “I told you not to come back.” She took a step forward.

  By the blood, she was a dainty thing, but he could feel the strength radiating from her, her sheer willpower. It was intoxicating.

  No, it isn’t.

  Right. It wasn’t. She was just Aria, a girl with a chip on her shoulder the size of a continent and a whole lot of anger that he partly didn’t, and partly did, deserve.

  “Yes, but I had an invitation from your father. It would have been rude not to make my appointment.”

  Her full lips thinned out into a tight line. “You could have sent your excuses.”

  “I could have, but I didn’t. A person is only as good as their word, and I didn’t want to break mine.”

  Oh, the look on her face. Priceless. The sheer anger as he implied that her word was worth nothing, since his pelt wasn’t mounted on her wall.

  And there it was. The skin on her hand flickering, fur appearing and then receding. He hadn’t ever seen a were with that kind of loss of control. If the animal slipped its leash, it usually resulted in a completely turned limb, or extremity. Or a whole body shift. Not just rippling skin.

  “You want me to skin you? Because I will.” She waved her clawed hand in the air.

  He shrugged. “I have things to do, places to be. Not having to regrow my skin would be a bonus.”

  A brief tightening of her eyebrows. “Uh, I wasn’t implying you’d survive the experience.”

  He would, though. It just wouldn’t be fun. “That would be a shame. I do like living.”

  She rolled her eye. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

  “Sure.”

  Ninety-nine percent of the time. Just not with her, apparently.

  “So what did my father want to talk about?”

  She was persistent, he’d have to give her that. Tonight, she only had two topics of conversation: what had he talked about with her father; and that she wanted to skin him. He wished her attention would turn to something else, like maybe getting naked – no! – or telling him everything about her – wait, almost as bad – or just having a cup of tea – that was better, but tea? Really?

  What was wrong with him?

  Maybe that she was smart, beautiful, strong, and hot-headed. All the things he liked in a potential lover.

  No. Not a potential lover. Do we have to have a talk?

  Great. Even his conscience thought he was being an ass.

  All right. While he was enjoying riling her with his evasiveness, he didn’t want to annoy her so much she left. They needed to talk. That was it. Talk. Nothing else. “He wanted to know if I had anything to do with Nick’s death.”

  Her stare flattened. “So you lied to him.”

  He stood up straight. “I told him the truth.”

  “That you ordered the kill?”

  “That I had nothing to do with it. That they planned and executed it without me.” He fought a wince. That was a bad choice of words.

  “Oh, you sound upset that you were left out.”

  “That’s true. Because I would have stopped it, if I’d known.”

  “Look at you, acting the hero.”

  “You asked what your father and I talked about, that was it. It’s not my fault that you don’t like it.”

  She clenched her fists, then hissed, ever-so-slightly. The scent of blood, iron-rich and heady, burst into the air. She’d cut herself. Without thinking, Sebastian closed the distance between them and grabbed her hands. He forced her fingers open and stared at the cuts.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said, but she didn’t snatch her hands away.

  “Did you forget your claws were out?” His fingers gentle, he explored the wounds. And boy, was he surprised to see t
he flesh knitting itself back together as he watched. Weres could heal fast, but this was off the scale in terms of speed. Soon, there were just patches of blood smeared on her fingers and palms, the skin as good as new. Not even a faint scar remained.

  Her chin jutted. “No.”

  “So you deliberately cut yourself?”

  “No.”

  He let go of her hands before she could jerk them back, which he figured she’d been about to do. “Do you realize your answers are contradictory?”

  “Yes.”

  It seemed she was down to one-syllable responses. Lucky him. Having a discussion with a brick wall might prove more fruitful. But he was enjoying himself a little too much, despite the conversational angst.

  “There was one other thing your father might have mentioned.” He strolled around her, pretending to size her up. For what, he let her guess, too busy telling himself not to think about how adorable she looked with her eyepatch, snapping eye, and firm mouth. Or how he wanted to untie her braid and thread his fingers through that honey-colored satin.

  Think with your head, not your cock.

  Trouble was, his head was doing most of the thinking.

  She swiveled on the spot, following his movements. “What else did you discuss?”

  So, she was back to full sentences.

  “How often do you forget your claws are out?”

  “Not very.”

  “Hrm.” He tapped his chin.

  “It doesn’t happen all that often.” That was a tad too defensive.

  “And how often does your skin do that?” He pointed at the back of her hand, at the patches of fur.

  She tugged down her sleeve. “Rarely.”

  More like every day, he thought. That kind of loss of control…

  “Do you ever fully shift?”

  “What?”

  “Do you ever go fully wolf?” He knew she could. Or rather, he knew she had been able to as a child, unlike her brothers. It wasn’t uncommon for an albino child born to weres not to be able to shift; if a child had pink eyes, they likely had a different kind of ability, one that had nothing to do with being a were.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  So in other words, no, she didn’t shift. He frowned. That wasn’t good. Weres were as much their animals as they were human. To cage one half of you…Well, that wasn’t healthy. It would be like a vampire trying not to drink blood. It was physically necessary for survival.

  He had to do something to show her how dangerous her lack of control was – and how harmful it was to trap her wolf.

  Chapter Ten

  Sebastian was looking at her strangely.

  His eyes were narrowed, his face serious for once, and he was tapping his foot. It was bad enough being trapped in the room with him, his scent everywhere, and his sheer presence almost overwhelming. It made her a little light-headed, drunk. She didn’t know why the fragrance affected her the way it did, or why his good looks registered when she should notice nothing more than his duplicitous heart. But they did, and she didn’t like it.

  It spoke of a loss of control, and that was something she couldn’t ever allow. As it was, her wolf slipped its leash far too frequently for her own personal safety. She couldn’t allow it free rein, or others would get hurt.

  Although, would hurting Sebastian be a bad thing?

  Why did she even bother asking herself that question? Of course it wouldn’t be. She had promised to mount his pelt on a wall, after all. And from her childhood memory, he had very nice fur: jet-black, with red undertones. She’d enjoy lying on it in front of a fire, while he writhed in pain as his skin regrew.

  “I don’t see how your turning wolf is a private matter. Weres are pack animals, after all.”

  “I don’t live in a pack.”

  He rolled his eyes. “No shit. You live with vampires.”

  “Because living with a pack worked out so well for me the last time, didn’t it?” He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but she cut him off. “And, I’m half vampire, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “How could I forget with that purple eye glaring at me?”

  “It will keep glaring until you leave town.”

  “Don’t want to kill me anymore?”

  “Of course I do.” But even she could hear how the statement lacked the venom of the night before. Was she already relenting? A few soft words and a look of regret and she’d forget what had happened to Mama, to Nick?

  No.

  She was stronger than that.

  They deserved more. Xavier deserved more.

  “Prove it.” Then Sebastian was right in front of her, moving so fast she barely spotted the movement.

  “You want me to rip your head off? Because I’m more than happy to do it.” She forced a grin. The thing was, she might threaten to murder him every five minutes, but she hadn’t actually ever killed anyone. Until now, she hadn’t had the stomach for it.

  Blackmail, bribe, bully, pester…yes, she’d done all of those. Even physically hurt a person or twenty. But never kill. It had always felt like a betrayal to her family, because they had died at the hands of others. She hadn’t wanted to do that to anyone else’s sister, or brother, or parents. She knew the pain all too well. However, she might be able to make an exception to her rule, just for him.

  His yellow eyes glowed. “Then do it.”

  When she didn’t move, he gave a low growl and surged forward, his mouth coming down on hers, freezing her in shock, even as her blood began to boil in her veins.

  His lips were so soft, like silk, and the hot slide of his tongue against her closed mouth had her heart racing with something more than anger. Surely not? It couldn’t be lust. No. Her body wouldn’t mutiny like that. When his arms closed around her, something snapped and she jolted out of his hold – but not before she bit down on his wandering, jerk of a tongue.

  “Ow!”

  The taste of his blood in her mouth was even worse than the kiss. Flailing on the spot, arms cartwheeling like a drunk circus performer, she tried to get a grip on her emotions, on reality. But his blood flooded her taste buds, and it was the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten. Better than caramel. Better than figs. Better even than chocolate. She retched, trying to get the flavor out of her mouth.

  Now he looked annoyed. “It was not that bad.”

  It wasn’t her blood in his mouth, so he wouldn’t know. Shit, she could still taste it, and that just made her want more. She eyed the artery in his neck like it was the last meal she’d ever eat. And boy, was she starving.

  What was wrong with her?

  “Your fangs are out.”

  The scent in the room changed, became darker, more sensual, a hint of something overriding his normal aroma. Instantly, she knew what it was, and where it came from.

  He wanted her.

  Her.

  Not just to kiss and torment, but to bed. And no, he wasn’t going to have her. No way. Not ever. But her body was reacting, warming, the resistance in her draining, and her…no. She wasn’t even going to think about what was happening in the downstairs department.

  This wasn’t right.

  Then he was standing next to her again, all bronze skin and tasty, tasty blood. “Also, your fur is out.”

  Glancing down, she trembled. Her claws were unsheathed, and a thick pelt covered her hands.

  “When you get home, shift, if you can. I think that will help you. Your wolf is part of you. If you never let her loose, you’ll cripple her, and she’ll fight you. It’s what’s happening now. You lose control, and then she’s there, wanting out.”

  Shock ripped through her. A demonstration, that’s what the kiss had been. No matter that it had aroused them both. That, she realized, had been an accidental side-effect. Her gaze flew to his, and she was horrified by the understanding she saw there. So that was why her father had asked him here. To help with her little ‘problem’.

  Well, no one could help her. Because she wasn’t fix
able.

  They’d just have to learn that the hard way.

  Chapter Eleven

  Subject 2013 had been in the Grumpy Bear Inn for an awfully long time. That puzzled Naomi Castle, because she’d never seen the vampire visit a were before, and she’d been trailing the Duke of Ashes’ daughter for long time now...

  Of course, Subject 2013 wasn’t who she’d actually come to Skarva to find, but that’s how things play out sometimes.

  Naomi had originally been drawn to the city by a rumor. The Duchess of Ravens had been understood to have a ‘special’ daughter, with eyes so dark a purple they could be Black. No one had seen the child in years, though, so no one could corroborate the tale.

  And Naomi needed verification, because no one – no one – had Black eyes.

  There was a universal truth in her world: that people with eye colors other than Brown, yellow or purple were different. Very few individuals were meant to know that, of course, that was the whole point of being part of a secret race: the Graced.

  The Graced only had three – well, technically four – eye colors: Gray, like Naomi, Blue and Green. Each color dictated what a person could do, because each color reflected their psychic powers. Marcia, Naomi’s Blue-eyed sister, was an empath, and Faith, her Green-eyed sibling, was a telepath. Naomi, well, she had telekinesis. There were also Hazels – halfbreeds like her brother Fin – but they didn’t really count. They were also largely ignored, provided they didn’t develop any psychic powers.

  Any color other than that? Well, her ancestors had been wiping out the mutations for generations. It’s why albino children, with their Pink eyes, were killed at birth, a command that had been psychically imprinted on people for so long that they just acted on the rule, even if they didn’t want to.

  Naomi, personally, didn’t like the idea of murdering babies: let them grow into adults, and then assess the threat then. She didn’t exactly agree with the idea of immortal Graceds either, which was what would happen if an albino was born to a were or vampire, but she wasn’t about to kill a baby because of it.