What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 9)

by Kristine Cayne

  She took another step forward and then she saw it. A slight flickering in the distance, maybe fifty feet away. Black and thick and deep—but still less dark than the darkness devouring her in the tunnels.

  It was the pulsing energy of the night beaming through an open door. A slight movement of air and dust against the night sky. She had to make a choice: either find her way to the open door and hope there was nothing waiting for her there. Or walk back towards the bedroom and count on the right vampire winning the fight.

  Both were terrifying choices.

  Like tossing a coin in the air and knowing you were lost no matter what side turned up.

  Maybe if she found one of the secret rooms along the tunnel, she could hide in there until things calmed down. Except she had been walking down the tunnels for a while and hadn’t come across any doors—or maybe she had but she hadn’t realized it.

  A bang against the sliding door on the bedroom wall made her jump. Somebody was trying to open it.

  She ran her palm over the wall, somewhat hoping there would be a sliding door right there where she was standing. The walls remained silent and obscure, the whispering of the night ticking along all around her.

  Another bang. Louder and this time accompanied by raging wailing. Rabids. They were inside the compound and trying to fight their way into the tunnels.

  That was when she decided to run towards the night. Whatever was out there, it was probably no worse than what was waiting for her inside the compound. And at least out there she had a chance to make a run for it.

  She took a deep breath, tried to focus her eyes on the promise of light in the distance and took off. It was a half-hearted run, but only because she couldn’t see where she was going and the ground was too uneven to attempt a full run.

  From forty feet away, the night was calling to her with open arms.

  Thirty.

  Twenty.

  And then she tripped on something and fell forward.

  She swallowed the scream rising in her throat as her hands reached forward and found a body. It was too dark to tell what it was. Probably not human, down there in the tunnels. That still left her with too many questions—the biggest one being “friend or foe?”

  Because if this was a vampire who had died protecting the tunnels, it meant the enemy could be just steps ahead of her, crouched into the darkness waiting for her to walk right into it.

  She got up, stepping over the body. The tunnels were so narrow in that area, she could touch both sides without completely stretching her arms.

  The sound of bodies banging against metal reverberated along the tunnels. Any second now, the door would explode open and then the rabids would be on her, hungry and raging and ready for the kill. With her hands on the walls serving as guides, she tore down the rest of the tunnel, straight towards the night.

  The second she stepped into the open air, the explosion of sounds assaulted her. The wind howled around the walls and into the barren landscape. She turned around to see the flames extending over the walls. Wailings of war, mixed with the sounds of humans screaming and doors being razed down, filled the night. She was alone outside the compound.

  It was a ghastly sight and her first instinct was to try to run back in and find the people she knew.

  Except that she wouldn’t last half a minute among the rows of fangs and claws tearing at everything human inside.

  So instead she took a tentative step towards one of the corners of the compound. How big was the place? Her car stood somewhere outside the walls, waiting for her. She had no idea if the keys would be in it and for all she knew the compound was miles long and she was right on the opposite side of the gate.

  Her only source of light was the tongues of fire lapping over the walls. She walked towards the closest bend in the walls and took a deep breath before peeking around the corner. Empty. The walls extended at least six hundred feet into the night before they curved again in the opposite direction.

  She considered crouching down or crawling along the wall, but it would take too long to reach the next corner that way. She didn’t know how much time she had until the inside of the compound was gone and the vampires would step back into the night outside.

  It’s now or never, her mind warned her. She took off sprinting, her left arm as close to the wall as possible to help the shadows hide her.

  By the time she reached the next corner, she was out of breath. Not so much from the running but from the adrenaline rushing through her. Sounds around her seemed to swell and grow, echoing into her ears and down into her chest.

  Eyes closed, breath uneven, she poked her head around the corner, praying her car would be there.

  When she opened her eyes, her heart skipped a beat. Her car was sitting right near the gate, just a few feet away from where she had left it before walking into the compound. Before her legs gave out or she changed her mind, she began sprinting towards it. When she found the door open and was able to jump in without trouble, a small beat of hope flashed in front of her eyes.

  The roaring of the fire was deafening, leaping and reaching over and under the gate. All she was hoping for at the moment was that the sound was loud enough to hide the engine of a car.

  As she switched the engine on, she glanced into the rearview mirror. The world was crumbling. In a few hours, the entire inside of the compound would be consumed by the fire. If any of the humans inside made it past the night, they’d be left to starve in the middle of nowhere, at the mercy of the four-legged predators and any rabids sick enough to venture out in daylight.

  The road ahead was dark and full of uncertainty. Stepping down on the gas as far as it would go, she tried to concentrate on the actual driving. But her mind kept flying back to the compound and the horror taking place there as she ran away from it all. As she once more turned her back on humanity.

  Images of Marcus returning to a destroyed compound looped around her mind as she sped down the highway.

  She looked in the rearview mirror again, the compound a bright beacon of fire in the night. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, her mind whispered.

  “I love you too, Marcus,” she said aloud.

  Even if that meant damning her soul to hell.

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  About the Author

  Diana Bocco spends a lot of time thinking about vampires, warlocks and other dark creatures. Some end up in her horror books, while others have sexier destinies waiting for them.

  Diana also writes nonfiction books. She currently lives in Prague with three awesome – but slightly crazy – dogs.

  Learn more about her by visiting her website at www.dianaboccobooks.com

  Under His Kilt

  Melissa Blue

  Copyright © 2013 Melissa Blue

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

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Melissa Blue

  Jocelyn Pearson is determined to spend her last month as a twenty-something doing everything she’s too busy or scared to try. Her imagination runs wild and then fixates on Ian Baird. He’ll be working at the La
ngston Museum for a short stint as a consulting curator. He’s Scottish. He believes sex is fun to be had. He’s the perfect choice for a fling. She only has to get him break his rule about sleeping with co-workers. Seducing a man was on her bucket list…

  Ian is no one’s fool and knows exactly what Jocelyn wants—him. If she didn’t work for the Langston Museum, he’d be more than happy to oblige any and every fantasy she desired, but she’s the curator. She’s sweet, inexperienced and well liked by everyone including the museum owner and director. Ian can’t risk losing such an important contact for his consulting business. Not even when everything within in him craves a taste of her.

  When Jocelyn sets her sights on him, there’s no way Ian can deny her. They agree their affair will end in thirty days. No emotions, no entanglements, just sex. The closer the end date looms, they start to question if it’s possible to walk away. They’ll either have to come to terms of what they’ve become or stick to their original agreement.

  Chapter One

  “Not one kilt anywhere?” Flabbergasted by this notion, Jocelyn Pearson stared at Ian Baird. Her sort of boss stood across the museum’s expansive storage basement. She tried to wrap her mind around the busted myth and couldn’t.

  “When I think of Scotland,” she continued, “I imagine men wear kilts like men in America wear jeans. Casual. No muss. No fuss.”

  Her ramble teased a smile out of Ian and put another crack in his impenetrable façade. She held her breath for a three count and let it out slowly to contain the primitive surge of attraction. A month and still that simple facial tick made her want to launch herself at him.

  Big wooden crates filled the dark room below the small museum. The crates separated them, but didn’t seem like much of an obstacle when all she wanted was to close the distance.

  “I’m not saying you can’t find one.” The sensuous curve of his lips could have tempted a saint. “It’s just not everyday wear. Before you ask, we also wear boxers when we do.”

  His words implied he’d worn a kilt.

  Oh, God.

  Ian in a kilt…drool. Her skin tightened and flushed beneath her soft cotton dress shirt. She’d never seen him out of his uniform of a slate gray slacks, dark suit jacket, white dress shirt and black tie. The expensive silk clung to thick, sculpted muscles, but she couldn’t help but picture him in a Cameron Clan plaid. Absolutely commando—no matter what he said—just waiting for the right breeze to lift up the material and expose just a bit more of him.

  She balled her hands. Her fingertips itched to trace the seam of his mouth. “Next you’re going to tell me there’s no Santa or Easter Bunny.”

  His blue-gray irises darkened and his nostrils flared. “Aye. Your parents lied. Those fuckers don’t exist.” He spoke low, husky with just a hint of a Scottish burr.

  Her high heels rasped over the concrete floor as she shifted another step from him. “Good, because I planned to be naughty this year.”

  Tension rippled through his frame. No doubt with the coil of muscles that made up his sleek physique he could have vaulted over the row of crates if he wanted to. “You? Naughty? Aye, right.”

  She liked that they’d built up a rapport, and because they had, Jocelyn grinned at his perplexed expression from her announcement. “Aye. Naughty. Me.”

  He grunted out a soft tut. “Not like ‘oy.’ You’re not hurting. Just say ‘I’ like I went to the shop.”

  She tried again. Her effort to infuse a false burr coaxed out his low rumble of laughter. “Good, Lass.”

  His accent only thickened the few times she’d seen him frustrated. So she smiled at his teasing. His brow lifted but he flipped through the inventory list. That action reminded her why they were there. Her job involved ensuring he was satisfied with every last detail—from receiving the shipment to the display in the small Californian museum.

  The responsibilities included having the right security, lighting and placement for the priceless objects when the Langston Museum had its unveiling in four weeks. Ian, the head of the traveling exhibit, had to ensure everything displayed was authentic, in one piece and stayed that way until shipped to the next destination. That made him her boss, of sorts, as liaison to the Langston and his pet project.

  He inspired the kind of fantasies that she wished… Fixing her mind back on work, Jocelyn dropped the subject. The shipment had come in late and it would be a long work night, not one filled with what ifs.

  “Naughty?” he asked, circling back to a topic she assumed he’d left alone.

  Caught off guard, she blurted out, “Um, I’m twenty-nine.”

  His gaze lifted from the paperwork, and he waited silently for her to explain the tangent. She added, “I’ll be thirty on the day of the opening.”

  She blew out a breath and tried to explain her current insanity. “There’s a lot I haven’t done and I plan to do it this year. Consider it my mid-life crisis. I’m thinking of all the things I should have experienced by now, and looking down the barrel of thirty, I damn well plan to do them.”

  He made a soft sound. “Like?”

  “Drink the worm in the tequila bottle,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked, sounding confused.

  She’d spent the previous ten years getting the right degrees, the right internships, jobs and contacts. She didn’t have a moment to take a step back and live. Every single one of those moments had been spent getting her here.

  Maybe in a year or two she’d get a chance to travel but she couldn’t wait another moment to…let loose for a little while. She felt brittle and old already. All she needed were pearls, a cardigan sweater and a knitting circle of friends.

  But, Ian hadn’t asked for all that. “What did you do on your 21st birthday?”

  His head tilted back and a glint shone in his gaze. “Don’t remember most of it.”

  “Exactly,” she said with barely contained excitement. “Plan to do the same kind of celebrating for my thirtieth.”

  “It’s not so bad,” he muttered.

  She frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Turning thirty isn’t so bad.”

  He didn’t look that much older than her, but she inspected him for any real tells of age. Laugh lines grooved along the skin around his mouth. Lush black strands curled around the collar of his suit jacket. Not a gray hair to speak of. He couldn’t be that much older, but she couldn’t tell at a glance. He had a poise that made him seem mature, earthy.

  She pursed her lips. “Still, I’m planning to ring it in with a bang.”

  His gaze met hers for another tense moment. The hairs at the nape of her neck rose and her breathing deepened. His hand tightened on the clipboard, but he made a noncommittal noise and focused on the list again.

  Jocelyn blinked. No, she hadn’t imagined that moment, but she ignored the tension pregnant with possibility. Nothing should or would break through the invisible and unspoken boundary they’d drawn up weeks ago. A boundary that wavered with just a heated glance.

  Finally, he handed her the clipboard. “All there?” she asked.

  “Nothing out of place. Let’s work our way from the back to the front.” Ian picked up the crowbar from a table covered with other tools without losing stride.

  He stopped at the first lot taken off the truck, put down the crowbar and began to loosen his tie and jacket. He flipped up the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up his forearms. Yup, bronzed skin. Miles worth of golden skin tanned, not from any Scottish sun but from his travels around the world. Sinew. Sexy. Yup, she had to grip the clipboard and hope that would be enough to rein in the urge to jump him.

  “What’s first on your list?” he asked.

  Find a lover. Preferably someone with a Scottish accent. “I’ve never had a drunken Karaoke night,” she said without a hitch in her voice.

  “The key is getting as wrecked as possible. Otherwise, it’s not half as fun.” With expertise and precision, he pried off the nailed-down lid. “Read it off.”

  She
told him what should be in there; he nodded and put the top back on. “And then?” She looked down at the clipboard and he tutted. “Your list,” he said.

  Have my lover do everything I couldn’t think to ask for. “Skydiving.”

  “Exhilarating,” he said.

  They followed the same process of him opening the lid and having her read off the clipboard. He had some opinion to give on everything else on her personal list. So much so, Jocelyn wondered how he’d react if she blurted out, “have sex with you,” but then her palms dampened more. That would be insane, impulsive, passionate…everything she’d never been.

  Chuck it all. Blurt it out. She considered the words, bit her lip for a second and then asked, “What haven’t you done?”

  And then he smiled again—the one that made her panties wet and had her one step away from throwing herself at him.

  “A gentleman never tells.”

  Oh. Oh. She had to know. And it wasn’t her imagination that could see he wanted to tell her what a gentleman should never repeat.

  “Uh—um.” Jocelyn cleared her throat and the soft sound feathered over Ian’s senses. “You always answer my questions.”

  “I do,” he agreed but didn’t elaborate. The storage room held a chill. Her nipples beaded against the starched-white shirt. He blew out the breath he’d been holding.

  “Why stop now?”

  Because he’d been listening for it, Ian heard the unfettered passion in her voice and that right there was why—self-preservation. “Some things you don’t share with a lady.” He paused and then smiled. “Unless you’re about to do those same things to her.”

  Her skin, a shade of the darkest honey he’d ever seen, flushed. She bit down on her lip and broke the gaze. “That’s fair.”

  And that’s why he hadn’t touched her. She was innocent in all the ways he’d ruin. But, Joce…had a way about her. Sharp and a little stubborn. That keen gaze was on him now, drinking in his every movement. The past few weeks it had grown harder to ignore the unquenchable desire he saw there. Younger, dumber and having been raised in a bachelor pad, Ian wouldn’t have cared. He’d have made it his mission to see how much it took to sate her. He’d since learned fucking coworkers always ended badly.