Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

by Rebecca Hamilton

  How could I call myself a real husband when only a day ago some brute had his hands wrapped around her neck? How could I ever let her out of my sight again knowing that he wanted her dead in order to protect the rest of the world? How could I trust myself not to tear through every city in every country looking for him, hunting him, waiting for my chance to rip his throat out for hurting the woman I loved?

  When it was over, we were both shaking but somehow I knew we would be okay in spite of everything that had happened. I slid onto my side, pulled her lithe body against me, and wrapped my arms around her. She pressed her ear against my chest and went still, listening to my heartbeat and my breathing. She loved the sound. She told me it made her feel safe more so than anything else I did. I loved that something so simple made her feel at home with me, as stupid as that may sound. Maybe that was why we were perfect for each other. We were both weirdos.

  She fell asleep first, as she usually did, and I rested for a while before getting up. I took a brief shower and then leaned against the doorjamb for a bit, watching her. She had always been a heavy sleeper and that worked just fine for me because I often liked to sneak out into the den to practice my guitar or watch TV late at night. It wasn’t until this moment that I realized how small and delicate she could be. Jordan always wore a thick metaphorical armor when she was awake. Growing up with an abusive aunt gave her the ability to take a lot of punishment, both physical and emotional, without breaking. She didn’t open up to people easily and she always expected them to hurt her, but over time she had learned that there were some people she could trust.

  Jordan shifted and the comforter inched downward, exposing one corner of the scar on her chest. A wave of anger flowed through me, tightening the muscles along my shoulders. To her, the scar was a reminder of how dangerous the demons could be, but to me, it was a territorial mark. Belial had staked his claim on her and he would stop at nothing to take her away. Our brief phone conversation had not gone well, which was why I hadn’t slept for most of the night.

  I had been at my apartment, using my laptop to research theories of the supposed Apocalypse, when my cell phone rang. I checked it, not wanting to be bothered unless it was important, only to find that it was Gabriel. Probably with news. Hopefully good news.

  “Hello?”

  “Michael.”

  I froze. The voice on the other end was not gentle and friendly like my brother’s. It was cold, dry, and sinister. Only one person could embody those things so perfectly. No, not a person. A demon.

  “Belial. Why do you have my brother’s phone?”

  “There’s been an…incident.”

  Ice water filled my veins, chilling me to the core. His words confirmed the rotten feeling in my gut. I had hoped it was just anxiety or a stomachache, but deep down, I had known something was wrong.

  “What incident?”

  “The rogue angel broke into Gabriel’s room and attacked Jordan.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to quell the sickening wave of panic that arose inside me upon hearing his words. “How is she?”

  “She survived, but she’s very weak. Gabriel went off in pursuit of the angel and left her with me. She should be coming around momentarily.”

  I opened my eyes. A different feeling flowed through my veins now. Very different. “What do you mean he left her with you?”

  “I assume Gabriel did this because he does not trust me and wants to hear a firsthand account of the rogue angel’s plight rather than one from me. He gave me his phone and told me to call you with Jordan’s status. There is no need for concern.”

  “No need for concern?” I snapped. “The last time you were alone with my wife, you tried to rape her and turn her into your servant. Why the hell should I even believe you?”

  Belial sighed, sounding tired. “How else would I have gotten this phone? There is no reason for me to lie to you now, Michael. We are working together, temporarily, and that should afford me some sort of leeway with your trust. I swear to you that Jordan is safe.”

  “Good,” I replied in a low, tight voice. “Because I want to make one thing clear—if you harm one hair on her head, I won’t care about the pact we made. I will fly to Cleveland and I will rip you in half, you sniveling metrosexual bastard.”

  He laughed and it was drier than sandpaper. “Colorful. But I assure you, my intentions are nothing but pure. I want to find this angel just as much as you do and I will not cross you until this ordeal is over. Maybe then we can settle our affairs like men.”

  “What affairs? You have no chance with her, demon. Get that through your head.”

  “So you say. But I’m not the one who is hundreds of miles away from the woman I love when she needs me. Farewell.”

  He hung up. It took nearly all of my strength not to smash the phone to bits and order a ticket on the first thing smoking to Cleveland. Belial was right. He would gain nothing by breaking his word and hurting Jordan. He’d bide his time. But that didn’t mean I would.

  I was drawn out of my thoughts when Jordan stirred again. Her eyelids fluttered and those dark chocolate eyes of hers wandered around the room, settling on me. She pushed a cloud of black hair out of her face and sleepily mumbled, “Amor?”

  The Spanish had been my idea. Before we were married, Jordan rarely ever spoke it even though she was bilingual. She had told me the language reminded her too much of her aunt and her mother, but I encouraged her to come to terms with her violent past and accept it as a part of her. Thus, gradually, she began speaking it more. At first she only used it in the bedroom, which I didn’t mind, then eventually it became like a habit between us. I also couldn’t help thinking about how her mother and Andrew Bethsaida had done something similar. He called her Cat and she called him “mi amor.” Years later and we had somehow managed to echo them.

  “Hey,” I said, giving her a short kiss on the lips after I walked to her side of the bed.

  She patted the mattress. “Come back to bed.”

  “Can’t. You have to be at work in an hour.”

  Jordan groaned, pressing her face into one of the pillows. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Why are you such a killjoy?”

  “I’m not a killjoy. I’m just being responsible.”

  She lifted her head, poking me in the shoulder as she sang, “Every party needs a pooper, that’s why we invited you, party poo-per! Party poo-per!”

  I shook my head, trying not to laugh, and kissed her again. “Get up, lazy bum. You need to take a shower or Lauren will tease you about smelling like me again.”

  “No,” she said, sliding her legs to the edge of the bed. “She’ll tease me about smelling like sex. Don’t ask me how she knows that but she does.”

  Jordan stood up, stark naked, and stretched, which distracted me for a full six seconds before I caught myself. She found her robe hanging off one edge of the bed frame and put it on, hiding all her lovely skin and curves, much to my disappointment.

  I watched her sift through a drawer in the dresser for some clothes before venturing to ask a question. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, stud.”

  “Does this whole situation make you think any differently about the wedding or moving in with me?”

  Her shoulders tensed. I was taking a big risk. The wedding ceremony and the apartment situation were hot-button issues I usually tried to avoid, but I had honestly gotten tired of waiting for an answer. I needed to know why she was avoiding both topics—for the sake of my own sanity, at the very least.

  “Michael,” she started with a sigh. “Is this really the best time to talk about that?”

  “Yes, it is,” I said, pushing off of the bed to face her. She wore a guarded expression as she stared up at me.

  “Jordan, you could have died yesterday. Life is short. Shorter than you know. Why can’t you just commit to doing this with me?”

  “It’s not that simple—”

  “Then make it simple,” I interrupted. “Explain it to me. Why don’t
you want the wedding?”

  “I do want a wedding, I just…” She looked away, crossing her arms beneath her chest.

  I took a deep breath to calm my temper. “Just what?”

  “It’s so…official.”

  “Official?”

  She brushed her hair away from her face again, a nervous habit. “Yes. It’s like the whole world will know and be able to judge us—to judge whether we have what it takes to make this work or not. It’s a statement. I can’t take it back once it’s done. I mean, I can’t do that anyway and I don’t want to, but I feel like it’s the last thing that’ll be gone from my old life.”

  I let out a snort. “Yes, because we both know that was glorious.”

  She glared at me. “Yeah, but it was still my life. Now it’s our life. And I know I should be used to that by now, but I’m not. I’m still scared of being yours completely.”

  “Why the hell would you be scared of that?”

  “Because…I…” She threw up her hands, starting to walk away.

  “I can’t do this right now.”

  I put my arm out in front of her so she couldn’t brush past me into the bathroom.

  “Finish the sentence, Jordan.”

  “Michael—”

  “Finish it.”

  “Because I’m scared you’ll come to your senses!” she shouted finally.

  I went silent momentarily, shocked. “What?”

  “Michael, you are so sweet and funny and handsome and perfect that I’m scared that once we’ve made everything official, you’ll realize what a complete nut job I am and you’ll run screaming for your life,” she said, refusing to look at me.

  “And I’m scared of living with you because then I’ll have nothing left to hide in. No more secrets, nothing. You’ll find out everything about me and I’m scared you won’t like it. There. Happy now?”

  She wouldn’t meet my gaze so I touched her chin, lifting her face. “Jor.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What?”

  I smiled to soften the blow of my blunt words. “I’ve fought in more battles than I care to count. I’ve seen men and angels die in the most horrifying ways. I’ve seen people butcher each other just for the hell of it. There isn’t anything depraved or terrible on this Earth that I haven’t seen. I’m pretty sure I can handle your crazy ass.”

  She gave me a look that was a cross between a scowl and a smirk. “I cannot believe you just mocked my psychological trauma.”

  I let the smile stretch into a grin, then kissed her. “You’re damn right I did. You’re being silly. I want to know every awful insecure thing about you. That’s why I married you. I wouldn’t be here if I wanted a perfect woman. There isn’t one.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. O’Brien.”

  “I beg to differ, Mrs. O’Brien.”

  “Jordan O’Brien. It still sounds weird as hell to me. Now can I go take my shower?”

  “You can…after you tell me what’s really bothering you.”

  Her brows bunched into another frown. “What d’you mean? I just told you.”

  “And you weren’t lying. I know that much. But there’s something else you’re not telling me. You wouldn’t hold back just because you’re scared of losing me. What is it?”

  She brushed past me and sat on the bed, staring at the floor. Ice filled the pit of my stomach. I leaned against the dresser, expecting the worst.

  “This mission we’re on…I think it means more to me than it does to you.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “You’ve been in this fight since the beginning of time. I’m twenty-three. I’ve only been a Seer for five years. Because of that, I’ve always felt like it’s my responsibility to be someone worthy of being married to the Commander of Heaven’s Army.”

  I opened my mouth to interrupt, but she held up her hand. “Let me finish. I need to become stronger. I need to prove that I can handle the pressure that comes along with living this life. I have to earn it for myself. That’s why I’ve pushed myself so hard. That’s also why I’ve been keeping you at a distance. I wanted you to see that I can make the same hard decisions and sacrifices that are expected of you every day.”

  She met my gaze and there was firm resolve in her brown eyes. “Does that make any sense to you?”

  I nodded, walking over to her. “Yeah, it does. But don’t forget how far you’ve come. You’ve already made some of the hardest choices anyone in this life will ever have to face. And you’re not in this alone. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Now go take your shower.” I pressed one final kiss to her lips and then she got up. The bathroom door shut and I knew that my gamble had been worth it.

  After grabbing a shirt out of the drawer, I went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee because I knew she’d want some when she came out of the shower. She had gotten here shortly after ten o’clock and we had been in bed for a couple of hours. Her shift started at one o’clock and Colton, her boss, would be irritated if she came in late again. I had to admit her recent tardiness was partially my fault. Well, mostly my fault. Entirely. Whatever.

  I didn’t have to work today, but I had to meet with my band for rehearsal. The sessions usually lasted anywhere from two to four hours—it was only four hours if Casey brought alcohol with her, which she did about sixty percent of the time—so I would be occupied for most of the day. They were expecting me in the next hour, which meant I had time to eat lunch and make one important stop before I got there.

  Jordan’s fridge was always stocked with great food, but I was a low maintenance kind of guy. I survived mainly on pizza, Chinese takeout, the occasional sub sandwich, and asparagus.

  Yes, I know, one of those things is not like the other, but for some reason, I was completely addicted to it. Raphael had brought me some once and from then on I always had a heaping pile stuffed inside a clear grocery bag in the refrigerator drawer. Jordan hated them, told me they tasted like wet sticks, but she even kept a stash for me at her place for when I spent the night.

  I scooped four stalks out of the drawer and stood there, chewing on them, feeling remarkably like an off-brand version of Bugs Bunny, as I leafed through the bills. Money wasn’t a big deal for the archangels on earth. We all knew each other and if anyone fell on hard times, he or she had someone to back them up. If things got too bad, Gabriel would step in, as he was an extremely wealthy man, and help out. If I’d wanted the life of the upper class, I could probably have it, but I liked where I was at the moment. Except for the not-getting-signed-by-a-label thing. There were angels in the music biz, but I refused to let my status interfere. For once, I’d do things the human way.

  I ate a couple of cold slices of pizza, downed a soda, and packed up my guitar, my sheet music, my ratty lyric notebook, and stuffed my keys and wallet in my pocket. Jordan reappeared with one of my shirts on. For a moment, I wondered if she really had to be at work and then mentally slapped myself. She was already in enough trouble with her boss.

  “I’ll meet you at the restaurant when your shift ends,” I told her, tugging her forward by the shirttail.

  She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed me. “It’s a date. Be safe.”

  I leaned my forehead against hers, my voice serious. “You too.”

  With that, I headed for the bus.

  * * *

  GABRIEL’S OFFICE HAD a lot of windows. An unnervingly large number. Maybe I had watched too many movies, but it always made me think something would come flying through one of them and attack whomever was inside. He owned several different businesses and charities in many states so he always set up an office for himself to make things easier when he had to stay in one region for an extended period of time. His job was mercurial: some days, he was an entrepreneur, a handsome face in an impeccable business suit; other days, he would ro
ll up the expensive sleeves of his shirt and help deliver babies in third world countries. Of all the angels, I had always considered him to be the “face of the company.” Safe, sincere, marketable, and representative of the whole. Granted, not all angels were as jovial as he or Raphael, but he was a good spokesperson.

  His secretary was a dainty Czech woman in her late fifties or early sixties who looked remarkably like an owl with her thick-framed glasses. Despite her age, she could type faster than I could blink and answered the phone with a professional yet kind tone. Best of all, she always had a pack of Ice Breakers on her desk when she knew I was coming in with asparagus breath.

  Most of the time, Gabriel and I tried to meet somewhere private because in public settings we tended to get interrupted by girls. Gabriel was a hot commodity to say the least, and when they couldn’t get his attention, they’d switch to me. I always flashed them my wedding band to scare them off. We were both good-looking guys, but Gabriel’s expensive attire got more of the girls’ attention.

  The door to his office opened and a portly Hispanic fellow walked out, beaming as he shook Gabriel’s hand and told him in Spanish that he was very grateful. Gabriel patted his shoulder and told the gentleman to speak with his secretary before he left. He noticed me as I stood up from the comfy leather coach against the far wall and waved me in, closing the door.

  He cleared his throat and then sighed as he turned toward me.

  “Not in the face.”

  I punched him in the gut, a little below the ribs. He wheezed, wincing and clutching the spot but he didn’t buckle. It was much harder to be intimidating when he was a good five inches taller than me, but I knew he got the point.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” I demanded.

  Gabriel exhaled and leaned against the large table behind him. “I already told you I was sorry.”