by CJ Ellisson
“Trent, I don’t know…”
His hand moved up to caress her cheek. “What about your family? You’re a shifter! What will they think of you being with a human?”
She gnawed on her lip.
“Once you meet my mom and sisters, you’ll see there’s nothing to fear. They’re amazing. They’ll love you. They know you’re my mate. You’re the woman I love, and that’s all that’s important to them.” He rubbed her arms, soothing her concern. “You might think me a Casanova, but the truth is I have never been out with more than one woman at a time.”
He continued to hold her, giving her that soft look that melted the insides of her heart. “My mom always says that just because something didn’t work out didn’t mean I had to become an insensitive jerk. Besides, my mom and sisters would have my head if I treated any woman poorly. Trust me they’re going to love you as much as I love you.”
“I’ve never had a family. What if I mess up? What if I don’t fit in?”
“That’s what I’m here for, to help you up whenever you fall. Nothing is ever going to be perfect. Take a chance on me, please.” His voice was rough and emotional. She wanted to leap away from the fear and into what he was proposing, but she was scared.
“But…but what if you change your mind afterward?” The thought alone made her want to cry.
“You’re my mate. Don’t you understand what that means? You are the only woman for me and my wolf. There will be no changing my mind. I don’t want anyone else. I love you. I know you’re unique, and you don’t see things like other women.” He stopped, lowered his head, and gave her a light kiss on her lips. “But that’s what makes you so special, and I wouldn’t change that about you for anything in the world.”
He stepped away from her, and she wanted to ask him to hold her again.
“You care about these victims more than anyone, because you know how much they suffered. I know you find it hard to trust people. I’m not going to rush you into it. We can take things slowly. But I can’t let you go.” He stepped in front of her again and cupped her face with his hands. The determination in his gaze turned possessive. “I won’t let you go.”
The feelings she’d been trying to suppress bubbled up inside her and made her eyes water. She fisted her hands at her sides, hoping to control the need to jump him and hug him to death. He must have seen her emotional turmoil, because his voice lowered to a soothing whisper. “I love you, Erica. Only you. No one else but you. Can you love me back?”
She nodded, unable to fight her feelings any longer. “I love you too, Trent.” The words came out a watery whisper. Her hands went up around his neck and hugged him close to her.
“Thank god, sweetheart.” He pulled back and glanced down at her. “So can you give us a chance? You and me together. No timestamp and no expiration date?” He looked at her straight in the eyes. The love she saw in his eyes made the decision for her.
Her throat closed up but she managed to answer him. “Yes. But know this means you won’t be able to date other women. If you do I’ll have to kick your ass.”
He laughed. “We seriously need to talk about this violence, love. I told you, I only want you.”
And then he kissed her with so much tenderness her heart soared. For the first time in her life, she felt someone truly cared. And she wanted to trust him. He’d put her life before his own. He understood she was different and loved her anyway. No one had ever done that.
When he picked her up in his arms, she squealed and pointed him to the bedroom. Now that she had agreed to be his, she wanted to feel his body filling hers again.
“Let’s go to bed.” He nuzzled her lips. “I want to show you how much I love you.”
She sighed, dropped her head into the curve of his shoulder, and smiled as he carried her to her room.
Epilogue
Erica lay back in Trent’s arms, taking in the sunset and the warm Caribbean air caressing her skin. His lips trailed the back of her ear down to her shoulder. She sighed and turned her face to allow their lips to meet in a hot kiss.
“So what did Brock want?” Trent asked after nibbling on her lips and turning her brain into a useless puddle of goo.
“Hmm?” Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the feel of her new husband’s hands sliding up and down her stomach.
He laughed and moved his hands up to cup her breasts over her bikini.
“You are such a tease.” She groaned.
“Tell me what Brock wanted, and I can make this so good you’ll be screaming my name in seconds. And I know you love screaming my name,” he whispered and licked the shell of her ear, making her shiver.
“He wanted to complain about his new boss.” She sighed and melted back into him. Her legs widened, allowing one of his hands to dip between her thighs and into her bikini bottom. His fingers spread her pussy lips and massaged her clit. She moaned and rolled her hips on his digits, looking for penetration.
He chuckled. “Uh-uh. What else did he say?”
She growled. “He’s not happy… The new team member is a woman he knew…from when he was in college. Apparently they have…uh, unresolved issues.”
Trent’s hands stopped moving. “What do you mean a woman he knew? As in someone he dated?”
She nodded. “Um hm. Trent, please. I’m dying here.”
“I got you baby. You’ll be calling me god in about a minute.”
She laughed. She was glad she’d taken a chance on the love of her wolf, because he was well worth it.
About the Author
Hi! I'm Milly (AKA April Angel) I love to write sexy stories. They're usually either paranormal or contemporary with a large dose of heat. My paranormal stories can be anything from wolf-shifters (my favorites) to witches, demons and anything in between. My contemporaries are usually anything from soldiers to corporate romances.
I was born the prettiest part of the Caribbean known as the Dominican Republic. Currently, I live in New York City with my hubby, the bossy kiddo and our little dog "Needy Speedy". Don't ask.
When I'm not working some really long hours at the day job, or hanging out in the awful life-sucking invention known as Facebook, messaging my bestie in the UK or shopping with my sis Julie, then I can be found watching scary movies. Buuut when I'm not doing that, I'm usually writing because the voices won't shut up.
I am addicted to shoe shopping, chocolate (but who isn't, right?) and Dunkin' Donuts coffee.
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Why These Two by Jackie Ivie
A Vampire Assassin League Novella
“We Kill for Profit”
Copyright © 2013, Jackie Ivie– All Rights Reserved.
All Rights Reserved. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is strictly prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.
Chapter One
Cologne was not a good mix with insect repellent. Or sweat. Sandalwood, DEET, and body odor. Darryl turned his head and sniffed. He didn’t need to check for the culprit. The only one upwind of him was Ted. He was also the only one not wearing headgear. Jackass.
“What you looking at?”
Ted’s voice threw out the challenge. Darryl tipped his head to one side as if considering it. The mosquito netting moved with him. So did the insects buzzing about him, drawn by every exhalation of breath. He hated the rain forest. Hated the heat. The incessant rain. The humidity. There was no way to get dry or stay dry. Not even right out of a shower. Clothes clung, stuck with precipitation or perspiration. And that included Ted’s wardrobe as it draped off one huge physique. Ted was the largest of them. Standing a good six foot eight. Close to three hundred on any scale. None of it was table flab. The guy was solid muscle and full belligerence. Crass. Uncouth. Big-mouthed. Big framed. He could more than block an attack. Flatten an opponent. Crush a chest cavity. Slam your ass into next week.
He’d be the perfect bodyguard if it wasn’t for his lousy shooting and worse knife skills.
Darryl slid a thumb along the non-business side of his knife, making sure little glimmers of light caught the blade. He was a bit behind Ted in size. Three inches at most and maybe forty pounds. But he was a lot faster. They all knew he could gut a man in moments. Without looking. They’d watched him do it.
“A jackass,” Darryl finally replied.
“Why you—”
“Shut up. Both of you. Pasquale hired us to protect, not bicker.”
Sam spoke from the far end of the patio, hissing the warning. Darryl turned back forward and inhaled through his mouth. That even tasted of sandalwood and sweat. Ugh.
Sam was the wiry one. Good with every weapon, hard to hit. That’s what came of having a long distance runner’s frame. Fast flying fists. He was also the most nervous. Constantly toying with his guns. Continually licking his lips. Forever scratching at something. He had chronic lip chapping. Psoriasis. Probably fungal issues. No doubt all acerbated by the humidity of the Amazon jungle. One had to wonder why he was there. But not for long. Took a desperate man to hire his services out to the devil. Took a hopeless man to stay.
Darryl moved his neck sideways pulling until the vertebra cracked. He did another shift, cracking the spot between his shoulder blades. And then he stopped. Didn’t matter how many times he tried to release tension at the base of his spine. The bullet lodged there wasn’t moving, and for now it was bearable.
Barely.
“Jesus, Ted. You reek. What the hell?”
That was Dan, standing opposite Darryl - just this side of visible through the foliage. Dan was their sharpshooter. Perfect aim. Perfect skills. Obviously just getting a whiff. The disgust came through his whisper. Somebody should warn him not to start anything. Somebody besides Darryl. He slipped his combat knife back into the long pocket on his vest and pulled another. They were watching for intruders. Keeping this path safe until Pasquale finished his business up on the podium and decided to walk through it. Not a hard duty. If the ache in his back would just ease up.
“Fuck you,” Ted answered.
Darryl snickered.
“Why didn’t you wear a hat like everyone else?”
“Didn’t want to mess up my hair.”
Darryl flicked a glance to him. Just as he’d already seen. Ted had a military regulation flat-top. Not a hair long enough to get out of place.
“What’s with the foo-foo juice, then?”
“Got a date.”
“With who? Darryl?”
Darryl slammed a blade into the tree right beside Dan’s left ear. He heard the hilt shudder more than saw it, since Dan was in the shadows. He had to hand it to him. Dan didn’t skip a beat.
“Pardon me. I must have meant Sam.”
He reached up to pull the knife out and Darryl put another one right beside it, barely missing Dan’s fingers. The hand dropped.
“You touch my knives, you lose you’re shooting ability. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good. I’ll get them later. After this bit of fluff is over.”
He motioned with his head toward the staged area. Somebody said something a bit louder from the podium. They were speaking Spanish so he wasn’t really paying attention. And he didn’t care. Darryl pulled on his left buttock, easing it against the spot where the bullet burned while clapping sounds and cheers interrupted them. Then he did the same with his right side.
Damn wound. Damn bullet. Damn military brass with their rules and forced retirement. Damn bad luck. If it hadn’t been for this bit of bad luck, he’d still be with the Black Elite. Doing something for his country. Not playing guard dog for some self-glorified drug dealer with a bank account the size of Cincinnati.
“For your information, I am seeing Maria.”
Sam dropped a gun. Dan stiffened, making leaves move. Darryl froze. Ted went on, as if he wasn’t earning a death sentence with every word.
“She is very saucy. Likes a big man.”
“Are you insane? She’s Pasquale’s woman!”
“Maybe he should keep her satisfied, then. And I wouldn’t have to do it. Because, I have to tell you boys. Theodore Smith is one big man. Enough to satisfy any—”
A blur slipped through Darryl’s vision, containing two long daggers thrown with incredible speed. They were instantly followed by another one in almost the same air passage. Rather like a bicyclist race where they create a slipstream for the second racer. He didn’t actually see the knives. He sensed them whooshing by, ruffling his mosquito netting, a hair below his chin level. He had two blades flying after them. And then a third. The last two knocked down their objectives. The first one missed.
A scream portended where that weapon had ended: Pasquale’s throat. Darryl didn’t look. He heard the reaction as a garbled bit of Spanish screaming came through the speakers. No other body guard had reacted. Nobody else had even seen. Darryl shoved the netting off, spun sideways and sent another blade at the perpetrator’s location. A second later he was beside Dan, pulling his two knives out.
“What the hell’s going on?” Dan hissed.
“Assassin.”
He jerked his head away as another long dagger grazed where he’d been standing. The next one went right into Dan’s temple. The guy went down without firing a shot. He heard Ted finally get a grasp of the situation. His roar was loud and confrontational as he lumbered up the steps to their boss, Pasquale. To hover. Guard. Protect.
Too late.
Darryl sent a knife at the assassin before sliding behind the tree. He couldn’t actually see what he was tossing at. It was more a shadow than anything. A haze. A distorted image. He’d never seen anyone move so fast. He knew he’d hit, though. There was no thud noise that would mean his knife had hit the wall beside Sam.
And Sam finally reacted, pumping shot after shot into the shape flitting through the area between them. It didn’t last. Sam was gone. Or rather, his head was. It took a second or so for his body to drop, as it spurted blood from the severed neck. Darryl gripped his remaining knife and the next moment he was lifted completely off the ground with his back slammed into the tree trunk. And if he hadn’t been hampered by how the blow jostled the bullet - lodged too near his spine for surgical retrieval yet just close enough for a career kill - he wouldn’t be seeing stars. Rockets. Gray edges. Swirling blackness. And if he wasn’t mistaken…he was looking right at what looked like an avenging angel.
A real avenging angel.
Darryl shook his head. Blinked. And then returned the stare he was getting from the blond vision eyeing him from about a nose length away. She was
unbelievable. Too beautiful for words. Too ethereal to exist. Like something from a fairy tale. Or Mount Olympus. Or maybe Valhalla. Tons of white-blond hair haloed her, framing absolute perfection as the light penetrated and highlighted each strand. She had soot-dark lashes. Light, violet-cast eyes. Amazing features. Unblemished, pale skin. Ruby dark lips…
Fangs.
Darryl jerked back and every muscle in his body twitched with the shock. Somewhere deep in his spine the damn bullet shifted, sending liquid heat and agony down both legs. The final knife fell from his nerveless fingers. And for the first time in his life, he nearly lost his bodily functions. He was bereft of weapons. Vulnerable. Pinned. Like some insect. By a woman who dangled all two hundred and forty-seven pounds of him off the ground with one hand shoved into his abdomen. His eyes widened as she lifted the blade he’d just thrown at her, placed it at the bottom of his nose, and just held it there.
She’d caught it?
“So…you want to play, Handsome?”
Her voice startled. Echoing weirdly about him. Softly, yet with a vibration that lifted goose bumps all along him. Like the wind had decided to learn how to whisper.
“Uh…”
He didn’t know how to answer. Or what she wanted him to say. And the way she tipped her head slightly to one side didn’t give him much clue. Nor did the way she narrowed her eyes. The way she leaned toward him gave him little more. He watched with wide eyes as she licked her lips, prior to lifting her upper lip in a semi-snarl. She didn’t seem to like how he backed from her until his head reached the wood behind him. But he couldn’t change it. This was no angel, heavenly or otherwise.
This bitch had fangs. Real fangs.
Darryl bent his knees and kicked, using the tree for support. Nothing moved. He sensed her nearing, her chin at his shoulder…her nose tipping his jaw upward, displaying his neck for her. Her tongue licked along his pulse where it beat against his throat. The slightest shudder ran through her frame as she moved closer to him. Placing what felt like pretty nice breasts against him. Darryl writhed. Squirmed. And then turned into a shoving, kicking, flailing, trapped creature. Nothing worked. He might as well be glued to the tree with iron bands. He felt a sting. A minute wetness.