Bustin'

by Minda Webber

  "So, you have brought the pretty Paranormal-buster to me," Nero said as Ripley threw her golden sword upon the bottom step of the pavilion. "I am impressed—both by your getting the sword and the girl. Will the others follow?"

  "Her lover, the werewolf prince," Ripley answered, his voice even more harsh and guttural than it had been. His hand on her arm was elongating, and Sam knew that soon Ripley would complete his transformation. She knew she didn't want to be nearby when he did.

  "Fine. Perhaps, little one, I will place you and your lover together for all eternity, my monument to the Goddess Aphrodite."

  "You mean you've killed all these people to prove your devotion to gods who have been dead, buried and forgotten for thousands of years? What planet are you from? You're a dirty rotten rock-for-brains!" she ended up shouting.

  "Silence, infidel! Aphrodite will approve. She is still on Mount Olympus awaiting my tribute. We shall rule together."

  "Aphrodite is nothing but a myth," Sam snarled. "All this trouble because of your myth conceptions."

  "Silence, human!" Nero commanded. "You know nothing! Bring her to me, werewolf, so I may begin her immortality in stone."

  The monster ripped off his boxers, sporting a doric column so big that Sam thought she was seeing things. Now she understood the expression, "hung like an ox." And Nero wasn't even a Minotaur!

  "Talk about cock of the walk," she muttered to herself. No way was that getting anywhere near her. Still, what was a girl to do? She despaired momentarily, caught between the moon, New York City, a werewolf and a giant gorgon penis.

  Yet, she couldn't die here and be trapped for eternity with her butt left to the breeze. So she wouldn't, she thought with grim resolution; she was determined to beat the odious odds.

  Fingering the knife in her pocket, Sam reacted so quickly that Ripley never saw it coming: She rammed her four-inch iron knife into his upper eyelid. Years of training and experience were her aid, and her aim was true. Howling in pain and anger, the werewolf clutched his paws to his face, and Sam ran like hell in the opposite direction.

  Glancing back, she saw that her blow hadn't been lethal to Ripley, but it would slow Nero's wolf down and keep him from transforming. He couldn't pull the iron out himself without searing his paws, so Nero would have to help him.

  She wanted to rush for her sword, but Nero was close to it, and she wasn't about to tempt fate. "Don't let that werewolf bite me on the ass," she prayed as she ran. "There's someone who likes it just the way it is."

  Running as hard as she could the way she'd come in, she ducked back out the short tunnel and into the main one, glancing around to check on her pursuers. Nuts! her mind screamed. Obviously gorgons were fast monsters—maybe due to that third leg he wanted to stick into her. Nero was only a few feet behind, his snakeheads hissing and his red eyes glaring. In spite of her life being on the line, Sam couldn't help but think he'd look better in braids.

  Breathing hard, her heart racing, she suddenly heard the sounds of running paws and growling. "Thank you, God," she gasped in relief. Her Russian man was rushing in just in the nick of time.

  Two hundred pounds of enraged werewolf knocked the gorgon off its feet. The snakes were hissing, wolves were howling, and a vampire was suddenly flying through the air with a golden sword. The noise in the tunnel was almost deafening. Sam lent her own scream to the proceedings, then leaned against the cavern wall to catch her breath.

  Nero spun, and a snake almost caught Nic on his flank. Nic dodged.

  Sam screamed again. "Look out, Nic! He's trying to put the bite on you!" In werewolf form, Nic dodged another hissing snake.

  As Prince Varinski landed, Nero leaped toward him, intending to deliver the headbutt of the century. But the Prince was ready. Swinging his sword with all his considerable vampiric strength, he hit the gorgon just below the shoulder and severed an arm. Blood gushed out and the Meduse howled in furious pain.

  Snarling and crouching, Nic was about to leap when he saw Ripley start to charge his cousin. Sam picked up a rock and threw it. As the missile struck Ripley's forehead, causing him to lurch backward and howl in pain, Nic took advantage, surging forward and knocking Ripley over, his jaws clamping tight on the wolfman's throat. Pulling hard, he finished the kill.

  In the meantime, Prince Varinski had swung again, this time sweeping Nero's head clean off his shoulders. The head flew in one direction, while the body fell in another.

  "Teamwork—impressive!" Sam managed to gasp in relief. Nic and his cousin had saved the day, and her too. Looking over at the mess that was Ripley's throat, she whistled. "Talk about taking a bite out of crime."

  As. Nic transformed, Prince Petroff looked Sam over carefully. He said, "You're not hurt?"

  Sam shook her head. "But I will say one thing, Prince V., your timing could use some work. Another minute and I would have been stone cold to your charm."

  The Prince looked offended, but Nic, his transformation complete, threw back his head and laughed. "She's teasing you, Petroff!" he explained. Then he hurried to enfold Sam in his arms.

  Naked as the day he was born and bloody from battle, Nic had never looked so beautiful. He was Sam's wild man, a magnificent warrior, saving his woman like they had in days of old. And despite her tough side, Sam was secretly thrilled. Her werewolf was really just an old-fashioned knight kind of guy. Jeez, how she loved him. Sam Spade, Mike Hammer, Rick Blaise and the rest didn't have a thing on him, and the real mystery was why it had taken them so long to get together.

  Nic stared. Sam's face was smudged with dirt, her helmet gone and her hair a mess. Her shirt was ripped, and the knees of her jeans were black with grime. Well, nobody would call her princess right now—maybe not ever, since she was too spunky for that; too stubborn, and right now too dirty. But she was adorable to him and always would be. She'd make a good wife.

  Squeezing her tightly, Nic held on to her. "You can cry you know," he said, his heart fraught with love.

  "Nah. Crying is for wimps. Is Alex okay?"

  "Yes. He's hurt a bit, but nothing that won't mend." Nic snuggled closer, loving the feel of her against him. "After we took care of Boris, who was working for Nero, we rushed over here."

  Sam shoved away, looking up at him. "Boris? I never did trust those beady eyes of his. And Ripley was Nero's wolf!"

  "We know. And they are truly among the dead now," Prince Varinski pronounced. "Natasha and Alex are waiting for us about two miles back, near the subway station entrance. I'll stay here for a bit and clean up, but you two should go back and get Alex a doctor." So saying, the Prince started back toward the short tunnel, carrying Nero's head by its now limp snake heads.

  Nic thumbed Sam on the chin. "I think, my dear, that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

  Friendship? Sam gave him a haughty glare and trudged with grim determination back toward the world above.

  Where's Paul Bunion's Axe When You Need It?

  Almost a day had passed since the beheading of the Meduse. In true vampire fashion, Prince Varinski had ordered up a victory celebration, inviting several close friends who lived in New York, and many of the leaders of the supernatural community. Petroff had wanted to personally assure them that the threat to their community was over, besides flirting with several prominent female leaders.

  Nic had stopped by and given Sam an update on his brother several hours after returning to the hotel; he had taken Alex to see a werewolf specialist about the vampire bites that had ripped huge hunks out of his shoulder and neck. His brother was in serious but guarded condition, so after kissing her on the cheek, Nic had gone back to watch over Alex, and Sam had fallen into a deep but troubled sleep.

  Now she was entering the foyer of the grand ballroom located on the hotel's second floor. She didn't want to go to the Prince's victory party, but she felt it would be bad manners to not at least put in an appearance. She had booked a midnight flight to Denver, Colorado. Fortunately for her wounded heart, her brother was do
ing a little Bustin' job there, and she had decided he could use some help.

  Sighing wearily, she knew that Nic was not going to be happy about going to bed alone tonight, but then, she wasn't either. What was wrong with that big Bustin' bozo that he didn't love her already? She might not be the loveliest lady on the block, or have legs that stretched to heaven and back, but she wasn't exactly bad-looking either. Besides, she had great hair.

  She sighed again. Her excuse for leaving was that she needed to help Bogie; however, reality was a different matter. She truly needed some time away from the oversexed werewolf to come to terms with how she felt about him—and how he didn't feel about her. Nic had just professed feeling friendship for her, and she'd seen his hot, heavy lust, but she was crazy in love with him. She wanted to start planning a wedding and babies. She could just see their cute little cubs with their raven black hair and large gray eyes like their father's. Unfortunately, Nic only "cared" for her, and caring wasn't the same as loving. They wouldn't be trotting off into any sunset happily ever after.

  Could she stay in a relationship where she loved so strongly and Nic felt less? Would he grow to love her, as she did him, or was she doomed to eventually watch him walk away? She didn't know if she was strong enough to put herself through that kind of misery, since she wanted guarantees of a happily-ever-after future and needed Nic to love her. If he didn't, then Sam was afraid that eventually she would grow to resent him. She couldn't help it; that was the way she was.

  Shrugging her shoulders, Sam entered the room. She had dressed down tonight, due to her depression, in a plain black skirt and solid black sweater. Her hair was pulled up in a severe bun, and her makeup was spare.

  Espying her, Prince Varinski strolled regally over, grasping both her hands in his. "Sam! Glad you're here. You did an outstanding job, not only by helping us rid New York of that deadly monster, but also in ridding my castle of its ghosts. I have a check for your latest efforts." And so saying, he handed one over, smiling pompously.

  He has a right to be pompous, Sam thought wryly as she glanced at the check with so many little zeros. "Thanks, Prince V. My company can always use the dough and the business."

  He touched a bruise on her cheek. "Any others?"

  "A few, but it's the nature of the beast," she joked.

  He chortled. "Nic is going to have his hands full with you."

  "Yeah, well…" Sam hedged; then she asked curiously, "How did Natasha take Boris's defection?"

  "Not well. I'll admit to being surprised by it, too. Ripley I could believe, but Boris was a turncoat of a different color."

  "Not to mention species."

  Dark amusement sparkled in the Prince's gray eyes. "You will give my cousin a run for his money."

  Shrugging her shoulders, Sam answered glumly, "I do my best—especially if it will keep him up at night."

  The Prince chuckled. "Oh, by the way, I don't know if Nic had a chance to tell you, but he heard from the Hollywood agent he sent Rasputin to. The mad monk is going to be starring in a movie! The Ghost and Miss More."

  Tilting her head, Sam nodded, thinking about life's little ironies. "Miss More is that ex-stripper turned actress? The one with the 38-D's?"

  Prince Varinski nodded. "The very same."

  "Well, I guess the movie won't be a sleeper, since nobody could sleep through her assets—or Rasputin's." She wondered what genre the film would be. It was scary imagining Rasputin as a movie star.

  Turning, she scanned the ballroom for Nic. He'd just entered, but before he got two feet, Forest appeared and was on him like a tick on a dog.

  Forest, with her low-cut dress, which made Sam see as much red as that hair above the redhead's abundant cleavage. "What a dog," Sam muttered to herself.

  Unfortunately, Nic was a female magnet. It was a fact she hated, which made her guts twist as threats filled her brain. If she kneed a werewolf in the groin near Forest, Sam wondered, would he make a sound? Or if a tree branch shaped like a very sharp stake fell on her, would anyone mind? "No way, I'd sell tickets."

  Seeing her, Nic disentangled himself and came over to Sam.

  "Who let you out of your cage?" she asked him peevishly.

  Nic hid his grin. Sam was really terribly jealous of Forest. He found it cute—and foolish. Because all he wanted was her. "Be kind to me. I'm a vanishing species," he said.

  "Ha!" Sam wrinkled her nose, which Nic leaned over and kissed.

  "You look beautiful," he said, admiring the way her short skirt showcased her dynamite legs. He recalled the way her tight thigh muscles clutched him tightly when they were making love.

  Sam moved a step back. "How's Alex?"

  "His neck looks really bad. Boris almost got his jugular but, thank God, he didn't. He's upstairs asleep. Well, actually he's doped up pretty heavily. I need to go check on him in a little while. Why don't you come with me?"

  "Sorry, but I can't. I just came to say good-bye. Bogie sprained his ankle and needs some help with a runaway dragon up in Colorado. I leave in a couple of hours."

  Nic was anything but pleased. He had planned to celebrate in private with Sam tonight, off and on as he kept checking on his little brother. He also didn't like the thought of her chasing a fire-breathing dragon around the Rocky Mountains.

  "If Bogie can wait a day, I'll go instead—or get my brother Gregor to go," Nic volunteered.

  "Thanks but no thanks." Nic's concern cheered her, but then Nic was nothing if not loyal to friends and family. Sam didn't want to remain a friend; she wanted desperately to be his family.

  "Sam, corralling dragons is dangerous business."

  "Not when you know what you're doing," she retorted. "And I do."

  "Let me guess. Dragon psychology?" Nic guessed, his tone stiff with disapproval. Sam always lived on the edge, trying to chase and capture creatures who wanted to eat her for lunch as a crispy Paranormalbuster-and-jelly sandwich.

  "You betcha. Along with riding lessons since I was eight."

  "I should have guessed," he grumbled. "But what can you use on a dragon?"

  "I'm surprised you don't know."

  Nic sighed. Was she going to start taunting him again? "Dragons were outlawed for years in Russia," he said. "So, tell me, Sam, what scares a dragon?"

  "Mice. Just like elephants are terrified of the tiny critters, so are dragons."

  Nic snorted. "Come on, Sam—a mouse? A dragon could fry a mouse with one baby breath."

  Sam shrugged. "You know that and I know that. Just don't tell it to the dragons."

  He couldn't help himself; he threw back his head and howled with laughter. When he finished, he hugged her. "All right, Sam, but be careful anyway. I'd hate to see you go up in smoke."

  Leaning over, he kissed her tenderly. Her response was lacking, and so he knew instinctively that something was wrong. His woman was distancing herself by going off to Colorado, physically and emotionally as well. "I'll go with you to the airport," he decided.

  "No. You stay here in case Alex needs you."

  "Well… call me from Colorado," Nic suggested forcefully, watching her eyes. "And be very, very careful."

  She looked at the floor. "I'll try, but cell reception isn't great in the Rockies."

  Before a protest could form on his lips, Forest sauntered up, placing a possessive hand on Nic's arm. Sam gave the vampiress a look that would have felled a redwood. Then, narrowing her eyes at Nic, she glanced back and forth between the two and remarked caustically, "Yeah, be careful yourself. You never know when there's a monster hanging around waiting to gobble you up."

  Sam walked out of the room, her head held high, her eyes flashing, but left the field to Forest.

  Who You Gonna Call?

  Sam had just finished showering and dressing when her Uncle Myles arrived home from closing the bar. Her mind was on Nic, and on the odd flight from Colorado. Deciding she'd needed to think of something else—anything besides Nic, Nic and more Nic—she'd decided to watch the television moni
tor on the plane. They had been playing a cooking show, and guess who'd taken center stage? The galloping ghostly gourmet, Chef Jules—and he really was cookin' with his guest, some guy named Ramsey! At least he'd seemed happy. But that had made her wonder if all ghosts were so lucky. Were they luckier than she?

  "Sweetheart," Myles said, his eyes glinting cheerfully. He hugged her. "You got back early."

  Kissing his cheek, she managed a smile.

  "Good to have you home, doll. How did the dragon hunt go?"

  "He's back in his silo. Bogie's still in Colorado, finishing up the paperwork and instructions on how not to have a runaway dragon again. He should be back tomorrow night—if he doesn't get sidetracked by that pretty brunette dragon trainer."

  Myles nodded. "I was surprised to hear of Bogie's sprained ankle. He didn't say anything to me about it," her uncle stated suspiciously.

  "Hmm," Sam mumbled. Her pet goblin, Zeuss, came up and rubbed against her legs. She distractedly petted his soft striped fur.

  "Sam, what gives, doll? Could it be that Strakhov fellow?"

  "Could be," Sam replied, a slight smile on her face. She had been gone three and a half days, and in that time she had received over fourteen calls from Nic. A person might call to check on a friend four or five times in a period of less than four days, but fourteen meant more than friendship. It was her job to make sure Nic realized that.

  "Nic came by yesterday," Myles remarked. "Said to tell you Alex is fine, but he's not." Her uncle was watching her shrewdly.

  "I see." Sam could be the master of understatement when she chose to be.

  "Said you hadn't answered any of his phone calls. I told him your cell phone must not be working up in the mountains."

  "You know how cell reception is in the Rockies. Not good," she added, not really addressing her uncle's curiosity.

  Sam had thought and thought, and now she knew she'd been a trifle hasty in leaving Nic without talking to him about their feelings for one another. A showdown was coming, and she wanted to pick an okay place to corral him.