First Frost

by A Lyrical Press Anthology

  “What do you want?” Sebastian asked.

  Victor stepped closer. “I want you to pay. Your father has made my life a living hell. It needs to stop. I shouldn’t be the outcast. You should.”

  “If you’re an outcast it’s by your own doing.

  Victor’s eyes burned red. “You know this park is pretty dangerous. Several drownings a year, I hear.”

  “His eyes.” Gemma stood up beside him.

  “What?” Victor faced her. “Your precious Sebastian hasn’t told you exactly what we are?”

  “Shut the hell up, Victor.” He moved forward, pushed her behind him. “She already knows.”

  “Then she knows you’ll never be able to protect her. She’ll likely end up dying from some cancerous disease like your mom. Ironic, huh? Then you’ll end up a bitter old coward like your father.”

  He’d had enough of Victor’s taunting. It was one thing to insult him, but he wouldn’t stand for insulting his parents, especially his mother. With a loud growl, he launched himself at the younger demon.

  Victor’s fists flailed as he took shots at his head, ribs and stomach.

  Sebastian prevented a hook to his face with a forearm, but wasn’t fast enough to stop the flip knife Victor drove into his right side. Once. Twice. A hot, slicing pain shot across his core. Dropping his arm, he blocked another stab.

  “Sebastian!” Gemma screamed, moving toward them.

  “No. Stay there. I’m fine.” Gaze trained on Victor, he swallowed, catching his breath.

  “How sweet. Your girlfriend wants to save you, again. Don’t worry, when I’m done with you, I’ll show her what a real man is like.” Victor lunged at him with the knife.

  Turning to the side, he dodged him, grabbed the demon’s arm and pulled him forward, twisted his arm behind his back. The knife clanked to the ground, and Sebastian kicked it off the rocks into the falls. An arm wrapped around Victor’s throat, he pulled up, in and squeezed. “Is this what you wanted? The arm of a half-breed outcast squeezing the life out of you?” Heat rushed through him, and Victor’s gasps for breath roared in his ears.

  “Sebastian, stop.” Gemma stepped closer, arms outstretched.

  She was right, but he couldn’t stop. He wearied of following the rules. “I’m so tired. Of silence and a damned society created by demons like Victor and my father. That’s what killed my mother, not the damn cancer.”

  “This won’t help.” She gripped his arm, tugged. “Don’t stoop to his level.”

  Victor wasn’t worth it and this only perpetuated the fight. He felt the demon go limp and loosened his hold. He propped him against a rock. “You’re right.”

  Gemma knelt beside Victor.

  “Don’t worry. He’s not dead, just unconscious. Unfortunately, the only thing he is going to walk away with is a headache.”

  “Why does he want to hurt you?”

  “Because he’s an angry soul and I’m not a pure demon. I’m half human and therefore inferior in his eyes.”

  “You get the hatred on both sides?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It won’t always be this way. Legislation has been passed. Now it’s a matter of teaching both sides.” Sebastian sat down on a rock and pulled up his thin sweater. Blood had seeped through his navy cotton polo and it clung to his skin. The cooler weather helped, but he was still bleeding heavily. “We better go. My father’s house is near here. I can clean up there.”

  “God, Sebastian. You’re bleeding!” Eyes widened, she rushed to him. “Let me see.”

  “Not here.” He shook his head then closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness. “But I think you’re going to have to drive.”

  * * * *

  Gemma glanced at Sebastian, who sat unconscious in the passenger seat of his BMW, face pale, wounds bleeding out onto the black leather seat.

  She eased up on the accelerator as the car took a curve then slammed her foot down again. She couldn’t get to his father’s home fast enough. What if Sebastian didn’t wake up? Fortunately for him, he was part demon. That should make him stronger, right?

  Panic had set in after the initial shock of his confession had worn off. She didn’t necessarily have any problem with him being a demon, but she hadn’t suspected it. Or maybe she had? Her strange dream?

  She bit her bottom lip. None of it mattered anyway. Crazy as it sounded, she loved him. And probably had for some time.

  “Oh God, Sebastian. Wake up, please.” She pulled up the driveway of his father’s mansion and parked in front of the door. Leaned over, she shook him gently. “Sebastian.”

  He groaned. “Get my father.”

  She wanted to do as he said. Maybe, though, she should peel down the driveway and take him to the nearest hospital. Were demon wounds treated as human ones would be? She scrambled out of the car and ran up the steps to the enormous front door. Before she could knock, it swung open. Armando Reyes with his dark hair and imposing eyes stood there. “Sebastian?”

  “He’s in the car,” she said. “He needs medical attention.”

  Mr. Reyes ran toward the car and slowed as he neared the passenger side. He knelt on one knee and whispered, “Sebastian, what have you done?”

  “He defended you and his mother.” She stood beside Mr. Reyes, who now held his hands over his son’s motionless body. Despite his impenetrably dark gaze, she could see the fear in his eyes as he turned toward her. “Who did this to him? They are going to pay heavily.”

  “That’s not what Sebastian would want. He wants to be accepted by you and other demons.”

  “He told you what we are?”

  “He did.”

  Mr. Reyes faced Sebastian. “This is my fault. I shut him out. I wanted to forget because it hurts too much to remember. He was right, I am afraid.” He stared at her. “My wife was human, like you. Cancer took her. We fought, but in the end, we lost.”

  “I don’t think Sebastian sees it that way

  “No, he doesn’t. He remembers the good.”

  She squatted beside Mr. Reyes. “Perhaps you should too. Can you help him? He asked me to bring him to you.”

  “I can try. He’ll need to accept the healing or it won’t work.” He threaded his fingers through Sebastian’s. “Son, can you hear me? I’m sorry, I love you so much.” His voice broke on the last word, and her heart lurched.

  Mr. Reyes leaned his forehead against Sebastian’s hand. “Please forgive me, son. You were right. I’ve been afraid for a long time. Too long.”

  “Dad?” Sebastian croaked.

  “Sebastian.” Mr. Reyes put a hand to his son’s forehead. “I’m here, son. I love you and am going to heal you, but I need your help.”

  “I know. I remember how it works.”

  He undid Sebastian’s jacket and tore the cotton shirt beneath. Two deep gashes marred the flawless skin of Sebastian’s stomach.

  Mr. Reyes turned to Gemma. “You may want to step back a bit.”

  She did as he asked, anxious as he placed his hands against the gashes and closed his eyes. A white light engulfed the two of them, and the air around her hummed with energy, rattling the BMW’s windows.

  Winds whipped around them. Eyes closed, she fought to hold her ground. When the wind died down, she opened her eyes.

  Mr. Reyes removed his hand, leaving two thin scabs where Sebastian’s wounds had gaped. “Thank God.” He embraced his son, kissed his temple and met his gaze. “I couldn’t bear to lose you too. You know that, right?”

  “I do,” Sebastian said.

  “Please forgive me for being such a coward.”

  Sebastian pushed himself up in the car seat and nodded. “Only if you do the same. I think I need to do less preaching and more practicing myself.” His gaze strayed to her.

  “Oh, yes.” Mr. Reyes looked back at her. “I think you’ve got a keeper here.”

  “I agree,” Sebastian said. “Oh, and Dad—” He grabbed his father’s hand and squeezed as Mr. Reyes stood. “I love you too. Thank you. Mom would
be proud of you right now.”

  “I know. I love you too, son.” Lips pressed in a tight line, Mr. Reyes walked back inside.

  “You think he’ll be okay?” Gemma approached as Sebastian pushed himself up. “Take it easy there.”

  “Yeah, he’s missing her but I think he’s going to be fine.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Achy, but I’ll live. I appreciate you staying with me, considering everything.”

  Gemma frowned. “Of course I’d stay with you. I thought…I worried about you.”

  “I kind of like you worrying.” He smiled. “But I’m glad I didn’t scare you away with my confession.” He cupped her face and caressed her lower lip with his thumb.

  “I’m not going to say you being a demon isn’t different, however, I’m pretty sure I could get used to it.” She leaned in and kissed him. “Here on out, only the truth, no matter what.”

  His eyes widened. “Yes ma’am.” He pulled back. “Does that mean you care for me?”

  “I more than care for you. I love you and you aren’t getting rid of me any time soon.”

  “Considering I love you back, I can handle that.”

  “Good.” She grinned. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

  About Toni Kelly

  Toni Kelly first discovered a passion for writing at the tender age of six when her mother would “publish” her scribbled tales using trusty old Word Perfect. Gradually, stories of geese and golden eggs became poems and essays until one fateful night nearly a decade later when Toni snuck a romance novel from her mother’s room. The cover’s backdrop was scenic with mountains and a lake but the couple of focus really caught her attention, a beautiful woman with long, wavy red hair and a stunningly handsome male enveloping her in his arms. Needless to say, several nights of reading later, Toni was in love with the characters and the romance genre.

  After years of reading thousands of novels—romance as well as other genres—and several attempts to write “stories” for leisure, Toni decided to make a go of her passion and write her first full-length paranormal novel about a race of fallen angels. When Toni is not writing or thinking up new plot ideas, she loves traveling and experiencing different cultures, languages and traditions. Many times these experiences provide inspiration for her writing.

  Find Toni at:

  Website: www.authortonikelly.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/toni.kelly.7315

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/ToniKelly18

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/authortonikelly

  Email: author.tonikelly@gmail.com

  Other Lyrical Press books by Toni Kelly:

  Irish Dreams: http://lyricalpress.com/irish-dreams/

  Blood Eternal (March 2014): http://lyricalpress.com/blood-eternal/

  Slip the Skin

  Paranormal romance by Tera Shanley

  His curse is her cure.

  Just when Linden Ashby finally accepts her impending doom, a handsome stranger gives her another chance at life. But will it be at the expense of her soul?

  Chapter 1

  Linden Ashby was dying.

  She scanned the elegant hotel room with its flowing gold curtains and cream and shimmery yellow wall paper. A trio of miniature vodka bottles stood empty by a stainless steel sink and the giant bed under her didn’t give so much as a low-end grunt as she shifted positions. With her legs curled under her, she strapped on a pair of black, shimmery heels she’d emptied out her savings account to purchase. They weren’t her style by a long shot, but tonight was her last hurrah and she would do it right.

  Dying. Dying? The word was a constant and uninvited companion with every routine outing and errand, every meaningless and frivolous nod to vanity. Speaking of— She glared at her naked toenails, which she really should’ve taken the time to paint before heading out for a night on the town with the girls.

  The girls. How on God’s green and blue planet was she supposed to tell them?

  She shook herself and straightened her spine. That was an easy one. She wouldn’t. She’d go out to Meredith’s fancy holiday party and throw a few back, make the girls laugh like she always did and go home with some John, Pete or Barney. The man didn’t matter much, so long as he got her mind off the doctor’s chilling diagnosis.

  Oh God. She was so not a one-night-stand type of girl. Relationships had always been her thing but she no longer had time for that.

  She stood and walked crookedly to the gold framed full-length mirror that stretched up the wall like an ivy vine. Damned heels. They were a might less comfortable than her preferred flats or tennis shoes, but—she grinned at her reflected profile—they lifted her backside by glorious inches. The red sequined number she wore just about begged to be ripped off by some half-whiskeyed businessman looking for a short-term fling. The only thing lacking was makeup. Oh, she’d done it up, just not enough for a dress like this.

  She smeared another layer of shimmery dark shadow over her dove gray eyes and brushed on another layer of mascara then plumped her lips with lady-of-the-night red lip-gloss. She didn’t even look like herself anymore but that was the point, wasn’t it? To escape for one night?

  Tired of her reflection, she snatched her purse and headed downstairs to wait for the limo. Heels clunking against the polished wood floors, she glanced back once before shutting the door to room 815 behind her. The hallway swayed outside, growing longer and curving until she leaned against the wall under a silver-plated electric sconce that probably cost more than her groceries for a year.

  “Waste,” she muttered as she stumbled for the elevator. It took three pokes to get the Down button. Hopefully, just the result of the after effects of that triple shot of vodka in the room. The ding! of the opening door was abnormally dizzying.

  Okay, or maybe not.

  Her heel got stuck in the crack between the open elevator and wall, and with a quiet oath she yanked it free. And stumbled into a man in a black suit.

  “You okay?” the older gentleman asked as a younger one forearmed her onto the other side of the small space.

  “I’m awesome. Hey, I know you. I see you on television when I’m channel surfing on Saturday afternoons and feel like a nap so I stop on politics to bore me into a good snooze.” Shit, she needed to stop talking.

  As the man stared at her from behind feeble looking spectacles, she rifled through her purse in search of that magical orange pill bottle Dr. Latham had prescribed last week. Had she forgotten it?

  “Ma’am,” the younger man warned. “Ma’am! Stop what you’re doing.”

  “Why are we going up?” she asked, squatting so she could dig through her purse easier.

  “Because the elevator is taking us to the tenth floor. Stop digging through your purse or I’m going to have to restrain you.”

  Okay, restraining sounded awesome, if the man hadn’t been standing ramrod straight like he had no sense of humor at all, and if he weren’t wearing sunglasses indoors. The room grew dim as if someone had brushed a dimmer switch. “Oh no, oh no,” she murmured, frantically searching for the meds.

  The man kicked her purse out of her grasp. “Hayes, we have a situation up here,” he said into his coat sleeve just as the world turned to shadows.

  Chapter 2

  Graham Hayes rolled his shoulders, though it didn’t loosen the tightness that came along with wearing a suit. The only thing he didn’t like about being a bodyguard was the work attire. The rest—threats of violence, the need for his extra senses, tackling people, ongoing weapons training—worked just fine for him. In fact, he couldn’t think of a better job for a Lycan, and apparently half the pack thought so too because Primal Protective Services, the company he worked for, was made entirely of supernatural employees.

  His oversensitive hearing had picked up on the static that preceded conversation over the microphone tucked into his ear, and he’d moved toward the elevator. “Hayes, we have a situation up here,” Liam had said.

  Graham ha
d broken into a jog and unlatched the weapon holstered at his hip.

  “Wait,” Liam said. “False alarm. Just a lady looking for her lipstick or something. We’re off the elevator and headed to the suite. Stand by.”

  The soles of his dress shoes had slid like ice skates across the polished marble floor, and he’d skidded to a stop. Gary, the concierge, had glanced up and nodded a greeting. He knew him from other jobs at this hotel. “Standing by,” he’d said quietly into his sleeve.

  A minute passed then Liam had said, “the panther’s in his den. I’ll be down when the replacements get here.”

  That small promise of violence had made Graham’s heart pound hard. With the disappointment that his wolf wouldn’t be pacified tonight, his heartbeat had slowed. Tomorrow was another day, though.

  Now he waited at the door for the others. The small ding! of the elevator behind him rang against his sensitive eardrums. A flash of shimmering red glitter showed in his peripheral vision. Must be the lady stressing Liam out. He snorted. What a wuss.

  At the front counter, he turned nonchalantly and scanned the cavernous entryway. Four men sat with glasses of what looked like scotch near a high-end bar in the back. A family of four dressed to the nines hustled double time from a hallway to the right. They must’ve been heading out to see a show. New York was filled with theaters.

  The woman in the red dress sat under a chandelier, and the crystals threw little rays of red sunset light all over the room.

  Damn, she was smokin’ hot. The kind of hot that made him do a quick glance around and subtly adjust himself.

  Her dark hair cascaded down her long neck, the ends tickling her hips, and her skin was fair and smooth, like the shell of an egg. Her lips were painted red like the short, sleeveless dress that clung to her curves, and her legs endlessly stretched in front of her as she—