Moon Fever

by Susan Sizemore, Maggie Shayne, Lori Handeland

  He felt how amused Gemma was by his behavior and swept her under the nearest bough of mistletoe for a long, deep kiss

  When they came up for air, a waiter was holding a tray of champagne toward them. They took the slender crystal flutes and retreated to an empty spot at the bottom of a curving staircase. Pine branches attached to the curving banister with twisting red and green ribbons scented the air, blending with the warm cinnamon aroma of red candles set in tall gold candelabras.

  Gemma looked up the stairs and tilted her head to one side. She looked adorable, a small blond woman in a short black dress. A fortune in diamonds twinkled on her ears and around her long, slender throat.

  “Fireworks going off up there,” she whispered to him after she concentrated with all her senses for a few moments. She waved a hand in front of her face, her cheeks going pink. “The place is warming up.”

  Rico registered the electric sensation of sexual tension among the guests as typical background noise for a vampire party. Or a Coyote concert, come to think of it. “Jon must be using all his charm on his human mate.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Jon with a mortal—who’d have thought it?”

  Actually, only about a third of the Clan Primes ended up with vampire bondmates. There weren’t as many vampire females as there were males, and even if the population were more equal, the psychic connection that instigated a bond struck where it would. In Jon’s case, with a mortal woman. In his own case, a vampire one.

  “After he tried to hook up with Flare Reynard and she treated him so badly, I don’t blame him for finding a nice mortal girl,” Gemma whispered to him.

  Rico couldn’t help but smile. “It’s Flare’s loss that she didn’t think Jonathan Coyote was good enough for her. It’s not like she broke his heart or anything. He got a couple of good songs out of the end of the affair.”

  Gemma laughed and shook her head. “That’s all you guys care about.”

  “We are a band.” He looked around at the rest of the crowd. “And we’re all here.”

  Bartholomew had his arms around two pretty girls, who were taking turns letting him sip from their wine glasses—and their throats. Jof was talking very seriously to a Prime Elder, and the Elder was laughing at whatever Jof was telling him. Corky was standing very still in the center of the room, looking up the stairs as the party swirled around him.

  What’s he up to? Rico wondered.

  “I wonder if the baby will be one of us,” Gemma said.

  The question took Rico’s attention away from Corky. “Wouldn’t that be just like Jon?” He laughed. “Pregnant with a daughter on the first date.”

  Their kind reproduced slowly, even vampire to vampire. It generally took many years of being fully bonded for a vampire and a mortal to have children.

  “Let’s hope,” Gemma answered. “And maybe she didn’t get pregnant on their first date.” When he cocked an eyebrow skeptically at her, she went on. “Maybe their psychic connection’s been going on for years. She’s a big fan of Jon’s, right? She just fell in love long distance through his songs.”

  Rico nodded. “You think our music brought them together?”

  “Why not?” she answered. “And he was psychically searching for her. I’ve always wondered who the songs like ‘Courtyard Rose’ and ‘Dreaming Desire’ were about. And—”

  Just then, Jon and his lady appeared behind Aunt Martine at the top of the stairs. Like everyone else, Rico craned to get a good look at the woman Jonathan Coyote had come to claim. She was small, with short brown curls, a creamy coffee complexion, and huge, dark brown eyes. She didn’t look afraid, as a person facing the scrutiny of a house full of vampires might be expected to be. She did look confused, but Rico was certain that was aimed squarely at Jon. No one else mattered to her.

  He liked that about Desiree Gill. A singular concentration on the male you bonded with was a proper quality in a female.

  Gemma caught this thought and snorted. “Primes are such pigs.”

  He didn’t deny it but drew her closer in his possessive, protective embrace.

  Chapter 13

  D esi wished that Martine Shagal had left her and Jon alone longer; she hated being thrust out into public view when they still had so much to work out.

  But suddenly they were in this crowd. How could she think with all this noise and all these people—and that was Rico and the glamorous Gemma smiling up at her from the bottom of the stairs! Smiling at her? They were famous!

  Of course, Jon was famous, too. She’d forgotten about that while they’d been arguing. How odd that she’d forgotten to be awed by his fame. She hadn’t even been horrified or frightened knowing that he was a vampire, either. He was just—Jon.

  Her Jon? Jonathan Coyote, hers? The Jonathan Coyote?

  Why did that not seem preposterous?

  “My mom’s going to be jealous,” she murmured. “She was a fan of yours long before I was.”

  He laughed. “Go ahead, make me feel my age.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs before she could answer, and suddenly they were the object of attention.

  Gemma Shagal took her hands. “I’m Gemma, this is my Rico, and we’re very happy to meet you,” the glamorous woman told her. “You look shell-shocked. Why don’t we get you some ginger ale and a place to sit down?”

  “Hey!” Jon called out as Gemma led Desi away.

  Desi didn’t take more than three steps before she and Gemma were surrounded by a group of male vampires. They were all taller than she was, and they were all handsome and self-confident. Exuding sexuality seemed to be standard operating procedure among this lot. They also all seemed to be wearing black. They were smiling, some with a bit of fang showing. Desi couldn’t help but get the impression that they were looking at her as if she were a tasty party snack.

  Beside her, Gemma let out a low chuckle. “Boys,” she said.

  “Hello, Desiree,” one of the crowd said.

  Desi focused her attention on the male who’d spoken. He was one of the tallest, with long black hair and green eyes. He had shoulders wide enough to block out the sun and looked vaguely familiar. Oh, great—another lost memory? “Do I know you?”

  “You do not,” Jon said firmly.

  The one who’d spoken to her elbowed the males beside him out of the way. One of them actually growled, but the crowd stepped back to give him room. “I’ve known you for a long time,” he said. “I’m Cesare. You’ve seen me around the Quarter, when I’ve wanted you to.” He glared over her shoulder at Jon. “I would have claimed her if you hadn’t come along.”

  She glanced back to see Jon glaring at Cesare. He put a hand on her shoulder, the connection sending a shiver through her that was psychic as well as physical.

  “Mine,” he said.

  Cesare gave a nasty laugh. “She’s not completely yours yet. I saw her first.”

  “No, you didn’t. And you didn’t have her first,” Jon said.

  Gemma sighed and whispered in Desi’s ear, “They’re kind of cute when they’re puppies, but this stuff grows old after a while.”

  “What stuff?” Desi whispered back.

  “They’re working up to fighting over you,” Gemma told her. “It’s a compliment, really,” she added when Desi turned a horrified look on her.

  “The lady’s a guest here, and a stranger to our ways,” another male chimed in. Desi recognized him as Corky Cage, Coyote’s drummer. He smiled, spreading his arms out to get everyone’s attention. “If there’s more than one Prime wanting to claim this lovely mortal woman, she has to be won. Lady Martine, isn’t this a time to let the woman chose her champion and reward the victor?” He looked between Jon and the challenger. “Prove your devotion to her, if you want her.”

  “Indeed,” Martine Shagal said, taking control of the situation with just one word. Everyone’s attention focused on their hostess. “Cordwainer is correct. Let’s turn this into a competition rather than the usual brawl. It’ll save wear and tear on my hol
iday decorations.”

  Jon wondered if his aunt had put Cesare, her youngest son, up to this challenge to prove a point. “I love her, Aunt Martine,” he told her, and he turned Desi to face him. He put a finger under her chin to make Desiree look him in the eye. “I love you,” he told her. “I always have. I always will. Know that I’ll always be with you.”

  “Love isn’t at stake here,” Corky spoke up. “Honor is.”

  “Cordwainer is correct,” Martine said again. “Don’t just proclaim your love, Jon. Do something to impress the girl with your devotion.” She gave an imperious wave that sent everyone but himself, Desiree, and Cesare to the edges of the big room. Jon and Cesare stepped away from Desiree, leaving her alone in the center of the room, a prize for all eyes to see. She crossed her arms and frowned.

  Martine smiled at them, but there was sternness in her demeanor. She gestured, candlelight glinting off the emerald ring on her hand. “Primes, choose your weapons.”

  Jon grinned. Fine. Let’s do it. He turned all his attention on the woman he was determined to win. “Somebody hand me a guitar.”

  Desi was barely aware of the laughter and applause that broke out around them. Jon Coyote was looking into her eyes, and she had no doubt that he wasn’t aware of anyone but her. All the memories they shared flooded through her, and every last bit of resentment and anger faded away even as she fought to keep it alive.

  He loved her. He’d said so.

  She had to turn her back on him to be able to think. All right, so he’d messed up her head and gotten her knocked up and disappeared from her life for the last three months.

  After all that, was she going to let him get away with a simple Sweetheart, I am so sorry?

  The first few bars of “Tempting Fate” sounded in the room and in her head. And her heart. And her soul. And her body. And she turned back to face him. He smiled tenderly, and every note he played was filled with love. When he began to sing, the words were all for her.

  His rival never had a chance.

  Was she going to let him get away with everything he wanted?

  Desi smiled tenderly. Of course she was.

  He was Jon Coyote, and she’d loved him all her life.

  The

  Darkness

  Within

  Maggie Shayne

  Chapter 1

  N ine p.m., pouring rain outside, corn flakes for dinner, and the phone hadn’t rung all day. Brian tended to be a last-minute sort of guy, but normally, if he hadn’t called by nine, he wasn’t going to. For a while, she would get ready, just in case. She would blow off friends, invitations, everything, just in case he called. She still stayed home in hopes he would come by, but she’d stopped getting dressed and fixing her hair at night, because it was usually a waste of time. He would let weeks go by without a word, then call her and give her twenty minutes’ warning before showing up at her door. Sometimes he stayed a whole hour after the sex. Usually, he asked to borrow money before he left.

  She was beginning to wonder if she was paying him for his services.

  She wasn’t a stupid woman. She knew he was using her, but being in a man’s arms every once in a while felt good, and the sex wasn’t bad. Wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad.

  Caroline scuffed through the kitchen in her worn-out slippers and flannel robe, admiring the gleaming floor tiles that looked like mother-of-pearl and wondering how the hell she was going to keep from losing the home she’d just bought. Her job as a financial planner at a local bank didn’t pay enough to keep her afloat. She’d made a lot more as a partner in a two-person tax and accounting business, but her ex got that in the divorce. He was supposed to buy her out, but he had yet to fork over the money.

  It had been two months since the closing on her new home, a year since her divorce, and six months since she’d started dating Brian, if you could call it dating. Mostly, it was a series of booty calls. She’d managed to ruin her life in what had to be a record-breaking period of time.

  The telephone shrilled just as she sat down with her bowl of corn flakes at the island with the tiles that matched those on the floor. God, she loved this house. She slid off the stool and padded to the phone, saw the name on the caller ID, and felt like crap. But she picked it up anyway.

  “Hello, Shawn.”

  “Hi, hon.” That he still called her “hon” after ditching her for a younger woman, divorcing her, booting her out the door, and stealing her business made her stomach turn over. “I’m just calling to tell you—”

  “That the check isn’t coming on time?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

  “I’m sorry, babe. The business is suffering right now.”

  He said “babe” the way most people would say “bitch.”

  “Shawn, this is the third month in a row. You got the house and my half of the business, but you’re supposed to be paying me for my share of both.”

  “I know, and I will. I’ll catch up.”

  “Before or after I lose my home?”

  He swore, and she felt him getting angry. Closing her eyes, lowering her head, she sighed. She hated confrontation and knew arguing with him would be like arguing with a stalk of corn. A really cheap and stone-deaf stalk of corn. “Look, I need the money. Try your best, will you, Shawn?”

  “I will. Promise. Thanks for understanding.”

  “Oh, I understand, all right.”

  He hung up then, not a good-bye, not a question about her life or anything else. Probably because he didn’t care. Then again, he never had. She hung up the phone and stared at it for a long moment. Then she picked it up again and dialed Brian’s number. He didn’t answer. The machine picked up, though, and while she waited for the beep, she tried to rehearse the words in her mind. She didn’t want to make him mad or insult him, because her experience with men told her they didn’t hang around long if you pissed them off. And while Brian was no prince, he was better than no one. But damn, she needed some cash.

  “Hi, Brian, it’s me. Listen, I’m in some trouble here, and um—well, I really hate to ask, but if you could pay me back some of the money I’ve loaned you, it would really help me out. I mean, no problem if you can’t, but you know, if you can. Even a little…well, like I said, it would help. Give me a call, okay?”

  She put the phone down, gnawed her lower lip for a second, then sighed and headed back to her stool. But her corn flakes were soggy, and she’d lost her appetite.

  Thunder rolled in, marbles over metal, in waves that got louder as they came nearer, until she felt it in her gut. She glanced toward the sliding glass doors that led onto the patio, and watched rivulets of rainwater streaming over the glass. To Caroline Connelly, it felt as if the universe were taking a giant, steaming leak on her pathetic excuse for a life.

  Lightning flashed like a strobe light. For just an instant, it showed her an image—a woman stood on the other side of the rain-streaked glass. Caroline clapped a hand to her chest and jumped off the stool so fast it fell over. But she couldn’t see anything now. No dripping-wet form, no dark, straggly hair, no eyes staring intently at her.

  Her heart was pounding, mouth dry, and she’d inhaled so sharply she thought she might have torn a lung. Shaking—just a little bit—she moved toward the glass doors, even though her feet were itching to run in the opposite direction. With a quick lunge, she reached out, locked the doors, then darted to one side and flipped on the outdoor light.

  Illumination spilled over the flagstone patio, the empty brown wicker chairs, and the matching glass-topped table. It spilled across the sloping lawn and touched the edges of the kidney-shaped swimming pool. But it didn’t reveal a long-haired woman in a soaked white dress that hung down to her bare feet. There was no one there.

  It must have been an illusion, a trick played by that flash of lightning and the shadows around it, or some kind of odd reflection. It must have been…

  She lowered her head, and her heart stood still. There on the flagstone, just outside the gla
ss doors, were two wet footprints. No sudden gasp or knee-jerk response this time. This time, she just stared at the hard evidence her eyes were showing her, not doubting it, clear on what she saw. Not clear on what it meant but perfectly clear on what she saw. Her feet carried her backward until she was pressed up against the wall by the phone. She took the receiver from the base almost in slow motion. Her hands shook so that she almost dropped the phone, but her eyes never left the patio as she hit the buttons.

  When her brother picked up, he sounded as if he’d been laughing about something. “Yeah?”

  Calmly—which surprised her—she said, “Peter, there’s someone here.” And yeah, maybe her voice sounded strained and oddly quiet. But calm.

  The laughter in his voice died. “Caroline? What do you mean? Who’s there?”

  “Hell, Pete, I didn’t ask her name, but from the looks of her, she’s either a half-drowned crack addict or that chick from The Ring. And I’m wishing to hell I’d never let you talk me into seeing that movie, by the way. She was standing outside the doors, staring in at me.”

  As she spoke, she felt a chill and turned slowly. The woman stood in her living room, just beyond the archway, dripping all over the deep-pile carpet. “Oh, shit.” God, she looked like something that had just dragged itself out of a swamp. “Jesus, she’s in the house!”

  “Get out of there, Caro. Get out now. I’ll call the police and be there in two minutes. Get out.”

  Caroline was obeying before he had finished telling her the first time, turning to hang up the phone and running for the glass doors. She did not need to be told to get out of the house. Hell, if she were a cartoon, there would be a Caroline-shaped hole in the nearest wall right now. She started to yank the doors open, but they were locked. As she twisted the lock, she sent a frantic look over her shoulder. The woman was coming closer, entering the dining room now. She lifted a hand, reaching out toward her, moving slowly, her eyes intense, almost angry.