Bo sniffled and swallowed back a sob. "What's that mean? Min skatt," she asked through a wall of soft tears.
Skuld turned her in his arms, stroking her cheek with one hand and disarming her with the other. He set the gun down on a nearby table. "It means ‘my treasure’. Because I found you when I wasn't looking. You are precious beyond compare. That is what you are to me."
Bo shuddered, a range of emotions—rage, sorrow, triumph—taking over her beautiful face. Fresh streams of hot tears bathed her cheeks. The long night was over. "I finally get closure."
Skuld took her by the hand and squeezed it gently. He nodded. "We both do."
With eerie calm, she walked over to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. A trio of squad cars arrived in record time and then the coroner followed by the crime scene technicians. Bo sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket while Skuld recounted the attack. Kettle had planned on pinning the serial rapes and murders on him. Both were in competition for the second-tier position with the man they protected for a living. Word was their boss was going to tap Skuld for the job. The rapes and murders of countless women had been Kjellsson's way of retaliation.
Seated at Bo's kitchen table, Skuld kept an eye on her, watching for any signs of duress. He wouldn't let anyone hurt her. Good guys or bad. His chest swelled with pride. He was so proud of her. She'd helped bring down a rapist and murderer. The policemen were talking about a reward.
Two hours later, the authorities and the spectators were gone. Once again, the quiet returned. Skuld joined her on the couch, wrapping his arm around her. The bedroom was a wreck. He'd help her clean up later. First, they needed more rest. And more loving.
Bo looked around and shook her head. "Wild night, huh?"
He nodded softly. "I wouldn't give it for all the nights of my life, and there have been more than I can count."
"No?" She looked at him, eager for his answer.
An answer he was eager to give. Heart thudding in his chest, Skuld shook his head. "No."
Bo stared at him. "I could be crazy about you, you know."
"Good." Skuld took her in his arms, bringing her sweet face to his. "I'll meet you halfway there."
The End
www.persephonejones.me
LOVE’S RESCUE
Paranormal Rights, 1
Morgan King
Copyright© 2014
Chapter One
“You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you hear.”
–Oscar Wilde
Jakob drove his Skoda VRS up towards the front entrance to the palace, ignoring the turning towards the car park that he could so easily take. Ahead there was a queue of liveried bell hops waiting to park guests’ cars, and who was he to deny them the pleasure of driving his car?
So what if his smile was self-deprecating? For him a car needed to be practical and a pleasure, hence the reliable Eastern European car with a VW engine. Despite its name it could go faster than a Mini Cooper.
Switching off the engine he unfolded his tall frame and tossed his keys to the first boy in line. They were easily caught, and Jakob didn’t give his car a second look, unlike those that would watch their precious Audi or Beemer, hoping that if they didn’t look away their car would remain miraculously unscratched.
Instead Jakob looked out at the ornate building that belonged to one Jon Liselle and where tonight’s party to celebrate Jon’s recent rise to second in command for the Human Alliance Party was being held. It was worth looking at, despite the man who owned it being a right bastard and undeserving of anything so beautiful. The slightly ostentatious nature of the building was much more in keeping with its owner.
Rumors abounded that Jon was engaged in nefarious practices. In particular stories circulated that he used his wealth to support businesses that employed or rather, depending on your point of view, trafficked vamps.
Admittedly it was the individual’s right if they wanted to sign up at a recruitment agency to become a vamp. Desperate people were allowed to do desperate things. It wasn’t illegal. If they thought an immortal life was worth the guide price of five hundred years of servitude to their master, there was nothing anyone could do about it, or about the fact that Liselle might fund recruitment campaigns.
Vamps could choose to pay an annual fee instead of being employed in one of their Master’s businesses for those years, but where would they come up with the required amount when they couldn’t work during daylight hours? And Jakob knew of no Master who wanted to turn someone with potential, a mind of their own. No, night factory work, doing menial jobs, for minimum pay, for five hundred years it was for most recruited vamps.
It made business sense.
The Human Alliance Party, which Jon Liselle was a fundamental part of, didn’t care that vamps had few rights. Why would they care when during those years of servitude vamps couldn’t vote?
From a vamp’s perspective it wasn’t worth fighting for a vote. They just had to wait it out, but vamps had only been a recognized commodity for fifty to one hundred years at most, and there was still a long wait to go. Meanwhile it was the shifters who were left fighting the cause for all non-humans and their rights.
And as for Liselle’s view of shifters, he was openly racist towards them and would have them deported if he could. Although Jakob suspected that, in true Nazi style, Liselle would probably rather exterminate or dissect them. There was no trace of empathy in Jon Liselle, who had openly stated his belief that the only purpose of non-humans was to provide a working population for the higher minded species that he himself belonged to.
Yes, it was a right bastard who owned and had stamped his own mark on the historic venue before Jakob.
The palace stretched out to sea, an impressive structure of glass and steel transforming what used to be Southwold pleasure pier. What had once been for the pleasure of the people was now a monument to Liselle’s wealth and a testament to his class. It seemed every generation could have their own nouveau riche, those with more money than sense to respect the privileged opportunity it presented.
At the front was a casino-like entrance complete with multiple swinging doors leading through to a dark interior momentarily illuminated in different places by flashing lights. Jakob wouldn’t be surprised to see mirrored balls hanging from the ceiling.
The party would all be happening to the front of the building, rather than on the pier itself. For behind the front part of the palace, which was built on solid ground, was Liselle’s private residence supported by a multitude of iron pillars. A wooden walkway marked by iron railings wrapped right the way around. In daylight, with people walking up and down, it might appear much like any other pier, but at night, completely deserted, while the front of the building was all lit up, it appeared ominous.
Most interesting, though, was that down below, in the center of the iron pillars, nestled among the supporting structure, half visible above the sea and then disappearing underneath its surface were what looked like tinted glass walls that it was impossible to see through and not just because of the darkness of the night or the interior. John Liselle’s home contained rooms stretching down into the sea. Places where he could look out without anyone being able to see in.
There was no use trying to see behind such a façade. Any secrets Jon Liselle had were buried deep beneath the sea.
What Jakob wouldn’t give to uncover them!
He took one last look out to where the waves crashed against the posts then made his way into the party. Being neither human, nor wealthy, he would not normally be invited to such events, but his job as a free-lance journalist had garnered him an invitation and his connections to the Equality and Diversity for All Party (EDP) meant it was worth his while attending. He supported the party and fought the good fight where he could.
Anything he submitted for print was always neutral and well documented, but who knows what he might learn that he could filter back to the EDP? Anything relating t
o the forthcoming elections could prove useful. Anything that might prevent the Human Alliance party from once again taking the majority of the seats on the local council would be worth any amount of mingling and fawning amongst people Jakob couldn’t normally stand.
As he stepped through the doors he could see they were all there, the great and the good of Suffolk were in attendance, from politicians to wealthy businessmen, not to mention the land owners. There they were, decked out in glittering dresses and dry-cleaned suits, with coiffed or slicked back hair. Anything to look perfect for an evening.
They were all human.
Nothing ever changed, certainly not about these parties. The guests were the same, the waiters, the security, the podium for the all-important self-congratulatory speeches and the orchestra playing tasteful music.
Although…
As Jakob concentrated on the sounds of the party there was more than the murmur of voices, more than the tinkle of champagne glasses, more than the strains of string and wind instruments. There was a voice singing the most beautiful aria, sweet and haunting, initially so quiet as to be ethereal, except the more Jakob listened the better he heard it, his whole body, not just his ears, drawn towards it.
No matter how he looked he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. There was no singer next to the orchestra. No stage set up to show off the amazing talent. The sound was so pure Jakob was convinced there must be a real person behind it rather than a recording. Just to be sure he looked for speakers, but couldn’t see any.
He followed the sound, the music it appeared only he could hear. No one else in the room showed any signs that the polite conversation they were engaged in was anything other than completely riveting, and if they did it was only because their attention was diverted to the trays of canapés the vamps were carrying.
How could they not hear something so magical?
There were no words, but the falling and rising notes spoke of a longing so intense Jakob yearned, too. It was as if the singer had reached inside him and stolen a piece of his heart. The song called for him to come and retrieve it.
Jakob could not resist the call.
As he squeezed past people the odd smile was flung his way, a polite sign of recognition that didn’t go as far as a desire to talk to him. His journalistic reputation preceded him.
Jakob always endeavored to report multiple sides of any story, but, more importantly, he always tried to convey the truth. Especially the truths that all those whose voices couldn’t be heard would want to read. For some reason this annoyed some people and meant they avoided talking to him.
Towards the far end of the room he saw there was an increase in security. Members of staff that didn’t have the pale skin of those denied the sun, the more menial waiters and such like, but rather those with the physical brawn of humans pumped up on magically enhanced drugs. They didn’t wear dinner jackets. Instead the whites of their shirts were crisscrossed with the rigging designed to holster an array of weapons, all neatly color-coded to reflect the weapon’s target: silver for any shifter, the naked handle for humans, blood red for any vamps, and last, but the one within easiest reach, purple for magic users.
The question was how was he going to get past security, because the closer he came to the end of the room the more obvious it became that the music was coming from somewhere else deeper into the building.
Jakob had no powers of illusion to call on, no ability to control minds, and while he was compelled to follow the notes that were haunting him he didn’t think starting a brawl, where his strength lay, was the answer. He would rather not feel the bite of silver.
He would have to brazen it out.
He palmed his phone before heading towards the single door guarded by a lone guard. Better odds than the double doors with two men in front, he reasoned. As he approached he discreetly pressed the keys on his phone, and the moment his intention to pass became obvious, the security guard raising one eyebrow at him, his phone dutifully made a ringing noise. There was nothing like a good old fashioned ring tone that actually made the phone sound as if it were ringing.
Taking the opportunity Jakob quickly pressed a sequence of keys before putting the phone to his ear. “Mr. Liselle. Yes, Sir, I’m sorry I’m running late. I’ll be right with you.” Rummaging with his free hand in his trouser pocket he produced his press ID and waved it in the guard’s face. For good measure he drew both sides of his jacket aside to show he was unarmed. “No, no problem, Sir. I’m just being checked for weapons.” So saying he motioned for the guard to frisk him.
The expectation carried sway, and the guard reached out to pat down first his chest then his lower body. When the guard rose from where he’d crouched to feel around Jakob’s ankles, Jakob took a quick step forward into the space in front of the door.
“Yes, it will just be the interview questions that were e-mailed through in advance. They’ll take about five minutes, and then when you join the party we’ll get some photographs of you and your guests. An official photographer from the party is here. He’s over by the entrance getting a few shots of people walking up the red carpet.” Jakob spun around looking pointedly towards the entrance. Fortunately, the security guard did the same. Still facing towards the party Jakob reached down and blindly felt for the door handle. He pushed it down, briefly meeting the security guard’s eyes, keeping his attention away from the door for a split second more.
“Two minutes and I’ll be with you, Sir.” Jakob pushed the door open and stepped through. He didn’t wait to hear if there was a protest. He shut the door behind him and took deliberately measured steps forward.
There was no sound of the door opening again, and Jakob quickly picked up the sound of singing once more. With the noise of the party behind him it was more distinct. One step after another he made his way through a warren of corridors, grateful there was no one else around.
This was it. He was in the private, restricted section of Liselle’s property. There was nothing to be seen as yet, merely unremarkable walls and closed doors, but there would be. Jakob just had to find it, whatever it was. His ears and heart were telling him there was more to find then an office with paperwork, which may or may not evidence bad business practices.
What, or as Jakob now suspected, who was Liselle keeping in his palace? Who would be singing down here?
The voice, growing louder, led him to a descending staircase. Jakob took the handrail and made his way down. There was a door at the bottom. One last barrier between him and his immediate destiny. Taking a breath he reached for the handle and pushed.
Chapter Two
The tank was disgustingly opulent. It consumed one wall, floor to ceiling and was decorated with swirling images of shells, coral and sea life all gilded in pearl. The vast array of shimmering colors distracted Jakob momentarily, but nothing could disguise the purpose of the chamber. It was a cage, and its captive swam towards the reinforced glass wall, her eyes open wide reciprocating his stare. Her tail swished angrily back and forth, the color of those moving scales so obviously matching the delicate pigment staining the glass barrier.
One word originating from somewhere outside of himself burst through his head.
“Help!”
He was looking at a mermaid, and he could hear her voice as if she had spoken to him.
It resonated right to the depths of his heart.
She was the owner of the voice that had called him here. She was no longer singing, but Jakob wasn’t in any doubt. Her eyes pulled him in just as her voice had done. Sea green irises around midnight black pupils stared at him intently. They called to him to free her.
The pumping of Jakob’s heart, nestled deep within his body, sped up. Adrenaline born of fear and anger and the need to do something surged alongside the blood now travelling furiously to all his limbs. For all he knew she might be hurt. What if he couldn’t save her?
She had called to him and was now his to save. How dared someone do this to her? The injustice of
it caused his fists to clench and his muscles to tense. No one should be contained against their will, especially not to be someone else’s possession, their viewing pleasure.
Jakob gathered up the intense emotions that witnessing this beautiful creature’s captivity inspired in him. They would cloud his ability to think and act unless he could channel them into something productive. He needed them to fuel a change into his own half human, half animal form.
Concentrating on the anger he visualized it as a mass of white heat, lighting him from within, his whole body glowing like metal when just withdrawn from the center of a fierce fire, ready to be molded.
He imagined the hard pound of his maker’s anvil beating him into shape, into his alternative form.
He felt the burn of rebirth.
He stamped a foot upon the floor and heard the thud of hoof meeting concrete. He stretched his spine, elongating all along the extra length. When he tested all four legs he found his change complete.
Where the woman in captivity was a creature of the sea Jakob was an animal of the land, part of the ancient forests, half man, half horse, a creature the humans called a centaur. In this form there was nothing that could stop him, not even reinforced glass.
Meeting the captive mermaid’s gaze he tossed his head, long strands of his mane-like hair flicking in front of his eyes. He stamped his foot again, and nodded forward with his head until she got the message and swam backwards.
Jakob likewise moved backwards, giving himself as much space for a run up as possible. When his tail brushed against a concrete wall he paused and took a deep breath, the wide expanse of his chest rising as his lungs filled with air. Then, letting the air out in a rush he charged. At the last moment he reared lifting his front legs high off the ground before sending both front hooves crashing into the glass.
Alpha's Claim Page 10