by Cecy Robson
I held Agnes and Edith with my feet pressed against their throats, taking care not to protrude my back claws when they grabbed my ankles and tossed me. I flipped back and landed in a crouch. Maria regained consciousness, again, and tackled me from behind. I yelped when fangs dug into my skin, piercing my flesh like sets of scorching needles. The scrimmage ended and the pain receded before I could tear the Prada-worshipping leeches off.
Edith and Agnes visibly shook as Misha laid into them. “Celia belongs to me,” he hissed. “You are never to taste her.”
I frowned. “I’m not yours.”
The vamps ignored me. “I didn’t drink her blood, Master. I swear it,” Edith Anne whimpered.
Agnes cowered at his feet. “Neither did I, Master. Not even a lick.”
I rubbed my face. The Catholic schoolgirls and I weren’t exactly buddies. In fact, we barely tolerated one another. Still, I didn’t want them turned into clumps of dust. I strode to Misha’s side and grasped his elbow, halting his tirade. “Misha, it’s fine. They only bit me. On the shoulder and . . .” I turned to look at my backside. “Damn it, Edith, you bit my ass?”
Edith shuffled back and forth, looking at her feet. “Sorry, Celia. It was an accident.”
Her wicked smile and flirty wink told me otherwise. Misha glared with the might of his master badass-ness. “Leave now.”
The so-called Prince of Darkness knew how to clear a room. There was a slight breeze and the whole lot of them vanished—as in hauled serious supernatural ass. I tried to leave, too, but Misha grabbed my hand. “Wait. I must heal you.”
The smoldering look Misha gave me told me exactly what he meant. “That’s okay—they’re only puncture wounds. I’ll see Emme tomorrow. She’ll fix me right up.”
Misha closed the distance between us. “They left deep marks. You should not wait to tend to them.”
“Misha . . .”
Chills spread through my body as Misha licked my shoulder to seal the wound. His tongue and breath felt warm against my skin. Misha had been around for more than a hundred and forty years; he’d had plenty of time to learn how to touch a woman. He continued on, even though the bites had closed after the first flick of his tongue.
I broke his hold and backed away. “Misha, don’t.” Misha was a thrill ride I didn’t want to straddle. My loneliness had become unbearable; every part of me longed to be touched. But it wasn’t his hands my body craved.
Misha’s heated gaze promised me hours of pleasure. “I’m not done yet, kitten.”
My mouth went dry. This was a problem; when it came to fighting, I’d take on anyone, anytime, anywhere. When it came to males, I changed into the superhero of dorks, a big ole D blazed across my chest and an army of pocket-protector worshipping fiends bowed at my feet. Any able-bodied female in my situation would have taken control and made Misha beg for pleasure. Where were these able-bodied females when I needed one?
I inched my way back, laughing a little too hysterically for my taste. “You don’t really want to kiss my butt, do you? What will people think?”
A wicked smile spread slowly across his strong, masculine face. As if on cue, a gust appeared despite the closed windows and fanned Misha’s long blond mane in perfect supermodel fashion. “Do I strike you as someone who cares what others think?”
My eyes darted around, searching for the source of the breeze. My eyebrows knitted tight. “Did you just do that on purpose?” The gleam in his “come hither and do naughty things to me” expression affirmed my suspicions. My gulp dissolved my frown. I’d already backed into the bamboo walls. Misha continued to stalk toward me. His smoldering gray eyes accelerated my pulse, and my forlorn female parts screamed to give in, and my hands itched to take off my clothes. Thank God, my mind still functioned reasonably. “Misha, under no circumstances will your tongue or lips touch my backside.”
He placed his palms on either side of my head and regarded me with growing desire. “As you wish.”
My shoulders slumped with relief . . . until I realized I hadn’t been specific enough. Misha grabbed the two fingers of my right hand and placed them in his hot mouth, instantly spiking my body temperature ten degrees. I was so distracted that I didn’t notice him yanking my yoga pants down to my ankles. By some lingerie miracle, my thong remained in place. He pulled my delighted fingers out of his mouth and smoothed them over my remaining marks. I swallowed hard while he held my gaze. My body was literally shaking with need. No man had touched me like that since Aric. . . .
Aric.
I jumped out of Misha’s grasp, only to land on my face and scramble away like a damn epileptic inchworm.
Misha sighed when I managed to stand and yank up my pants. “Kitten, why must you make things so difficult?”
“Misha, I don’t want this. I told you that before I moved in.”
Misha leaned against the wall and quirked an eyebrow. “It didn’t appear that way a moment ago.”
My hands dropped to my sides in frustration. “I know, and I’m sorry. But I can’t stay here if this is what you’ll expect of me. You promised you’d keep your hands to yourself.”
Misha pushed himself off the wall and, in a blink, faced me. “I promised to make you the perfect weapon, one that could help us defeat the Tribe.” He licked his lips and focused on mine. “I also promised not to do more than you would allow between us.”
“There is no us, Misha. I can’t allow our relationship to go further.”
Misha flashed me another wicked grin before he gave me his usual line. “We’ll see.”
Did you miss the first book in the Weird Girls series?
Read on for an excerpt from
Sealed with a Curse
Available now in print and e-book
Sacramento, California
The courthouse doors crashed open as I led my three sisters into the large foyer. I didn’t mean to push so hard, but hell, I was mad and worried about being eaten. The cool spring breeze slapped at my back as I stepped inside, yet it did little to cool my temper or my nerves.
My nose scented the vampires before my eyes caught them emerging from the shadows. There were six of them, wearing dark suits, Ray-Bans, and obnoxious little grins. Two bolted the doors tight behind us, while the others frisked us for weapons.
I can’t believe we’re in vampire court. So much for avoiding the perilous world of the supernatural.
Emme trembled beside me. She had every right to be scared. We were strong, but our combined abilities couldn’t trump a roomful of bloodsucking beasts. “Celia,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come.”
Like we had a choice. “Just stay close to me, Emme.” My muscles tensed as the vampire’s hands swept the length of my body and through my long curls. I didn’t like him touching me, and neither did my inner tigress. My fingers itched with the need to protrude my claws.
When he finally released me, I stepped closer to Emme while I scanned the foyer for a possible escape route. Next to me, the vampire searching Taran got a little daring with his pat-down. But he was messing with the wrong sister.
“If you touch my ass one more time, fang boy, I swear to God I’ll light you on fire.” The vampire quickly removed his hands when a spark of blue flame ignited from Taran’s fingertips.
Shayna, conversely, flashed a lively smile when the vampire searching her found her toothpicks. Her grin widened when he returned her seemingly harmless little sticks, unaware of how deadly they were in her hands. “Thanks, dude.” She shoved the box back into the pocket of her slacks.
“They’re clear.” The guard grinned at Emme and licked his lips. “This way.” He motioned her to follow. Emme cowered. Taran showed no fear and plowed ahead. She tossed her dark, wavy hair and strutted into the courtroom like the diva she was, wearing a tiny white minidress that contrasted with her deep olive skin. I didn’t fail to notice the guards’ gazes glued to Taran’s shapely figure. Nor did I miss when their incisors lengthened, ready to bite.
I urged Emme and Shayna forward. “Go. I’ll watch your backs.” I whipped around to snarl at the guards. The vampires’ smiles faltered when they saw my fangs protrude. Like most beings, they probably didn’t know what I was, but they seemed to recognize I was potentially lethal, despite my petite frame.
I followed my sisters into the large courtroom. The place reminded me of a picture I’d seen of the Salem witch trials. Rows of dark wood pews lined the center aisle, and wide rustic planks comprised the floor. Unlike the photo I recalled, every window was boarded shut, and paintings of vampires hung on every inch of available wall space. One particular image epitomized the vampire stereotype perfectly. It showed a male vampire entwined with two naked women on a bed of roses and jewels. The women appeared completely enamored of the vampire, even while blood dripped from their necks.
The vampire spectators scrutinized us as we approached along the center aisle. Many had accessorized their expensive attire with diamond jewelry and watches that probably cost more than my car. Their glares told me they didn’t appreciate my cotton T-shirt, peasant skirt, and flip-flops. I was twenty-five years old; it’s not like I didn’t know how to dress. But, hell, other fabrics and shoes were way more expensive to replace when I changed into my other form.
I spotted our accuser as we stalked our way to the front of the assembly. Even in a courtroom crammed with young and sexy vampires, Misha Aleksandr stood out. His tall, muscular frame filled his fitted suit, and his long blond hair brushed against his shoulders. Death, it seemed, looked damn good. Yet it wasn’t his height or his wealth or even his striking features that captivated me. He possessed a fierce presence that commanded the room. Misha Aleksandr was a force to be reckoned with, but, strangely enough, so was I.
Misha had “requested” our presence in Sacramento after charging us with the murder of one of his family members. We had two choices: appear in court or be hunted for the rest of our lives. The whole situation sucked. We’d stayed hidden from the supernatural world for so long. Now not only had we been forced into the limelight, but we also faced the possibility of dying some twisted, Rob Zombie–inspired death.
Of course, God forbid that would make Taran shut her trap. She leaned in close to me. “Celia, how about I gather some magic-borne sunlight and fry these assholes?” she whispered in Spanish.
A few of the vampires behind us muttered and hissed, causing uproar among the rest. If they didn’t like us before, they sure as hell hated us then.
Shayna laughed nervously, but maintained her perky demeanor. “I think some of them understand the lingo, dude.”
I recognized Taran’s desire to burn the vamps to blood and ash, but I didn’t agree with it. Conjuring such power would leave her drained and vulnerable, easy prey for the master vampires, who would be immune to her sunlight. Besides, we were already in trouble with one master for killing his keep. We didn’t need to be hunted by the entire leeching species.
The procession halted in a strangely wide-open area before a raised dais. There were no chairs or tables, nothing we could use as weapons against the judges or the angry mob amassed behind us.
My eyes focused on one of the boarded windows. The light honey-colored wood frame didn’t match the darker boards. I guessed the last defendant had tried to escape. Judging from the claw marks running from beneath the frame to where I stood, he, she, or it hadn’t made it.
I looked up from the deeply scratched floor to find Misha’s intense gaze on me. We locked eyes, predator to predator, neither of us the type to back down. You’re trying to intimidate the wrong gal, pretty boy. I don’t scare easily.
Shayna slapped her hand over her face and shook her head, her long black ponytail waving behind her. “For Pete’s sake, Celia, can’t you be a little friendlier?” She flashed Misha a grin that made her blue eyes sparkle. “How’s it going, dude?”
Shayna said “dude” a lot, ever since dating some idiot claiming to be a professional surfer. The term fit her sunny personality and eventually grew on us.
Misha didn’t appear taken by her charm. He eyed her as if she’d asked him to make her a garlic pizza in the shape of a cross. I laughed; I couldn’t help it. Leave it to Shayna to try to befriend the guy who’ll probably suck us dry by sundown.
At the sound of my chuckle, Misha regarded me slowly. His head tilted slightly as his full lips curved into a sensual smile. I would have preferred a vicious stare—I knew how to deal with those. For a moment, I thought he’d somehow made my clothes disappear and I was standing there like the bleeding hoochies in that awful painting.
The judges’ sudden arrival gave me an excuse to glance away. There were four, each wearing a formal robe of red velvet with an elaborate powdered wig. They were probably several centuries old, but like all vampires, they didn’t appear a day over thirty. Their splendor easily surpassed the beauty of any mere mortal. I guessed the whole “sucky, sucky, me love you all night” lifestyle paid off for them.
The judges regally assumed their places on the raised dais. Behind them hung a giant plasma screen, which appeared out of place in this century-old building. Did they plan to watch a movie while they decided how best to disembowel us?
A female judge motioned Misha forward with a Queen Elizabeth hand wave. A long, thick scar angled from the corner of her left jaw across her throat. Someone had tried to behead her. To scar a vampire like that, the culprit had likely used a gold blade reinforced with lethal magic. Apparently, even that blade hadn’t been enough. I gathered she commanded the fang-fest Parliament, since her marble nameplate read, CHIEF JUSTICE ANTOINETTE MALIKA. Judge Malika didn’t strike me as the warm and cuddly sort. Her lips pursed into a tight line and her elongating fangs locked over her lower lip. I only hoped she’d snacked before her arrival.
At a nod from Judge Malika, Misha began. “Members of the High Court, I thank you for your audience.” A Russian accent underscored his deep voice. “I hereby charge Celia, Taran, Shayna, and Emme Wird with the murder of my family member, David Geller.”
“Wird? More like Weird,” a vamp in the audience mumbled. The smaller vamp next to him adjusted his bow tie nervously when I snarled.
Oh, yeah, like we’ve never heard that before, jerk.
The sole male judge slapped a heavy leather-bound book on the long table and whipped out a feather quill. “Celia Wird. State your position.”
Position?
I exchanged glances with my sisters; they didn’t seem to know what Captain Pointy Teeth meant either. Taran shrugged. “Who gives a shit? Just say something.”
I waved a hand. “Um. Registered Nurse?”
Judging by his “please don’t make me eat you before the proceedings” scowl, and the snickering behind us, I hadn’t provided him with the appropriate response.
He enunciated every word carefully and slowly so as not to further confuse my obviously feeble and inferior mind. “Position in the supernatural world.”
“We’ve tried to avoid your world.” I gave Taran the evil eye. “For the most part. But if you must know, I’m a tigress.”
“Weretigress,” he said as he wrote.
“I’m not a were,” I interjected defensively.
He huffed. “Can you change into a tigress or not?”
“Well, yes. But that doesn’t make me a were.”
The vamps behind us buzzed with feverish whispers while the judges’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. Not knowing what we were made them nervous. A nervous vamp was a dangerous vamp. And the room burst with them.
“What I mean is, unlike a were, I can change parts of my body without turning into my beast completely.” And unlike anything else on earth, I could also shift—disappear under and across solid ground and resurface unscathed. But they didn’t need to know that little tidbit. Nor did they need to know I couldn’t heal my injuries. If it weren’t for Emme’s unique ability to heal herself and others, my sisters and I would have died long ago.
“Fascinating,” he said in a way th
at clearly meant I wasn’t. The feather quill didn’t come with an eraser. And the judge obviously didn’t appreciate my making him mess up his book. He dipped his pen into his little inkwell and scribbled out what he’d just written before addressing Taran. “Taran Wird, position?”
“I can release magic into the forms of fire and lightning—”
“Very well, witch.” The vamp scrawled.
“I’m not a witch, asshole.”
The judge threw his plume on the table, agitated. Judge Malika fixed her frown on Taran. “What did you say?”
Nobody flashed a vixen grin better than Taran. “I said, ‘I’m not a witch. Ass. Hole.’”
Emme whimpered, ready to hurl from the stress. Shayna giggled and threw an arm around Taran. “She’s just kidding, dude!”
No. Taran didn’t kid. Hell, she didn’t even know any knock-knock jokes. She shrugged off Shayna, unwilling to back down. She wouldn’t listen to Shayna. But she would listen to me.
“Just answer the question, Taran.”
The muscles on Taran’s jaw tightened, but she did as I asked. “I make fire, light—”
“Fire-breather.” Captain Personality wrote quickly.
“I’m not a—”
He cut her off. “Shayna Wird?”
“Well, dude, I throw knives—”
“Knife thrower,” he said, ready to get this little meet-and-greet over and done with.
Shayna did throw knives. That was true. She could also transform pieces of wood into razor-sharp weapons and manipulate alloys. All she needed was metal somewhere on her body and a little focus. For her safety, though, “knife thrower” seemed less threatening.
“And you, Emme Wird?”
“Um. Ah. I can move things with my mind—”
“Gypsy,” the half-wit interpreted.
I supposed “telekinetic” was too big a word for this idiot. Then again, unlike typical telekinetics, Emme could do more than bend a few forks. I sighed. Tigress, fire-breather, knife thrower, and Gypsy. We sounded like the headliners for a freak show. All we needed was a bearded lady. That’s what happens when you’re the bizarre products of a backfired curse.