Taming the Beast: Eleven Paranormal Romances

by Alyse Zaftig

She darted around the wall of crates, slapped the latch up and pushed the door out. “This way!” she shouted outside, and hoped those wolves were out there, because Andreas’s teeth sank into the fabric of her skirt and tugged her back.

  He growled as he pulled her.

  She sighed. She’d liked that skirt. “Stop pulling me!” she snapped at him.

  He growled again and gave her a hard yank that knocked her onto her bottom. He put his snout in her face, and a rumbling noise sounded from his throat.

  As anyone would be when faced down by a predator with a human-sized brain, she was afraid. He could hurt her—really hurt her—if he weren’t in his right mind. If he didn’t understand who she was and what she could be for him, he’d attack. He’d see everything she was doing as a threat, and she was simply trying to get him help so she could love him the way he needed.

  “Hold it right there,” came a deep, calm voice from the open door.

  Swallowing, Mary didn’t move her body, but she shifted her gaze toward the voice.

  There were two men in the doorway, clad in leather and taking up a lot of space.

  Wolves?

  If they were wolves, then they must have been predators of a different sort. Even from where she stood, she could feel the hot energy pouring off of them. Not quite like Andreas. Animals of another sort.

  Andreas’s growl grew louder, but she knew the sound wasn’t directed at her that time. The warning was meant for the newcomers.

  One of the men, who wore a patch over his eye and his hair long, took another step into the room, baring fangs that had snapped down fast as switchblades. “You want to see who’s the alpha here?” he said on a growl of his own. “You want to see who’s the biggest dog in the room?”

  Andreas stopped growling, but he didn’t appear to be backing down from the challenge he’d made. He didn’t lower his body or hang his head. He looked at the newcomers head-on.

  Please don’t embarrass him.

  “Mary, I’m going to arc around to you, okay?” the other man said. “We’re not going to let him hurt you.”

  “I’m not worried about him hurting me. I think he’s angry because you’re intruding and I’m…his mate.”

  The one with the eye patch stilled. His mouth opened then closed wordlessly. His brow furrowed. “His mate?” He turned to the other man, as if in silent conference.

  The other man cocked a dark brow. “And how do you feel about that?” he asked her.

  “I think—” She shook her head. She more than thought. “No, I know I’m fine. I can handle him.” There was no one else for Andreas. She’d decided that, and Andreas would just have to cope with having a nosy Valkyrie as a girlfriend. “Am I a little freaked out right now, though?” she asked, grimacing a bit. “Absolutely.”

  “We’ll fix this,” the second guy said.

  “How?”

  “Our energy—our magic, I guess you’d call it—will keep his at bay until the two parts of him are back in sync.” As he’d said, he arced the long way around and approached Mary from the rear.

  Andreas was so busy watching him that he didn’t pay attention to the guy with the eye patch.

  He grabbed Andreas around the neck and forced him to the floor.

  “Please!” Mary shouted.

  “It’s all right,” the other guy said. “Anton’s not gonna hurt him, and trust me, we’re not going to tell anyone about this except my dad.”

  “Your dad?”

  He grunted and extended a hand to Mary to shake. “I’m Vic Carbone. Adam’s my father.”

  “Oh!” She shook his hand and then turned her attention back to the scuffle nearby.

  Anton was working very hard not to hurt Andreas, but Andreas wasn’t giving him any such courtesy. He was trying to nip and claw at the man—trying to wrest himself free of his grip—but Anton had obviously had practice.”

  “You’ve done this before?” she asked Vic.

  He nodded. “A few times.”

  “What’ll happen afterward?”

  “That’s up to you, I guess. My father thought the best course of action would be for us to bundle him up and take him back to Norseton with us until he’s better able to control himself, but we’re not going to force him to do anything.”

  “He’s not in a good place to be making decisions. I mean, look at him.” She indicated toward the snarling beast, who was meaner, angrier, than Andreas on two legs would ever be. He might have been antisocial and reclusive, but he wasn’t violent.

  “You can decide,” Vic said. “If you trust us to help him, we’ll help him, and we’ll take our lumps later on if he’s pissed. If you don’t trust us to take him, we’ll go.”

  “You’re not taking him.”

  Vic grimaced, then nodded.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said, body coiled tight with fear at the still-raging scuffle, “I want you to help him, but I’m not going to let you take him alone. I’m going, too.”

  “To Norseton?”

  “I was going to go anyway. Maybe not so soon, but now’s as good a time as any. If you can help him, take him. And please…” She gestured to the fight. “Can’t you stop this? Can you help?”

  “Yeah. I can help. Close your eyes.”

  “What?”

  Vic was already heeling off his boots and peeling off his shirt. “Close your eyes. That way, your man won’t get pissed at me for you having seen me in my birthday suit. If you were a wolf, he probably wouldn’t care, but I’m not gonna take the chance. I’m going to shift. Forcing his magic back will be easier if we’re in the same form.”

  “Oh.” She jammed her eyes shut and then turned her back for good measure.

  Mary wanted to watch, though. She felt like she needed to see the thing she had put into motion so she wouldn’t allow herself to plead ignorance later, but she was going to trust Anton and Vic to do what they said. She didn’t have a choice. She wasn’t a wolf. She didn’t understand wolf impulses or know how to soothe them, but she could make decisions on the fly. Every day, she did that at work—in every interview she conducted and every investigation she completed. She knew how to get shit done, even when she couldn’t do it all herself.

  The noise behind her quieted.

  Holding her breath, she turned, slowly, afraid to see to fallout—afraid to see Andreas hurt.

  He was on his belly in his human form. His breathing was ragged, and his cheeks and jaw a bit scraped, but otherwise calm.

  Gods. She put her hand to her heaving breast like some kind of delicate maiden.

  Anton had his hands on Andreas’s shoulders and turned his head to sight her with his good eye.

  “Is he…”

  Still in his fur, Vic sat nearby and looked down at his “victim.”

  “Is Andreas okay?” she asked.

  Anton waved her over. “Come on. Your touch will do him some good, probably.”

  She moved slowly to him, watching his face for signs of anger or betrayal, but he just looked tired. She knelt next to him and put her cheek against his, sighing. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just trying to get you help. We’re going to go with them.”

  “G-go where?” His voice was halting, as if he were having trouble getting his throat to work properly.

  “To Norseton. We’re going to go to Norseton until you’re better. I’ll stay with you until you’re stable.”

  He swallowed audibly. “And then what?”

  “And then…” She passed her fingers through his messy hair and stilled them at the base of his neck. “Then we’ll figure out what to do with ourselves, I imagine. We need to clear out of here before the locals figure out where we’re defecting to.”

  He sighed. “They’re going to vandalize my building, aren’t they?”

  She sighed, too. “Probably. You might want to move up your timeline of getting this stuff catalogued.”

  Grimacing, he closed his eyes. “It’s a lot of stuff.”

  Chapter 10

>   Even after seeing the woman almost daily for weeks, Mary didn’t think she’d ever get used to the fact that the matriarch of the Afótama clan, a woman of at least seventy, wore holey T-shirts and Air Jordans.

  “Why do you always look at me like that?” Muriel asked as she pushed her bifocals up her nose. With Maggie peering over her shoulder, she stood in the open doorway of Mary’s temporary apartment in Norseton, holding a plant that had been tied with a festive bow.

  Andreas, curled on the sofa with his eyes closed, chuckled.

  “Sorry.” Mary cringed. “It’s the shoes, I think.”

  Muriel looked down at them. “Oh. Well, the thing is, I’m a creature of habit. Five years ago, I’d ordered something else from an online shoe store and they sent me a pair of these instead, and I was too lazy to send them back. They ended up being comfortable. Lots of room for my wide, grandma feet.”

  “I should try them,” Maggie muttered.

  “Better than those gods-awful orthopedics some people wear,” Andreas said.

  “Hey, damn right.” Muriel set the plant on the cluttered table by the door. “Figured we’d bring you a welcome gift. I know you’ve been here for a bit, but things get busy at the mansion.”

  “I’m sure. I imagine I can speak for both Mary and myself when I say that we take no offense.”

  “Well, good. I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight, too, so you can eat off your donated plates.”

  Maggie sat on the sliver of unoccupied sofa cushion in front of him and put a hand to his forehead. “You feeling up to it, wolf man?”

  “No.” He let out a long, ragged breath that sounded like exhaling hurt him, and it probably did. His body was still adapting to the wolf magic. Some days were easy. Most were filled with joint, muscle, or other kinds of pain.

  Mary had opted to not go immediately to work at Sheldon’s office. She and Andreas needed time to adapt to Norseton, and to each other.

  “But I’ll endure,” he told Maggie.

  “That’s the spirit. This might make you feel better, though. I think Adam and his missus’ll be around.”

  “That does make me feel better. At least we know if my tethers come loose and the wolf spills out of me, there’ll be people there who can save me from my shame.”

  Muriel waved a dismissive hand at him. “You’ll get better at it.”

  He scoffed and sat up, cringing.

  “You all right?” Mary whispered.

  He nodded slowly. His blood pressure had been incredibly low since they’d moved to Norseton. Sudden movements often made him faint. Adam said his systems would adjust in time.

  He swallowed. “This isn’t normal.”

  “Not supposed to be,” Maggie said. “You’re not like the other wolves. I mean, you’re made of the same stuff, probably, but their magic has been more or less consistent since their lines originated. They were born with theirs already waiting to be switched on. Yours was way more dormant.”

  “I know you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  He smirked charmingly and she wondered how it was he’d managed to be on his own for so long. Some woman should have tried to tie him down.

  “Because that’s what you do here, right? Keep people from going off the deep end?”

  “I swear, I don’t know how I ever got such a reputation for bloodlust.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Anyhow, don’t be ashamed of what you can’t do yet. Tess is still in the learning curve, too, as are her chieftains. We’re all still figuring out what we can do. Some of us are just more surprised than others. You’re in the right place.”

  Mary sat next on the sofa arm and squeezed his hand. “I think so, too.”

  “No more guilt about selling your father’s house?”

  “Not guilt. Not regret. Just…a bit of melancholy. But, he’s not there. The house is just a house, and I have everything of his that’s important.”

  He leaned in and brushed the side of her face with his lips, ever so gently. Not beastly at all.

  Muriel clasped her hands in front of her and smiled. “Aw. I love a happy ending.”

  “No,” Mary whispered and gave Andreas’s cold hands a squeeze. “A happy beginning.”

  Part VII

  Dragon Untamed

  Tessa Rowan

  Chapter 1

  My suitcase wobbled for a moment before thumping haphazardly against the floor as I dropped it next to my overflowing duffel bag, and let out a long breath. Half relieved, half exhausted from the long Trans-Atlantic flight, I was now standing in the middle of my temporary home for the next month. And it was every bit as far away from the loud in-your-face everything about the city as you could get.

  And of course I mean The City. New York. Believe me, when you’re a born New Yorker, that’s all it ever is to you. People talk about any other city and you sit there silently judging them with an air of disapproval because you know there’s only one The City.

  But…I’d had enough of the damn place and needed a change. I just never really thought I’d see the day when I actually pushed aside all of my irrational fears and swept the city that never sleeps, into my past.

  It was mainly because of the voices. Not the crazy ‘I do what the voices tell me to do’ kind of voices, but more like the ‘I can read your thoughts, now where’s my twenty-dollar bill?’ kind of voices.

  Telepathy in any crowd of people can be tiresome, but you’ve never known a migraine until you’ve heard over two million voices screeching about the price of Starbuck’s latest holiday-themed lattes. And that’s just Brooklyn!

  My shoulders slouched as I thought about my warm, lumpy mattress back home. I’d take it over any five-star hotel bed if it meant that I could pick up my headphones and blast away the deafening roar with my favorite new Shimmy Shakers album while cuddled up under the covers.

  I let out another sigh and searched the darkness for a nearby light switch. It was only four o’clock back home, but in the quiet town of Bridge of Orchy, Scotland, night had settled over the small cottage I was staying in.

  The quaint white cottage was drafty; I could already feel the chill from behind me. I frowned, mentally comparing the warm, inviting pictures of the town's main hotel I saw online, to the older, outdated cottage's interior. Luckily, there was a fireplace, although I had to figure out how to start it.

  There was a faint creaking as I crossed the wooden floors, looking around the open room. The kitchen with its deep sink basin looked somewhat decent, and I checked the funny-looking refrigerator, thankful to see that there was a large casserole dish with a little white note on top.

  I hadn't eaten since earlier so my stomach was practically growling as I flipped open the little note.

  Miss Daly,

  Your first bit of authentic Scottish food - please enjoy your first night's supper on us!

  Yours,

  The McKinleys

  I smiled, the gesture making it easier to take a deep breath and really do what I came to Scotland to do—unwind. And also stay away from the male species as a whole. But mainly to unwind.

  I didn’t know what needed a chance to be soothed more—my mind, or my lady parts. Working off of a seven-month dry spell, I was aching for the kind of touch I couldn’t get from myself, but knowing the exact thoughts of the man who’s doing all the touching is the quickest way to make me want to turn to celibacy. So Scotland it was.

  Completely wired due to the time difference, I was just ready to pass out as the first few rays of sunlight filtered inside the cottage. I was stuffed from the delicious meat pasties the McKinleys had left me, and had finally figured out how to light the fireplace, so I shrugged my shoulders and passed out in the warm bed anyway. I'm allowed one day to catch up.

  --

  My first real day in Scotland was nearly a complete waste, and I realized this as I yawned, sitting up only to notice my phone's screen flashing at me. Six missed texts from Mom and nine between Desi and Colette. When my little sisters
were worried about me, that's when I knew I was being a teensy bit irresponsible about the ‘I’m alive’ call.

  As I began my many apologies to Mom and my sisters, it hit me that there was something missing. Something seemed…off.

  Slowly sliding out of the bed, I slipped my feet into some house slippers and grabbed for my robe hanging on a nearby hook. It took me walking around the cottage several times before it dawned on me.

  I was used to getting up and being immediately bombarded by our neighbors’ sluggish morning thoughts. Raj and Amira were newlyweds with a penchant for morning sex, and unfortunately for an apartment full of psychically inclined women, that was generally the first thing we had to try and block out, among the many.

  I found myself searching, trying to reach out to the nearest mind, but the cottage I was crashing in was the furthest away from the main hotel, positioned right under a vast snow-capped mountain. With no one being closer than say, a quarter of a mile or so, I was alone with my own thoughts and didn't even have to block anyone out.

  A slow smile spread across my face. The whole plane ride I was filled with anxiety—what if I came all this way and still didn't get the solace I was seeking? I'd never been far enough away from New York to know if there was a limit to my reach, and now that I knew there was, hope sprung inside of me.

  A circus-themed melody rang in my pocket and I pulled out my phone, only slightly disappointed for the break in silence. "Hey Mom."

  "I know I promised not to call you right away this morning, but…”

  "It's okay," I mused, leaning against the wall that had the least amount of pictures and knickknacks shelved together on it. "But I'm fine. Really."

  "One day you'll understand, Ella baby. Being a mother to you and your sisters has me growing gray hair in areas it ought not grow."

  "Ugh, gross, Mom. I can take care of myself. And I uh, realized something, too."

  The light chatter in the background ceased at once. "What's that?"

  "I don't hear anything. Like, at all. There's only my thoughts in my head and the occasional birds in a tree outside." My tone was light but I knew Mom could pick up on just how big this was.