Tall, Dark and Paranormal: 10 Thrilling Tales of Sexy Alpha Bad Boys

by Opal Carew

  She nearly hadn’t. She’d almost run back to her parents after the first disastrous six months she’d spent on her own. Sneaking away from her home had been easier than she’d expected. After her encounter with the hiker, she’d been determined to see what other secrets the rest of the world held.

  Her mom had refused to discuss even the possibility of her leaving. Her dad…well, her dad had stepped up her training. As if he’d known she’d found a way to sneak past the perimeter wards and walk to the town she’d discovered in the neighboring valley. As if he’d known, one night, after a particularly bitter fight with her mom when she was seventeen, she’d pack a bag, steal some money and run.

  At the town, she’d gone to the bus depot and bought a ticket, headed for Philadelphia.

  She was going to be a ballerina. She would dance on famous stages around the world and fall madly in love with a man who would not want to lock her in a home in a forest.

  She would not give up her life to be a member of an ancient boschetta dedicated to the Goddess Menrva. Hell, she couldn’t even work a spell without her brother’s help and the constant threat of a migraine.

  Heart pounding as she sat in that smelly bus, her eyes had widened as the cities became bigger and dirtier. When she’d finally stepped off the bus in Philadelphia, she’d cowered in the bus station bathroom for an hour. There were too many people, too many cars, too much noise. And in her head, the voices whimpered in fear.

  Goddess save her, she’d been an idiot. She should’ve gone home then. Maybe if she had, things would be different. Maybe her parents would be alive.

  And she and Leo definitely wouldn’t need the dubious services of the man who’d just walked into the club through the front entrance.

  She’d seen Mr. Brown from the stage, but now that he was this close… Damn, he was gorgeous—if you liked guys who looked like they spent the better part of their lives bench-pressing cars.

  Obviously she did, because her libido came to life on a wave of heat that flooded her body from scalp to toes and every place in between. Her breasts tightened, the nipples pebbling into hard points, and her sex clenched with a ferocity that shook her.

  What was wrong with her? She hadn’t had such a strong reaction to the guy she’d been dancing with earlier. Was this a belated reaction to that? Or a reaction to the euphoria spell Gemma wove to lure the patrons into sex?

  Unlike everyone else here, Mr. Brown—she really doubted that was his name—wore jeans and a black t-shirt, though he was barefoot like everyone else. His dark hair hung in thick, layered lengths past wide shoulders. His broad brow, high cheekbones and square jaw covered by a closely trimmed beard proclaimed his Mediterranean heritage.

  And those dark eyes constantly scanned the crowd. From his intent expression, she got the sense he never let his guard down. That was a good thing. In that way, Mr. Brown reminded her of her dad.

  Still…she wasn’t ready to hand over Leo’s safety to a man she didn’t know enough about. Even if he was grigori.

  Chapter Three

  Someone was watching him and it was getting fucking annoying.

  Through his enhanced perception of the environment around him, Gabriel felt the attention like a feather brushing against his skin. But he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from.

  Gabriel shook his head, trying to think through the euphoria spell Gemma had cast. Combined with the alcohol in his system, it was making him fuzzy.

  And that was unacceptable.

  His dad would’ve kicked his ass for impairing his senses like this. And he deserved it. But gods damn it to hell, he was still pissed off. He wanted that bastard Dario to bleed before he cut out his black heart and burned what was left of his body.

  Just the thought gave him a warm glow inside.

  “Hello, Gabriel,” a woman’s husky voice broke through the bloody little daydream he had going. “Haven’t seen you for a few weeks.”

  He looked over his shoulder, leveling his gaze on the beautiful woman running her fingers through the ends of his hair. “Connie. How you been?”

  Her lithe versipellis body swayed to the music as she moved in front of him. “Bored. What about you, Gabe? Wanna make a little magic?”

  As she brushed long mahogany hair over her shoulder, he let his gaze drop to her breasts. They were great breasts. He’d held them, tasted them, rubbed his cock between them. Knew he could again tonight.

  Yeah, but do you want to?

  Hell, even his body was undecided. He was half hard from the combination of her proximity and the euphoria spell. A few minutes with Connie’s talented hand wrapped around him and he’d be ready to perform.

  But do you want to?

  Connie lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow at him, swinging her hips to the music. But her expression never changed. If he told her no, she’d move on. He was just another body to her. Which is all she’d be to him.

  When the hell had he become such an asshole?

  He shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, Connie, but not tonight. Don’t think I’ll be much fun.”

  She shrugged. “Your loss, big guy.”

  And swayed off toward a pair of male versipelli, who welcomed her with big grins.

  Fuck. He was so fucking off his game tonight—

  “Hey, Gabriel. That face would give a serial killer nightmares. What’s new, man?”

  Not one damn thing. “Hey, Digger. Got any new toys?”

  Douglass Alfieri flipped him off. He hated the nickname but had been stuck with it ever since he’d taken over his father’s work as the grigori armafictor. Digger’s Goddess Gift of enhanced affinity for metal gave him one kick-ass ability for making weapons.

  “Yeah, I have, actually,” Digger said. “I’ve been working on the Titus-4. I think I have the malfunction in the directional mechanism figured out. You know how the steam was getting caught in the concentration chamber? Well, I think…”

  Gabriel let the guy talk, though he didn’t understand half of what he was saying. That’s why Digger made the weapons and Gabriel used them. The guy was a certified genius when it came to combining metals and crystals into killing machines.

  Digger didn’t look like a genius. The guy was too…damn, the guy was too damn pretty for it. Somewhere in his ancestry lurked a Fata. Or three. All those chiseled angles in his cheekbones and nose, the pointed chin, the deep-set eyes and broad forehead…had to be a little linchetti or folletti in his genes.

  “…so I adjusted the amount of pressure needed to run the pistons and…”

  Gabriel let Digger ramble, listening with half an ear, while he tried to pinpoint who the hell continued to watch him. He didn’t get the sense that he was in any danger. Just that she—it was definitely a she—was curious. And intent.

  “…then I shot the guy in the head, ripped his heart out with my bare hands and rubbed his blood all over my naked body.”

  Gabriel’s head shot around. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Digger wore a wry smile. “Huh. Guess you were listening. Amazing how you can hear exactly what I’m saying and still be a million miles away. I never learned to do that. Save me a world of hurt when my mother’s in town.”

  Guilt knocked him upside the head but Gabriel didn’t have the time for it. Still, he couldn’t help feeling like an ass. “Yeah, sorry. Got a lot on my mind.”

  “No luck this time?”

  Beside Quinn, his brother in everything but blood, and Harry, Digger was the only other person who knew Gabriel hunted Dario. “Nothing.”

  Digger clapped him on the shoulder once. “Sorry.”

  And that was enough of that. Time to get the hell out of here. “You going to ritual tonight?”

  Digger nodded. “Of course. You ready?”

  “Might as well.”

  As he turned for the exit, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. A woman alone, sitting on the risers behind the band. She was far enough away that he had trouble makin
g out more than long dark hair and a small frame in the low light.

  There was something about her…something that snagged his attention. Had she been the one staring at him? She wasn’t now. Her attention seemed to be fixed on the stage. Probably one of Caeles’ groupies, a shy one.

  Just his luck.

  * * *

  And there he went. Out the door with another guy.

  A really pretty guy, Shea thought. Maybe the grigorio was gay.

  Which would be too freaking bad because the guy was hot.

  Still, that didn’t explain why the voices wanted her to follow him. Their urgent buzzing as he disappeared left her with no doubt that she should go after him.

  And yes, she knew how truly weird that would sound to anyone but… Well, probably to everyone else.

  When the door closed behind their supposed savior, she returned her attention to the stage, where the band was playing a funky version of Suicidal Tendencies’ “Institutionalized.”

  And, wow, how fitting was that? If she were an eteri, she’d probably be in a mental institution right now, eating vanilla pudding and weaving baskets.

  She’d been almost eight before she’d realized the constant drone that’d always been present in her head were voices, voices she couldn’t understand. She’d lived with them for so long, she’d figured everyone had them. But the horrified look on her mom’s face when she’d finally grown old enough to explain had made it clear not everyone heard voices.

  She’d tried to talk about it with her mom a few times but each time her mom had gotten tears in her eyes. What little girl wanted to make her mom cry? So for several years, she hadn’t asked.

  Then, shortly after the hiker incident, she’d asked again.

  “So, Mom. Are we ever gonna talk about these voices in my head? Or are they just something else you’re not going to tell me about?”

  Jesus, she’d been such a smart ass, so righteously indignant. Such a jerk.

  “Everything we’ve done has been in your best interest, Shea. Everything we do is for your protection. The voices…they’re your curse to bear, Shea. Great Goddess protect you, but I wish they weren’t.”

  And that was all she’d said.

  Thanks for that, Mom.

  At least her mom had taught her how to set up the mental wall to dim the voices when they began to grow in intensity as she’d gotten older.

  “Hey, Shea. You okay? You look a little pale.”

  Dilby stood in front of her, holding Leo’s hand. The kid looked content but tired.

  Damn, she’d zoned out for a few minutes. Dangerous. “I’m fine. Ready to hit the road, bud?”

  Leo darted a quick glance at Dilby before nodding. Shea figured, if he had his way, he’d stay all night. But he never complained, never objected, not to anything.

  She held out her hand and he tucked his much smaller one in it.

  “Then let’s go. We’ve just got to make one stop on the way.”

  * * *

  To look at the building, you’d think it was just another empty brick monstrosity south of Penn Street.

  No eteri would ever believe it hid the sanctuary of an Etruscan deity.

  Hell, just saying that in casual conversation would make any eteri cross the street to avoid you. Then again, most people didn’t believe in things like curses or streghe or magic. They didn’t examine lightning for predictions of future events or make predictions about their lives by which direction birds flew overhead.

  They certainly didn’t slash their forearms and offer their blood in sacrifice to Laran, God of War. And they’d never believe the dark-haired man standing before Gabriel was an actual God.

  “You wanna tell me where you’ve been?”

  Laran stared at him with hard, gunmetal grey eyes, his sharp expression set in stone cold lines. The god didn’t look much older than thirty, but he had strands of pure white in his black hair. He stood just a few inches taller than Gabriel, but it was amazing how much bigger he seemed. His presence overpowered everyone in the vicinity.

  Guess godhood did that to you.

  For a brief second, Gabriel thought about not answering Laran’s question. And decided he didn’t want to take his life in his hands.

  “I was checking a tip in South Carolina.”

  Gabriel held his breath waiting for the next question. He figured Laran knew he hunted Dario. He was a god, after all. But he’d never said a word about it to Gabriel.

  Serena had forbidden the grigori to hunt Dario. Something about Dario’s destiny being tied to breaking the curse.

  Well, fuck that. He wanted to kill the bastard. Laran had to know that.

  Gabriel stared back into the god’s eyes, deep-set in a face full of sharp angles and broad planes. If Gabriel swung that way, he’d say Laran was attractive. In a compelling, Tommy Lee Jones’ kind of way. Not a man you wanted to fuck with.

  And if Laran decided he’d overstepped his boundaries, Gabriel would pay a price. The God of War suffered no fools or dissenters.

  But after a few seconds of silence, during which Gabriel heard worry in the hushed voices of the other six grigori gathered for the ritual, Laran nodded once and turned toward the altar.

  Dodged that bullet.

  Gabriel released the breath he must have been holding and joined the other men at the altar as Laran began the ritual.

  “Great Tinia, Father of all Etruscans.” Laran’s deep voice carried through the open space, reverberating off the brick walls enclosing the courtyard filled with a small forest of oak, pine and birch trees. “Accept the sacrifice of my blood and the blood of your mortal sons as tribute for our gratitude. Give your sons the strength to fight against those who would harm your children.”

  “Accept our offering,” Gabriel and the grigori chanted as Laran drew the dagger he held in his right hand from his left elbow to wrist. “Bless us with your strength.”

  Laran extended his arm and let his blood drip onto the breasts of the red-headed woman splayed on the altar. Though he vaguely recognized the woman’s face, Gabriel didn’t know her name. He’d never seen the same woman here twice.

  In ancient times, Laran would’ve had a temple full of priestesses as well as a cadre of priests who attended his every need and performed this ritual. But over the past two millennia, as the Etruscan civilization dwindled, the old ways had adapted.

  Today, Laran performed his own rituals. Which didn’t exactly look like a hardship to Gabriel, considering. A little blood for sex.

  The combination was so important to the Etruscans, it fueled most of their power.

  “Great Father,” Laran moved to the base of the altar, where the woman’s body was positioned at exactly the right height for Laran, “feel the strength and power I offer to You on our behalf.”

  A soft breeze blew through the space, rustling the leaves and ruffling the woman’s hair, sending red strands dancing. Laran grabbed her hip in one hand and his cock in the other and fitted their bodies together with one lunge.

  The woman gasped in ecstasy as Laran sank deep and closed his eyes.

  “Let our offering please You as it pleases us.”

  Laran’s hips began to move, thrusting and retreating, never faltering in his recitation of the ritual. The grigori continued the accompanying chant as the air in the temple thickened, the spell increasing in intensity. Laran’s voice deepened, as well, until he was nearly growling. The woman’s ecstatic cries lent potency to the spell and when she finally broken into orgasm, Laran came, as well.

  Their combined climaxes infused the air with a heady power that blasted into the grigori like a nuclear wave. It drenched them in magic, seeped into their bodies, into that part the Great God Tinia had given them that made them grigori.

  Closing his eyes, Gabriel breathed through the almost overwhelming sensation as the power sank deeper, clawing its way into his blood and his bones and his mind. So much power. Almost too much. Never too much.

  When he could manage, Gabriel op
ened his eyes and looked around, his enhanced vision picking out the distinctive blue auras surrounding his fellow grigori. In addition to detecting emotions in auras, grigori identified the type of magic user by the underlying color of their aura. Blue for grigori, purple for streghe, yellow for versipelli.

  The black tinge around Larth’s aura told Gabriel he needed to get laid. Diego was worried about something according to his maroon-ringed aura. And Aulus lusted after either the woman or Laran, Gabriel couldn’t tell which and didn’t care either way.

  Lucumo and Joseph’s auras were untainted by any hint of stress. He’d never actually seen the brothers pissed off about anything, but they were relentless machines when it came to protecting their charges.

  And Digger… Well, Digger sought redemption with the same intensity Gabriel wanted revenge. Not that any of the other grigori would see that in his aura. He’d gotten damn good at submerging his true feelings.

  The other grigori would only be able to tell that he was pissed off, which was no surprise to anyone. Only Laran might see more, and probably had, but he’d never interfered, never questioned.

  Of course, what God of War would question a man’s right to revenge?

  “Hey, Gabe. You want to stop at The Cellar?” Aulus called to him as the grigori broke the circle and headed through the courtyard to the exit, allowing the woman and Laran a little private time to get cleaned up. Or go again, if he interpreted those moans correctly. “These other pansies are wimping out on me.”

  Gabriel considered hitting the local banquet hall, run by the small tribe of monacielli who made their own wine and cooked like gourmet chefs. They looked like smaller, rounder versions of that Food Network guy his mom loved to watch and cooked even better.

  Sounded good but he shook his head. “Not tonight, wiped out. Maybe next time.”

  Tonight, he needed a few hours of sleep.

  Tomorrow, he’d start over. And when he finally found that bastard Dario, he’d rip out his heart and burn him into a little pile of ash.