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

by Opal Carew

  Closing her eyes slowly, she tried to suck in a few deep breaths but the pain wouldn’t let her.

  No, can’t afford this now. Leo…

  With a force of will she didn’t realize she possessed, she pushed the pain back into a tiny corner of her brain until it was manageable…or at least simmered below agonizing.

  When she felt she could, she shot a look at Borelli. He was focusing an enormous amount of concentration on his driving. It was a palpable force that didn’t encourage conversation.

  Fine by her. She needed a few minutes to regroup. With a grimace, she muttered the pain-blocking spell her mother had taught her years ago, knowing it would only delay the inevitable.

  They drove for at least fifteen minutes, winding around the city streets before Borelli broke his silence to speak to Leo.

  “You okay, kid?”

  Gingerly, she moved her head to see Leo nod. He looked steady, as if he hadn’t just made a grown man cry in agony.

  Then Borelli glanced at her and lowered his voice. “You okay?”

  And here she thought she’d been hiding it well.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You took a pretty good shot to the jaw.” He raised a hand. “Did you—”

  “No!” Hell, no. If he touched her, it’d be like throwing gasoline on the fire of her impending migraine. “No, it’s fine. I just need to eat.”

  Hopefully that would help hold back the gnawing pain in her head. She refused to take one of the pills in her pack. She couldn’t afford to be knocked out right now.

  “Check the glove compartment,” Borelli said. “There’s usually something in there.”

  Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she sat up cautiously, checking the back window first to see if anyone was following them, seeing Leo, huddled on the seat behind Borelli.

  He looked up at her at the same moment and she no longer saw fear in his eyes. Questions, yes. Even a little excitement.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He nodded once then looked at Borelli. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

  Head still throbbing, even through the pain-blocking spell, she turned to Borelli. “Where are we going?”

  Late-night traffic was nearly non-existent, but the man didn’t spare her a glance as he pushed the car even faster. “We’re gonna find a hole to crawl into for a while.”

  Now, why didn’t she like the sound of that? “Where?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  * * *

  “What do you mean, you lost them?”

  Peter’s chin shot up, a wild look of fear in his eyes. “They’ve got a powerful grigorio with them now. And the boy’s strong. He killed Phillips, made him burn with his hand.”

  Dario Paganelli raised his eyebrows, surprised. Not something he felt every day. “What do you mean? He lit a match and set him on fire?”

  Peter shook his head. “The kid touched him and he burst into flame. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Now, that was interesting. The boy had la tocadura de bruja. And how convenient was that, considering?

  Rising from behind the desk in his St. Pete Beach home, Dario went to the window to look out at the warm Florida sunshine. “Do you at least know which way they went?”

  “Yes. Yes, we do. They headed north.”

  Dario nodded, though he wasn’t condoning Peter’s actions. His men had been chasing this boy for a year, ever since Kelsey, his latest grigori protégé, had felt his very strong energy from halfway across the continent.

  The deaths of Kyle and Celeste Tedaldi, a grigorio and one of the original thirteen streghe, had been an unexpected bonus, but they’d hidden their son too well. His men hadn’t been able to find the child at their home in Wisconsin and, with her dying breath, Celeste led him to believe the boy was on the west coast. His men had spent a few fruitless weeks chasing down that tidbit of information.

  Now, they’d lost him again.

  Dario hated setbacks. The boy was more valuable than even he’d thought and would make his mission, the mission with which his father had cursed him, that much easier.

  All of the boys he had stolen from the streghe over the centuries had served their purpose well. Kelsey, especially, had been most helpful. But Celeste’s son could prove to be the strongest of all.

  “Why would they return north when we believe the grigori stronghold is somewhere in the west?”

  “I don’t know,” Peter said. “Possibly to throw us off.”

  Dario nodded. “That could be. But it could also mean he’s taking them to the women. I’ve long thought they were holed up somewhere in the northeast, but they’ve concealed themselves well.”

  He paused, knowing Peter hung on his every word. The other man remembered what had happened to the man who’d filled the position before him. That man had allowed Kyle and Celeste to escape almost twenty-five years ago. He had to have the carpets and wallpaper replaced after he’d freed the man’s head from his body.

  “You know, I’ve always wanted to say this. Too many movies, I guess.” Dario turned and let his gaze linger on Peter. “Find them. Find him and bring him to me. I want the boy alive.”

  Peter swallowed audibly. “Yes, sir.”

  “Kill the girl and the grigorio. They’re unimportant.”

  * * *

  Gabriel didn’t speak as he drove over the Bingaman Street Bridge then east on Route 422 before turning left onto Shelbourne Road.

  The urban sprawl of Exeter Township soon gave way to the farmland of Oley Township. Frequent checks in the rearview revealed no tail, but he wanted to be sure before he took them to the safe house.

  He still couldn’t quite believe what he’d seen. The kid had the tocadura de bruja, the touch of the witch. It was rare, even among grigori.

  No wonder Dario wanted the kid so badly. The kid had power, more than he should at his age, but he didn’t look any worse for wear for using it.

  Shea, however, hadn’t opened her mouth since she’d asked where they were going. He slid a glance at her. Her skin shone ashen in the faint light of the dashboard. She looked ready to faint.

  “Hey, are you okay? You weren’t hit, were you?”

  Taking a deep, shuddering breath, the girl shook her head. “No, I’m…I’m fine. Just a headache. I’m fine.”

  Headache, his ass. She didn’t look fine. Far from it. Maybe some food would help. There hadn’t been anything in the glove compartment when she’d checked. He’d have to resupply his stash of granola bars.

  “Hey, kid.” He waited until the boy looked at him in the rearview. “Spread out for a while, take a nap. You’re tired.”

  He flicked a tiny sleep spell at the kid, just enough to make him yawn before nodding.

  “Please,” Shea spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear her, “don’t do that. Not to me, either. We’re not…” She paused. “Just don’t.”

  “He needs to sleep. We need to talk.”

  She sighed and those gorgeous lips pursed, but he was right and she knew it.

  A few minutes later, she stole a look over her shoulder. The kid had already gone lights out.

  “So where are we going?” she asked.

  He deliberately didn’t answer. It was guaranteed to piss her off and that’s exactly why he did it. She looked a little too shocky. He figured pissed off was better than terrified.

  Shea gave a disgusted hmph. “Where. Are. We. Going?”

  He glanced at her and watched the lines in her forehead deepen. Not at all detracting from the exotic beauty of her face.

  Which he really didn’t need to be thinking about right now.

  Shit.

  “I want to make sure we don’t have a tail before we double back and head to a safe house. When I think it’s safe, then I’ll take you to talk to Serena.”

  “Who’s Serena?”

  Could she really not know who Serena was? Especially if she knew Celeste, it seemed really fucking unlikely that she wouldn’t know who Serena was.
Still… “Someone you’re going to want to talk to.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lift one hand to her head. She rubbed her temple, as if trying to ease a headache.

  Join the club, babe.

  “What’s your real name?” he asked.

  “My real name is Shea. Shea Jones.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Listen, Mr. Borrelli—”

  “Back to mister, huh? What? Asshole’s not working for you anymore?”

  For a second, he thought she might actually laugh. He’d really like to hear that. Then she shook her head. “Watch your language, please.”

  “The kid’s asleep.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and the tough exterior she’d been holding on to seemed to melt away. Making her look years younger. And exhausted. “I know, it’s just… He’s so young. I…” She frowned. “I need to thank you. For…back there. I don’t know what I—”

  “Don’t.” He cut her off before she said anything about undying gratitude. This was his job. Hell, it was a sworn duty, and he still felt like shit for turning them away last night. “Everybody’s fine. Just answer my questions. I need to know who sent you to me. Start with your parents. Who are they?”

  Shea hesitated, torn between her parents’ deeply ingrained admonitions against revealing anything personal and the need for answers from her only source of information.

  That source was scowling at her, and he had a perfectly gorgeous scowl. It made his sharply defined features even more handsome, from the straight slope of his nose to his high cheekbones.

  She frowned in return but said, “My parents are Celeste and Kyle Tedaldi.”

  She bounced against the door as the car hit the shoulder. Borelli jerked the wheel back to the left as he steadied the car. Then he shot her a long glance that took her in from head to toe.

  “You’re lying.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Of all possible responses, that hadn’t been one she’d imagined. “Why would you say that?”

  He snorted, making her more angry and confused by the second. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but you can’t be Celeste’s daughter. Is the kid your son?”

  Completely confused by his belligerent attitude, she rubbed a hand over her throbbing left temple. “Leo is my brother. Our mother ca— sent for me to get him a year ago. I’d…been away from home.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Her temple gave a short, sharp tug and she rubbed it with one finger. “It’s the truth. Why would I lie about something like that?”

  “Where did they live?”

  “Wisconsin.”

  She could see him thinking about that, processing the information.

  “Look—”

  “Listen—”

  They broke off.

  Gabriel took another look out the rearview then sighed. “Alright, something’s off here and I need to know what it is if I’m going to protect you. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt that you’re Kyle’s daughter, but you aren’t Celeste’s.”

  Shea’s temples began to pound in unison. “Why would I lie about that? What would I have to gain?”

  “You can’t be Celeste’s daughter. If you were, you’d know why.”

  What the hell was he talking about? He wasn’t making any sense.

  Then again, maybe she didn’t want to know. “Well, I am but I don’t.”

  He snorted. “Come on, Shea. You’re smart enough to have gotten this far, but don’t think I’m gonna believe you’re the answer to everyone’s prayers.”

  Confusion bit into her headache, trying to breach the wall the spell had erected against the pain. Surprisingly, the voices were a barely perceptible buzz in the background. “What does that mean?”

  Gabriel stole another look at Shea, taking careful note of the purple aura that marked her strega. He searched for the black streaks that would identify her as one of the thirteen women he was sworn to protect. He didn’t find a trace of black. Just a whole lot of jagged red lines. Pain.

  She managed to keep that pain out of her expression, her beautiful face unmarked by it. She was a true beauty and, from the photo he’d seen of Celeste, she had been, too. Still, there were a lot of beautiful, dark-haired women in the world.

  And none, as far as he knew, had yet been born to break a five-hundred-year-old curse.

  “Borelli, if you have something to tell me, just spit it out.”

  He shot her another quick glance, found her staring straight at him through those lifeless brown contacts, her expression a mix of fear and confusion. Without stopping to think, he released the wheel with his right hand and grabbed her arm.

  At first, he felt nothing and that was shocking. Then, as if a wall had fallen, thoughts that weren’t his own flooded his brain, whispered bits and pieces of conversations he couldn’t understand. He could make out nothing coherent, but the intensity of the link began to grow.

  He knew he was driving, but, suddenly, it didn’t matter. The voices were speaking to him and he had to listen harder, had to understand—

  The voices cut off as Shea ripped her hand out of his with an agonized cry.

  Holy shit.

  The car veered to the left this time as his hand twitched, jerking the wheel and nearly taking out the car coming toward them. The driver laid on the horn and shot him the finger as Gabriel fought to get the car and his body under control. His muscles shook against the unreasonable urge to grab her hand again and listen to the voices. They needed him.

  “What the hell was that?”

  He heard fear in his voice and hated it. Hated that she’d done this to him.

  “Vaffanculo, what the hell just happened?”

  “Don’t touch me.”

  No shit. “Yeah, I got that much. Just tell me what the hell that was.”

  She made a sound low in her throat, somewhere between a moan and a sob. “My own private hell. Did you find out what you needed to know?”

  “No. Explain.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.” She paused and he wasn’t sure she was going to continue. Then she sighed. “The voices have always been there. My mother used to call them my guardians. As I got older, I learned to ignore them. To build a mental wall and keep them to a manageable hum.”

  Well, shit. Whatever was wrong with this girl, it was major. She’d managed to keep her and the kid one step ahead of Dario’s men for a year, and that took a fair amount of brains, so he ruled out just plain crazy. Schizophrenia was a possibility, and he was sure there were a dozen other mental illnesses she might have that could account for the voices.

  But whatever it was, it was scary. And she lived with it daily.

  “Did Celeste ever tell you why you hear voices?”

  Shea shook her head and let her gaze meet his. He really hated those contacts.

  “She just said it was my curse to bear. I’ve learned to live with them, to mentally wall them up most of the time, but they’re never truly gone.”

  Oh, no. No way. No fucking way. He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe. “You really want me to believe you’re the one, after all these years?”

  She shook her head again. “What are you talking about? The one what?”

  She looked dead serious, confused as all hell and terrified. He had the unbelievable urge to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay.

  Could it be possible?

  Hell, after the life he’d lived and the things he’d seen, he would have admitted that anything was possible. But to think this girl was finally the one, after five hundred years? And she didn’t know?

  He wasn’t sure he could accept that.

  “Borelli. The one what?”

  He wasn’t going there yet. “Did your… Did Celeste ever talk about her family, her boschetta?”

  She paused again, this time longer. Then she asked, “Are you telling me she had family?”

  “Did she tell you about her past?”

  Shea sigh
ed and he heard disgust in the sound. “My mother didn’t talk much.” At least not to her. Her mom just looked at her with those sad eyes, her disappointment so clear in the flat line of her mouth. “My dad…”

  “What about your dad?”

  A small smile tried to lift the corners of her mouth. “I never doubted his love. He taught me how to fight, how to read, how to write. How to think. I could handle a knife long before I knew how to add. He was a school teacher before he met my mother. He was older than her—”

  Borelli snorted as he navigated the dark back roads.

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “Oh, come on. If you really are Celeste’s daughter—and I’m not saying you are—then you know how old your mother really is. You know the history. And if you don’t, then it just proves my point that you’re not her daughter.”

  Shea didn’t know what to say to that. Well, she had a few things, but telling the man who’d saved Leo from certain death that he could stick his head in his ass probably wasn’t a good choice.

  Still, his denial of her parentage was starting to grate. Even she could see the resemblance between her and her mother. More than she wanted.

  But if Borelli wanted to play twenty questions then she’d play along. But she wanted some answers of her own.

  “Tell me why you’re so sure I’m not…Celeste’s daughter.”

  “What did Celeste tell you about the curse?”

  She frowned. “You mean the voices?”

  “No, I mean the curse.”

  A cold shiver made its way up her spine. That one word sound so…ominous. She really didn’t want to ask but knew she had to. And she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer. “What curse?”

  He fell silent again, eyes checking the rearview every so often.

  Something too much like terror started to creep through the agony of her building migraine. “Borelli, what the hell’s going on?”

  The minute the question left her lips, she wished she could take it back. She didn’t want to know.

  Blessed Goddess, she was so screwed up. Which should be expected from someone who’d been twelve years old before she’d seen another person other than her parents. Before she knew there were things like telephones, televisions and radios.