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

by Opal Carew

  She’d picked a dress. And not a slinky, sexy dress, but an honest-to-Gods girly dress. Soft pink fabric dotted with tiny purple flowers draped over her slim body while the neckline only hinted at the generous curves of her breasts. The high waistline began right under her breasts and the skirt fell below her knees but the sleeves ended high on her arms.

  Hell. She looked young. Girl-next-door college student, not the prophesied savior of the women he’d sworn to protect. One of whom he loved more than his own life.

  Shea claimed to have never heard of the curse. If that was true, she probably didn’t know how to break it either. And that was the real bitch of the situation.

  No one knew how to break the curse.

  And he had to tell her. The weight of that responsibility settled on his shoulders like ten tons of bricks.

  “What?” She frowned and her hands landed on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Never seen a dress before?”

  He swallowed a smile and nodded toward the couch across from him. He really was starting to like this girl more than he should. Especially when she was pissed off.

  “I’ve got questions you’re gonna answer. Now. And,” he added when she started to object, “I’ve got some answers. But no more bullshit, Shea. I need to know how much you know about the curse.”

  She moved closer to the couch, continuing to stare straight into his eyes, and he realized she’d taken out the brown contacts she’d been wearing.

  Oh holy shit. Her eyes.

  He swore his heart stopped for a full five seconds before it started beating again like he’d just jumped off a cliff. Blessed Goddess, it was true. The answer to a five-hundred-year-old curse stood in front of him, staring at him through eyes he’d only seen on the thirteen cursed streghe.

  Anyone catching a quick glimpse of them would think they were hazel, that indiscriminate mix of colors that could range from blue to green to brown and any variation in between.

  But when you looked into a cursed strega’s eyes, you saw how truly odd they were, like someone had shattered a stained glass window then set the shards in a round frame. It was so unusual, most of the women wore contacts when they went out among the eteri.

  As if his intent scrutiny embarrassed her, she looked away as she sank into the chair across from him. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  Christ, this was a nightmare waiting to happen. One he wasn’t prepared for. One he needed to get prepared for right now. “Your mother never mentioned a curse? Did she ever talk about Italy? About the time she spent there? How long ago it was?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “She never mentioned Serena or Andrea? Tullia or Madrona or Furia?”

  Again, she shook her head but a tiny flicker of her expression told him she knew the names.

  “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “You know the names, don’t you?”

  Her chin lifted slightly. “Yes, I know the names of the Priestesses. I have to. It was part of my training.”

  Holy freaking hell. Celeste had trained her to take her place as a Priestess of Menrva and, after her death, the nail, hidden in the shape of a key, had passed to Shea. He’d seen it hanging around her neck when he’d undressed her. He just hadn’t wanted to believe.

  “And Celeste never said anything about a curse?”

  “No.” Then she frowned. “But I always knew there was something she wasn’t telling me. Something to do with the voices, something I didn’t realize until I’d left. But I couldn’t go back, not then.”

  “What do you mean, when you left?”

  Swallowing, she dropped her gaze and let it rest on her hands in her lap. “Until I was twelve, I didn’t realize there was a world outside the boundaries of my home in Wisconsin. There was only my mom and my dad and me.”

  Damn. Kyle had hidden them good. But that wasn’t anything they needed to discuss right now. “Do you know how old your mother was?”

  Now she returned his gaze steadily. “I’m assuming not forty-three like she told me.”

  “Try five-hundred-and-forty-seven.”

  He thought for a second she was going to faint. Her mouth parted and she started to draw in fast, shallow breaths. When her eyes glazed over, he reached for her and pressed her head down between her knees. She didn’t fight him.

  “Slow, deep breaths, Shea.” Leaving his hand on her nape, he rubbed, trying to comfort. “Come on, don’t pass out on me now.”

  Because there’s more.

  If it had been anyone else, he would’ve continued to hammer away, try to trip her up. But he had to respect a woman who smiled when she took one on the chin.

  And that did not bode well for his future.

  “Not…going…to pass…out.”

  It took her a minute, but she finally caught her breath. When she sat up, the look she gave him burned. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He leaned back into his chair, squashing a smile. “What makes you think there’s more?”

  She waved a slim hand in the air, her skin still pale. “Oh, please. There’s always more. There’s probably more you don’t know.”

  Smart ass. He liked that about her. “You sure you’re ready to hear the rest?”

  She swallowed and blinked. She looked ready to say no.

  Then she nodded.

  “In 1495,” Gabriel began, recalling the tale every grigorio memorized as a child, “Fabrizio Paganelli cursed the thirteen Priestesses of Menrva, living as simple streghe in a Tuscan village, to outlive their loved ones and to never produce another strega. He blamed them for the death of his youngest son. And because he was a powerful Malandante, the curse worked.”

  From the shocked look on her face, he could tell Shea knew what that meant. The Mal, like streghe, were born with the ability to work magic. But the Mal used that power in dark ways. An ancient secret society of Etruscan descent, the Mal orchestrated much of the chaos in the world, benefiting from death and destruction.

  “The women didn’t know that right away,” he continued. “At first, they dismissed Paganelli’s ravings. He was distraught with grief, and no one in the village believed the streghe had killed his son. But years passed and the women didn’t age.

  “Eventually, the town turned on the streghe, burned their seer at the stake and murdered their families. They attempted to kill the remaining streghe by slitting their throats.” The thought made blood lust boil in his veins. “But their bodies healed and they left the village, scattering across Europe, hiding wherever they could, eventually making their way to America.

  “At the time, the streghe didn’t know Paganelli’s curse had also trapped his three remaining sons in never-ending life. Paganelli’s son, Dario, made it his mission to kill every one of the women. That’s why he wants Leo. To use his powers to hunt the streghe.”

  Gabriel took a deep breath, trying to rein in the fierce anger he felt whenever he thought about Dario. “Any of this ring a bell?”

  She nodded, her expression shell-shocked. “Mom told me that Dario is trying to find and kill the Priestesses, that he wants Leo to use against them. But she never… Mom never…” She took a deep breath and lowered her gaze to the floor. “This is the first time I’ve heard anything about a curse.”

  Gabriel shook his head. Why the hell had Celeste not told her?

  Then again, how do you start that conversation?

  Surprise! You’re the key to breaking a five-hundred-year-old curse. Welcome to the world. Now all you have to figure out is how to do it.

  After a few moments of silence, she looked up. “What did they do? After they found out they’d been cursed.”

  “They begged the Goddesses, Uni and Menrva, to release them. No go. Then, before the villagers burned her, Dafne foresaw the birth of a daughter to one of the original thirteen to end the curse.”

  Shea blinked and swallowed, the only outward sign to give away her fear. He wanted to reach for her hand but stopped before he touched her, remembering what h
ad happened the last time. The voices and how they had aggravated her migraine. He didn’t want her to repeat that.

  So he waited for her to make some signal that she was ready.

  Shea’s eyelids fluttered then she drew in a deep breath. “Do you know how she’s supposed to do that exactly?”

  Gabriel shook his head. “Neither do the women.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Dafne didn’t tell them?”

  He shook his head.

  And waited. He expected more questions. Hell, he expected anger, fear, maybe tears.

  Instead, she sat there, staring at her hands. Finally, after what had to be at least two minutes, she drew in another breath, but didn’t lift her gaze. “Do you think Dario knows…about me?”

  She sounded exhausted. Defeated. Lost. The urge to grab her out of her chair and set her on his lap, put his arms around her and hold her, made his muscles twitch.

  Instead, his fingers curled into the arms of his chair, anchoring him in place. “We didn’t know about you. We’re not sure Paganelli even knows about the prophecy. He was away at school when the townspeople burned Daphne and tried to kill the others.

  “I figure your mother discovered fairly early in her pregnancy that she was having a girl and she and Kyle disappeared before anyone could find out. Your father was a damn good grigorio, descended from Dafne’s line. He’s probably the one who realized your mother was carrying a girl. From everything I’ve heard, Kyle was damn good with the sight.”

  Gabriel was right, Shea thought. Her dad had been the best. A well of sadness hit her chest and tears burned in her eyes. An image of her dad popped into her mind, his brown curly hair always in need of a trim, his quick smile and steady dark eyes. Blessed Goddess, she missed him.

  She took a deep breath, pushing down sadness. “He was. He always managed to be wherever I needed him, right before I fell out of a tree or tripped over rock.” She took another breath, trying to steady herself against an encroaching dizziness. “Is your mother one of the thirteen?”

  He nodded. “But I can’t tell you which.”

  “Why not?”

  “Safety precaution.”

  She figured that seemed logical. “What about your father?”

  “Davis Borelli.”

  “Is he still—”

  “He died several years ago.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He smiled again and her eyes widened. Damn, the man was gorgeous when he did that. Luckily, he didn’t do it often because it made her want to lean in and taste him. “Nothing you need to know right now. Look, Shea, I know this has been a lot to take in. But now you’ve got to think. Did your mother ever say anything about the curse? Something you might not have thought was important at the time, something that might make sense now but didn’t then.”

  Muscles twitching with nervous energy, Shea stood and began to pace. “My mother taught me how to draw the circle and work spells. She taught me what I needed to do as a Priestess. To protect the nail at all times.”

  Her hand grabbed and held onto the key again. Without conscious thought on her part, the key drew on the arus in her blood and transformed into the nail. One of Menrva’s twelve Nails of the Ages.

  From the time she’d been old enough to understand, her mother had drilled her on the ancient spells and rituals the priestesses would need when they were called on by Menrva to resume their duties.

  Every day they’d studied a new spell or reviewed an old one. She’d grown to hate it. The spells made her head hurt, so much so she constantly screwed them up. And her mom had looked so sad.

  Over time, she’d come to dread the day her mom would hand over the nail to her. She didn’t want it. She couldn’t do the spells, she couldn’t protect it. She was defective.

  Not once had her mom mentioned anything about a curse. Her five-hundred-year-old mother. Something else she couldn’t wrap her mind around.

  Still, she’d known there was something her mom wasn’t telling her. She’d sensed it, like a current between them.

  That old pain, the one she’d gotten whenever she and her mom argued, was back, lodged in her chest like a dagger she couldn’t pull out.

  Mom, why didn’t you say anything?

  But the feeling of betrayal by her dad was worse.

  “Shea. Did your mom ever say anything about a curse?”

  Gabriel’s repeated question cut through her thoughts and she turned to face him, anger beginning to replace shock.

  “My mom was difficult to talk to. And she never, ever said anything about a curse.”

  Gabriel’s expression remained unreadable. “I guess she felt she had good reason.”

  Fuck that. No reason would ever have been good enough to keep this from her.

  Jesus, Mom—

  “So why’d you leave?” he asked.

  Gabriel watched as her mouth tightened as Shea’s gaze disconnected.

  “I didn’t know there was a world beyond the forest we lived in until I was twelve.” The bitterness in her tone cut through the air like tiny knives. “A lost hiker somehow found his way through the wards on our property. My dad hustled him away pretty fast, but it was too late. The secret was out.”

  She met his gaze then. “Ballet was the one thing my mom and I actually enjoyed doing together. She’d taught me since I was three or four. It was the best part of the day, when my mom and I would go into the studio to dance.”

  Her smile turned bittersweet. “When I was twelve, my dad introduced me to the wonders of TV and movies. I must have watched ‘The Red Shoes’ and ‘A Chorus Line’ and ‘Center Stage’ hundreds of times. And I decided I wanted to be a ballerina.

  “When I was fifteen, my mom told me I’d never be a ballerina. That I would live the rest of my life alone because no one could be trusted. That’s when I started to plan.”

  “Plan what?”

  Her hands did that wavy thing again. “My great escape. I was fifteen, after all, and I wanted to see the world. My mom was just as determined to keep me away from it. I started exploring past the boundaries my parents had set. I found out we lived several miles from a small town and I used to sneak there. I was fascinated to see so many people in one place.

  “My dad used to leave the door to the communications room open sometimes and I could watch whatever I wanted. I had the biggest crush on David Boreanez from ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer.’ Until I realized he wasn’t a real vampire. You know that whole cross deal is a hoax, right? And the sunlight death?”

  Her lopsided smile reached inside his chest and grabbed the air right out of his lungs. Holy shit, he didn’t need this now.

  Her smile faded fast. “Anyway, I heard my parents fighting sometimes. About me. I think my mom wanted to lock me in my room and never let me out. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t lo—why she wanted to keep me hidden.”

  She stopped pacing to stare at an abstract painting on the wall, her expression tight. What was she thinking? Hell, at this point he didn’t have a clue—

  Leo’s terrified scream reverberated through the house and they ran for the bedroom.

  Chapter Eight

  Lea Tulane’s eyes flashed open, immediately awake from a deep sleep.

  She reached out and laid her hand on Brian’s back, sleeping beside her, listening for the sound of his breathing. She released a relieved sigh at his slight wheeze. He was okay.

  Brian was only seventy. Not old. Not really.

  Oh, hell. Who was she trying to kid? Every morning she woke, she thanked the Great Goddess he was still here.

  They’d been lucky. They’d had a good fifty-five years together. This time. But life had started to take its toll. Brian’s blood pressure was too high. His knees creaked and he didn’t recover from their lovemaking as fast as he used to. Not that it wasn’t good.

  Alright, at least she could be honest with herself. There hadn’t been enough of it lately to be good. Brian wasn’t as interested in her sexually as he had been.
Some of it had to do with the way his body had changed over the years. And some of it had to with the way hers hadn’t.

  And there went her chances of getting back to sleep tonight.

  Sliding out of bed, she walked to the window, drawn by the light of the almost full moon. Summer treguenda was approaching and she’d thought about returning east to celebrate.

  She enjoyed southern California, possibly the only place on earth where she, stuck at twenty-eight, and Brian, at seventy, could live without being stared at. Much. But she wanted to see her sister—

  An odd shadow shifted across the grass. Just a palm frond moving in the ocean breeze? Or someone sneaking onto the property?

  She shivered, straining to distinguish two a.m. shadows from potential intruders. Brian always told her she worried too much. But after five-hundred years on the run, she figured she could cut herself a little slack.

  The shadow moved again, and now she could see it was a palm, one of the large ones flanking the patio—

  A floorboard creaked on the first floor.

  Adrenaline pumped through her bloodstream, covering her skin in goose bumps.

  Her hand crept to the silver chain around her neck and the iron key hanging from it. Someone was in the house. The housekeeper had left hours ago and they didn’t have a security guard, although many who lived in this gated community did.

  Brian wouldn’t hear of it. He’d protected her on his own for years. Why would he need help now?

  She glanced back at the bed. Brian still slept soundly.

  Had Dario’s men finally found her? Should she run? Wake Brian? Draw them away?

  Or…was she ready?

  Even if it meant death the way Dario dealt it, maybe it was worth it. Brian would soon be taken from her again. She’d spent more than fifty years alone before they’d reunited. Before that, it had been more than a century.

  Time was a bitch she couldn’t escape.

  Concentrating on the open door to their room, she could just barely hear the scrape of soft-soled shoes on the wool carpet covering the stairs.

  If she gave herself to them without a fight, would they leave Brian alone?