Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  I quirked an eyebrow. “The same stuff I used on my werewolf bite? That colloidal silver?”

  “Yeah. Maybe it helps neutralize all kinds of supernatural wounds.”

  I chuckled dryly. “For someone who forgot about what Uncle Ronnie told us—”

  “Hey, it was a momentary lapse! It’s not like I can use the stuff.”

  “—that may just work.” I thought about it another moment. “I’ll tell them when they come back.”

  “Which will be when?”

  “Who knows with fairies? Hopefully not that long.”

  But I felt that ache with all three of them gone, and I needed to do something to keep my mind occupied. Maybe take another bath and wash off the mud from tonight’s events.

  “Let’s get back. We’ve had a long, long day.” I opened the passenger door to the van and glanced at my cousin, who was flanked by her ridiculous werewolf companion. I paused, looking down at the ground, suddenly sheepish. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  She blinked and looked at me, almost in shock. “For what?”

  “For...coming to my rescue when I needed you. I know I haven’t been in touch much since Gracie…” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t say the words, even though the truth hit me as hard now as when I first found out about her death. Because Blaize and I had just had an adventure, and we’d never have another one with our cousin who kept us together.

  I licked my lips and looked up to see Blaize’s eyes fill with tears. “I miss her, too, Cass.”

  And before I could stop myself, I rushed forward, nearly tackling her with a hug. She stood there, stock still for a few heartbeats, before she wrapped her arms around me, and held me. I felt Wolf pawing at our legs, trying to offer his own support, but this was something that demon-hunting cousins only could share in.

  We stayed like that for a long time.

  18

  Blaize

  I stood far back from the bathroom door.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Cass said, holding the bottle of silver-infused liquid over her boyfriend’s iron-burned hand. I was having some trouble telling them apart—except for Drake, with his dark hair and dark eyes contrasting against his too-pale skin.

  He had purple-black circles under his eyes, the sole visible remains of his ordeal. The colloidal silver had healed the rest of him.

  My own dark circles had disappeared, though I still had slept only a few hours.

  I knew grief had caused mine. And I wasn’t done grieving Grace yet—I might never be, not really—but I finally thought I might eventually come to terms with losing her. More so now that Cass and I had talked about it, even that little bit.

  The boyfriend—whatever his name was—gritted his teeth and nodded, and Cass poured the silver liquid into the wounds on his hands. I leaned into the bathroom far enough to watch as his wounds began to close.

  “Wow,” I breathed. Then the silver fumes began to burn against my eyes, and I backed out into the single room of the apartment, coughing and waving my hand in front of my eyes. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

  Cass leaned out of the bathroom. “You’ll be back tomorrow, though, right? Since this is working, we’re going to rent bikes and ride across the Golden Gate Bridge. You need to see the ocean for real—not just in the middle of the night on a hunt.”

  “Across...the bridge?”

  She grinned at me. “Yeah. It’s super touristy and shit. You’ll love it.”

  I glanced down at Wolf, whose tongue lolled out of his mouth, and laughed. “Fine. We’ll be here. But let’s keep it low-key, okay?”

  “Absolutely.” Cass nodded firmly. “Low-key. Nothing too serious. We’ll just ride across the bridge and go to lunch in Sausalito. It’ll be a nice way to spend a day. No fighting, no monsters.”

  Well. No monsters except the ones we bring with us.

  I didn’t say it aloud.

  Things were going too well for me to want to screw it up.

  The view from the Golden Gate Bridge was glorious. Cass hadn’t been lying about that. The ocean beneath us—really a “bay,” though I didn’t know why that mattered—and stretching out to the distance was stunning. It was a bright, sunny day, apparently something of an anomaly in San Francisco, and there were lots of people out on bikes today.

  But Cass and her fairy princes were the only ones I’d seen on a four-person tandem bike. I had to snicker as I listened to the men sniping at each other and Cass trying to keep the peace among them.

  Beside me, Wolf huffed, and I glanced down at him. “Guess you’re the only werewolf on a leash, too, huh?” I whispered, reaching down to ruffle the fur on his neck, right beside the turquoise collar. He rolled his eyes at me and stared off into the distance.

  I laughed aloud as he pretended to ignore me, and Cass and her guys wobbled off on their bike in front of us.

  For the first time since Gracie’s death, I actually felt like everything might be okay.

  I felt happy.

  “Come on,” I said, standing on my pedal to start the bike moving again, and pulling gently on Wolf’s leash. “Let’s go find out what’s on the other side of this long-ass bridge.”

  * * *

  The End

  For more Blaize Silver books, be sure to read “Hell’s Silver Bells” in Mistletoe & Mischief and the forthcoming Sin & Silver. Sign up for Margo Bond Collins’s newsletter to get Blaize’s first story (and more) FREE: http://www.MargoBondCollins.com/newsletter

  * * *

  For more Cassidy Irons books, you’re out of luck. For the moment. There will be more stories in Cassidy’s world, so stay up to date by signing up to Erin Hayes’s newsletter and get three stories FREE: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/j7s4r3

  About the Author

  Sci-fi junkie, video game nerd, and wannabe manga artist Erin Hayes writes a lot of things. Sometimes she writes books.

  * * *

  She works as an advertising copywriter by day, and she's an award-winning New York Times Bestselling Author by night. She has lived in New Zealand, Hawaii, Texas, Alabama, and now San Francisco with her husband, cat, and a growing collection of geek paraphernalia.

  You can reach her at erinhayesbooks@gmail.com and she’ll be happy to chat. Especially if you want to debate Star Wars.

  Read More from Erin

  www.erinhayesbooks.com

  * * *

  USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and New York Times bestselling author Margo Bond Collins is a former college English professor who, tired of explaining the difference between "hanged" and "hung," turned to writing romance novels instead. (Sometimes her heroines kill monsters, too.)

  Read More from Margo

  www.MargoBondCollins.net

  Nobody’s Hero

  Bec McMaster

  Nobody's Hero © 2017 Bec McMaster

  * * *

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Nobody’s Hero

  First rule of surviving the Wastelands: don't get caught outside after the sun sets...

  After her father was killed in a warg attack, Riley Kincaid was forced to stand on her own two feet in the brutal Wastelands she calls home. She knows how to survive, bu
t when a lapse in judgment leaves her out after dark, Riley realizes she's in trouble. The sun has set, the monsters are out to play, and there's a band of reivers heading straight for her settlement. Riley needs to warn her people, but that's before she runs a handsome stranger down in her jeep. A stranger who might not be a man after all...

  Kidnapping her was the worst mistake he ever made.

  Dangerous outlaw, Lucius Wade, lives only for revenge. But when he kidnaps Riley in order to lure an old friend into a trap, suddenly the tables are turned. Riley has no intentions of being bait, and she tempts him in ways he hasn't felt for a long time. He's never played the hero, but suddenly a part of him wants to.

  When dangerous secrets are revealed, and Luc realizes an old enemy is on his trail, he's forced to change his plans. The hunter is suddenly the hunted, and the only allies he has... is a stubborn blonde who thinks there should be more to live for than revenge, and the ex-friend who shoved a knife in his back ten years ago.

  1

  Wastelands, 2147

  The sun pooled red on the horizon, the last spears of sunlight slashing across the sky, and then fading. Night was coming, and with it the need to be home. Before the monsters came out to play.

  Riley slid down over the rock, easing her body cautiously onto the ledge below. In the distance, a last glimmer of light reflected off something shiny across the desert floor. It could have been merely a shard of glass half-smashed out of some old rust bucket that no longer ran, but Riley didn’t think so. Once a graveyard of cars, most of them had been hauled away for spare parts, or scrap by the roaming bands of reivers.

  The only things out here now were cactus, hop sage, and tumbleweed. And the sand. Always the bloody sand.

  “What is it?” Jimmy whispered, peering over the edge of the tor.

  Riley frowned into the distance, her spyglass in hand. Gauging the distance carefully, she leapt across a gaping chasm in the rock and landed on the very edge of the plateau. Without anything to block her view, the Wastelands stretched before her endlessly, filling the world from horizon to horizon. Her father once said there were cities on the other side of the Great Divide that split the continent, but Riley couldn't imagine it. Living out here in the barren Wastelands, in their guarded little settlement, was the only life she’d ever known.

  Peering through the spyglass, her vision catapulted forward. She soon found the cause of the reflection—an old jeep, fitted with a gun turret, a pair of vigilantes riding in the tray. Heavily armored in salvaged scrap, and covered in scarred tattoos, the pair looked hard and mean. Riley swore under her breath. “Damn it.”

  “What?” Jimmy asked from above. “Wargs? Reivers?” Pebbles rained down over her as he shifted nervously.

  “Reivers,” she confirmed, scanning the desert floor. Her heart started to pound as she swept the spyglass over the canyon below. They were heading east. Toward Haven. Her sanctuary was the only settlement out this far, and the only reason for the vultures to risk the dangerous canyon track.

  Riley froze as movement flickered through the lens of the spyglass. She jerked it back, disbelief flooding her with a sickening feeling as another pair of jeeps swept into view. With gasoline sources getting low, it was rare for so many vehicles to be out this far.

  Unless they were planning on hitting the settlement.

  Hard.

  Maybe they knew about the gasoline shipment that Haven had just received from the Eastern Confederacy?

  “Shit.” She waited long enough to count the men – thirteen – before jerking her head up.

  Jimmy’s pale face came into view, his eyes wide. “Scouting party?”

  Riley shook her head grimly. She’d known this day would come. This side of the Great Divide, resources were becoming few and far between. Every month of radio vigilance brought fewer settlements checking in; the previous month, the settlement of New Hope, just forty miles north, had been hit. Since then, there’d been no word from Tom and Jenny, or the rest of the settlers she’d come to know over the radio.

  The kid’s face paled further. “It’s crazy hitting the settlement at night, what with the wargs out there.”

  “We’re talking about reivers. Sanity’s not really a priority when it comes to membership. Come on.” She tucked the spyglass in her leather bag and slung it over her shoulder. “We’ve got to get back to the jeep and warn them.” As Jimmy made to dash after her, she jerked her hand. “Don’t forget the rocs.”

  The reason they’d been out there. Much-needed food. Not even the threat of reivers could make her forget the brace of dead birds they’d spent the day scaling the cliffs to catch.

  Running lightly across the rock, she found the rappel rope they’d used to climb up to where the enormous birds nested. Hooking her carabiner onto the ropes, and then checking her climbing harness and descender, she waited long enough to make sure Jimmy wasn’t at risk of falling before she took a deep breath and edged over the cliff.

  “Here we go,” she muttered, and leapt backward.

  The descent was short and took her breath away. She was used to scaling the heights – either for sentry duty or to get at the massive rocs that nested at the top of the tor – but she’d never descended quite this quickly.

  Jimmy was quick to follow, his eyes almost bugging out of his head at the drop. Riley caught him, her gloved hand riding over his harness as he safely put both feet on the ground. The red glow of dusk was starting to fade. In the east, streaks of indigo discolored the sky. They’d been out too long, but pickings were starting to get slim now that winter was edging over the continent.

  Not that you'd know it, thanks to the blistering heat the week had brought.

  “Leave the ropes,” she instructed, slinging the pair of birds over her shoulder and starting for the jeep. The nestlings had to weigh at least 50 pounds, but she was used to hauling her weight up the cliffs, let alone a pair of dead birds.

  “Here, you’d best drive.” Jimmy called, tossing her the keys as they reached the jeep.

  Riley snatched them out of the air and tossed the brace of birds in the tray, next to the warg cage. At seventeen, this was his first trip out foraging. By the look on his face, he’d be lucky if he didn’t put them into a ditch or blow a tire if he drove. Shimmying out of the harness, she stripped off her gloves and threw them both in the back next to the cage.

  The jeep gave a coughing grunt, but finally started. With the winding track through the canyon below, they had a good thirteen-mile head start on the reivers.

  Hopefully, it would be enough. She’d heard tales of what happened to people caught out in the Wastelands by the reiver gangs. Especially women.

  Ignoring the cold finger that trailed down her spine, she jammed the jeep into reverse and spun backward. Tires crunching over the gravel, Riley shifted gears, hit the gas, and they rocketed forward.

  “What do you reckon they want?” Jimmy asked, grabbing for the door handle to hold on.

  Riley tossed him the radio receiver. “Same thing as anybody out here. Food, potable water, shelter. Women. Here. Try and contact Haven.”

  Jimmy played with the dial, static crackling over the speakers. His lips compressed in a grim line she didn’t miss as mile upon mile of static greeted them. Finally, the line cleared, and he let out a breath. “Ranger one to base, do you copy?”

  The light was fading fast, leaving bushes and rocks as shadows. Riley peered ahead, wondering whether she dared put the headlights on. The reivers weren’t the only threat out there. And she’d lead them straight to Haven if she did.

  But better to get home alive than crash in a gulch.

  “Base, do you copy?”

  Riley flicked the lights on.

  A man appeared out of nowhere. She caught a glimpse of naked skin, faded blue jeans, and a mess of black hair, and then she was tearing at the wheel. Jimmy screamed as the brakes kicked in. Gravel sprayed, but it was too late. The jeep hit with a thud and the man flipped up over the hood, smashing into th
e front window before disappearing.

  Gripping the wheel with white-knuckled hands, Riley slowly blinked as the dust cleared. Her heart felt like it was going to thump its way through her chest, and her lungs were tight. Holy shit.

  Jimmy looked up, blood dripping from his temple. “Did we just hit someone?”

  Who the hell would be out here at this time of night? Riley sucked in a huge breath, her first since the impact. The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. “Give me the shotgun.”

  Ripping off her safety belt, she slid the small handgun out of the side holster that had been customized to the seat, tossing it to Jimmy. The front window was a mess, but somehow the glass still held. She couldn’t see a thing through it, so keeping it wasn’t an option. Wasn’t as if it was going to keep the nightlife out anyway.

  Grabbing the shotgun off Jimmy, she smashed the window out. The desert night was quiet. Still. Holding her breath, she scanned the horizon. Nothing moved.

  “Stay in the jeep,” Riley ordered. “If I give the signal, you start it up and drive like blazes.”

  Jimmy swallowed. He knew the drill. “Want me to keep trying the radio?”

  “Won’t hurt.” Though she knew chances were slim they’d be heard now. Whoever was supposed to be on duty was obviously elsewhere. Maybe Warren or Viv. Both had strayed from the radio control room in the past.

  Nobody else was that stupid.

  Riley's boots crunched on the gravel as she stepped out, holding the shotgun warily in front of her. It was loaded with exploding rounds she’d doctored herself; no point shooting to warn when the night was just as likely to rip your throat out.