The sky overhead grew from pitch black of the Harshlands to a deepening shade of blue, signaling a true sunset. Forest abounded around them, and Jonas had to really think about his next move. Then an idea came to him. “We really don’t know. If we go back home, there was talk of rejoining the Queen’s private guard.”
“But that’s not for you.”
Jonas shook his head, not missing her questioning tone. “Nope. I wasn’t royalty like Rasputin and Davin. Hell, I wasn’t even as royal as Pliny or Bogart. I was a low level, common thief, Tempest. The Queen would never overlook that just for ego’s sake.”
“Sounds like she is very much unlike our queen.”
He nodded. “I think I have a suggestion though.”
A brow arched up. “Yeah?”
“What if, since you’re retiring—”
“If the Queen pays me. We’re a fucking day late.”
He held up a hand. “She will. She owes us. Or so Davin says.”
“You’re so sure about that. You do know you’re doing business with the Fae, right?”
“I do. But you said it yourself, she would rather not risk reputation and being foresworn to the lot of us? Don’t think it’ll be a problem. He nodded again. Crossing his arms over his chest, Jonas felt the need to move, to stir. He hated being inside the truck for so long, but Tempest’s scent tempted him.
Plus, his bike was on the other fucking side of Faery.
Tempest tapped the steering wheel. “Yet, you still wish to return.”
“Again, I really don’t know.”
Hightailing it to the official drop-off point took another hour, but once the truck had been checked in, the MC cleared for entry, Tempest stood outside the maze of warehouses with Jonas, their hands linked.
“We could make chapel here, and make this little thing between you official.”
Both Jonas and Tempest shot their gazes at Pliny. “What?”
“I mean it’s not like you two are going to separate. And honestly? We’re not sure what our next move is going to be. Have to talk it over with the club.”
“You mean we’d consider getting out of stealing?”
Pliny nodded. “I talked with Rasputin at the fuel station. The Club’s decision to get involved was for survival purposes. But now? This cash will set us up wherever it’s accepted so, the future is open.”
“True, that, brother.”
Pliny clapped Jonas on the shoulder, then pulled him in for bear hug. “I know this isn’t our way, but I’ve been thinking about our ways.”
Jonas pulled back. “Me too.”
“Time for a change.”
Nodding, Jonas looked at Tempest. “I’m already in agreement on that one.”
“So, what say we make this official? I am ordained.”
“In Faery?”
“Well,” Pliny wiped his brow. “I was ordained back in England in 1789, but I can’t imagine my undead status would shatter that. But to the MC, you two would be recognized as an official couple.”
“None of that masculine macho bullshit?”
Pliny stood back, hands up. “None. This isn’t exactly the traditional MC, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“No.” Jonas shook his head. “Suppose it’s not. What do you say, Tempest? You’re not dying any time soon, I’m not leaving this world in anything less than practically forever.”
She sauntered to Jonas, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
He tasted her, swirled his tongue around her mouth and cupped her round ass, giving it a squeeze before she pulled back. “Let’s do it.”
Both of them turned to Pliny. “When this business is over, we can figure out the next move and how to do this.”
“Easy. Matter of fact, we have plenty of forest around us.”
Tempest nodded. Someone whistled from behind them, called Tempest by name.
She turned around. “I gotta answer this.”
“Okay, darlin’. Hurry back.”
She headed to the back of the warehouse and disappeared from sight.
A new life lay ahead of them, even though neither had any idea what that looked like.
“You sure about this? You’ve been with us for the last, almost hundred years, son.”
“I never said I was leaving the MC. In fact, what if I started a chapter here while you all returned home. Surely there are other vampires here who would ride.”
“Pay dues, expand the reach, get us legal status in this land.”
“Considering we’re only alive because the Queen of Faery owes us and would prefer not to be foresworn.”
Pliny nodded. “I like it. Let’s bring it up in church.”
The two vampires hugged again. Something that made Jonas feel like he had a family stirred inside his heart.
“Jonas, we can go on that honeymoon you promised me. Just got paid.”
Jonas spun around, watching Tempest sway her hips from side to side while holding a check.
“Plenty of zeroes on that thing. The Queen must really owe you guys.”
“That, she does.”
“Or, she owes me for bringing her bikes in unscathed.”
Jonas raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah. That’s right. You guys are outlaws, vampires and because of your assistance with me, the Queen gave me not only this check for my retirement, but said you could stay if you wanted.”
“That right?” Jonas crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head slightly while a silly smile formed.
“Wait until I tell Davin the MC can stay because of my good deeds.”
Pliny snickered. “He’ll love that.”
“Yeah.” Jonas snickered. “Right up with being told by peasants that he has to conform to Fae law.”
“Whatever. Like any of you ever would.” Tempest rolled her eyes. “Come here.”
More than happy to oblige, Jonas met Tempest halfway and pulled her into his arms. Lifting he up, she giggled when she wrapped her legs around his waist and their mouths captured one another’s in a heated kiss.
He smelled her blood so close to the surface of her skin, he ached for a taste, but now was not the time. They needed to find shelter, a temporary home, and figure out the long-term goals for the club, and for Nadine.
His sister deserved a life untethered to bothersome shit; one that let her know just how much fun being the undead could be. Oh, and the things that came with vampire powers, he’d have to show her and Tempest both.
MC life would not suit her. She needed something slower, more controlled. Maybe he could find a Fae nurse to help her.
But he’d figure it out.
Right now? He had his love, and for once in his life, that was the most important thing ever.
About the Author
Sascha, who was proclaimed by the publishing industry as The Gentleman Playboy of Romance, started writing eighteen years ago. His erotic romances have been listed under Night Owl Romance’s and Road to Romance’s Recommended read lists, and he’s been nominated for a CAPA by The Romance Studio. Recently, Torn to Pieces was a USA TODAY Recommended Read.
Sascha is a trained and experienced public speaker, and enjoys giving talks and teaching, particularly on aspects of romance, erotic romance, and writing. He was the former host of The Unnamed Romance Show on Radio Dentata, and is fond of doing guest spots and interviews, on both traditional radio and podcasts.
Sascha writes for City Lights Publishing, Red Sage, Sizzler Editions, Totally Bound, and Decadent Publishing.
Find him at http://saschaillyvichauthor.com
Don’t forget to join my newsletter and hit me up on Social Media
Sign up for Updates: http://eepurl.com/8GiCv
Booklist at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Sascha-Illyvich/e/B002IYU4J8
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/AuthorSaschaIllyvich
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/user/SaschaIllyvich
Website: http://saschaillyvichauthor.com
Twitter: http://www.tw
itter.com/SaschaIllyvich
FB: https://www.facebook.com/RomanceAuthorSaschaIllyvich/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/saschaillyvich/
White Wolf Indulgence: http://whitewolfindulgence.com
Pure Indulgence: https://www.facebook.com/WhiteWolfIndulgence/
GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2928546.Sascha_Illyvich
Just for kicks: Spotify Playlist associated with this book: https://open.spotify.com/user/1265659736/playlist/6NXd7q4P0bme9Yjar1iTph?si=FYwrl2cGT42QWjGLIx8Bug
Catching Camila by Lynn Best
The Cartharian Romance Series
By Lynn Best
Text copyright © 2018 by Lynn Best. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. For information visit www.lynnbest.com.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
January, 2018 Edition
Cover Design by Sanja Gombar
Edited by Lyndsey Alexander
Created with Vellum
To my husband. You’re my super-human crush
John
Monday 12:18 a.m.
He woke knowing only pain.
His bones ached like they'd been shattered and glued haphazardly together. His head buzzed like a tuning fork. A bitter taste coated his tongue. He searched for the word and it swam sluggishly up before him. Blood. He tasted blood.
He peeled his eyelids open to a sea of gray. As his eyes focused, he realized he was lying on his back looking up at the night sky. A few thin clouds streaked across a yellow crescent moon. A fringe of leaves and branches stood out black against the sky above. He lifted his head and a stab of pain needled through his skull. He winced, waited and propped himself up on his elbows. He looked down at his naked body and drew in a sharp breath.
Naked. Oh god.
He was lying in a large trough gouged into the earth, a crater from the look of things. The damp, dark soil on either side of him looked freshly uncovered. He reached a trembling hand into the dirt. It crumbled into flecks on his fingers, dark brown and loamy. Frightened, he brushed it away and sat up.
He scanned his body for the source of his pain: broken bones, dislocated joints, flayed skin. But as his eyes traced his limbs, covered in moist earth, he seemed intact.
He pulled himself upright, digging his fingers into a nest of dangling roots. He had to get out of this hole, this…grave. His other senses were awakening now: a gripping hunger, like he'd never eaten a meal in his life, and an overwhelming sense that everything was very wrong. Why couldn't he remember how he'd gotten here? Why couldn't he remember…anything?
The cold, raw panic crept up his limbs as he scrambled out of the crater, sending showers of earth into the hole. He dragged his bare chest over the coarse, dewy lawn. A puff of wind drove goose bumps over his bare damp skin. He pulled himself to his feet.
A park stretched out before him: long sections of grassy plain, cut into squares with chain-link fence. Signs were posted: “Keep Our Park Clean” and “Dogs MUST be kept on a 6-foot leash.” Century-old trees, tall and gnarly, skirted the grassy areas. In the center of the tidy park was a path of destruction cut like a scar across the face of the earth. It was as if something had plummeted from the sky and skidded along the ground, snapping off trees, scorching branches. At the back of the park, the grass still smoldered. Whatever it was had come to rest here. He peered down into the hole again.
How had he ended up here? And where was he?
He stumbled to a picnic table and sat. His head thrummed. His stomach clenched. He’d throw up if he had anything in his belly. He put his head in his dirt-caked hands.
Who was he?
John.
The name flashed in his head and he grabbed onto it like a life preserver. Was it his name? It could be a brand of soap for all he knew, but he assigned it to himself regardless. A name was one step closer to something. And something was better than nothing. He searched his synapses, but the path fizzled and died like the tail of a rocket. Nothing.
Headlights sliced through the dark as a car pulled up. A door slammed. John’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. A thought blared in his head, the only thing he knew for certain: Trust no one.
He couldn't be seen. He bolted upright, teetered and righted himself with a hand to the tabletop. Then he was off into the trees as fast as his legs would take him.
Tuesday 9:37 a.m.
John lay stock-still in the crinkly leaves as the dog waddled his way. A basset hound (if his addled brain served him right) lumbered through the underbrush and blinked at him. The brown and white dog with droopy jowls and long floppy ears licked John’s cheek. It panted into his face, the pink crescents of skin showing underneath its drooping eyelids, then it went back to sniffing the dirt around his thighs.
The dog park had come alive with activity early this morning. Waiting for something to jog his memory, John had hidden in the woods next to the crater. What a long night. His memory hadn’t returned, but people and their four-legged friends had, filling up the grassy areas and woods. John had tried to leave, only to find neat backyards, children playing in little plastic pools or gray-haired ladies weeding their gardens. They probably wouldn’t appreciate him strolling naked past their rhododendrons.
Plus, there was that pesky crater that had everyone buzzing.
Naked, hungry, and alone, he'd decided to wait until dark to leave. Now, with the mosquitoes biting his, er, tender regions, he realized this wasn’t his brightest idea.
The basset hound nosed John’s hand. He ran his fingers through the dog's soft coat as its tail thwacked a steady rhythm.
“Hey there, boy. Whatcha doing, huh?” John scratched under the dog’s chin. John nuzzled his face into the dog’s back and his heartbeat steadied.
A shrill whistle cut through the trees. John tensed. The dog turned.
“Come, Roxy. Come on, girl,” a man's voice called from the path.
She's a girl, John thought, as Roxy pulled away and waddled toward her owner. From his hiding spot, he watched the dog leave, feeling empty.
I should just get up and ask for help, he thought. The police had arrived an hour ago. He could sneak through the brush and get someone’s attention. But an alarm blared inside him every time someone came near.
They'll hurt you, it shouted. Don't trust them.
So, he stayed hidden under a prickly bush, miserable.
By noon, his stomach seized and cramped. Creeping through the woods to the tree line, he stared desperately into the backyards.
Ahead, three children ran squealing through a sprinkler while their mother reclined in a lawn chair with a magazine. To his right, a wide green lawn led up to a large two-story house. A television flickered in the dark interior. Why weren’t these people at work? Feeling desperate, he stalked the shadows until he came to another house with a large wooden porch. The garage door was ajar. Inside the garage a big white refrigerator glowed like a lighthouse.
Food.
His stomach churned. Did he dare?
John scanned left, then right. The children and their mother had run inside for a potty break, leaving the littlest—a toddler with damp, yellow curls—on the lawn. As he watched, she tripped on the hose and skidded into the grass. She sucked in a breath and wailed.
Her mother would be back in seconds. The only time was now.
John sucked in a deep breath and sprinted toward the refrigerator.
Glancing left, he saw the little girl was turned away. To his right, the green lawns stretched, empty of people. He skidded to a stop at the doorframe, gripped it, and peered in. The dim garage was silent except for the electric hum of the refrigerator. Food, food, it hummed.
Please, God, let there be something to eat.
He was five steps in when he heard movement inside the house. Whistling. Someone was headed his way.
John’s eyes flicked between the door and the fridge. Getting caught would be disastrous, but he needed food. When would he get another opportunity? He sprinted to the fridge and yanked it open. The door rattled wide, cold air rolling out at his bare legs. His eyes racked over rows of beer and pop cans. He grabbed a few sodas, but where was the food?
He shot a glance toward the house door. There had to be food just inside, rows and rows of it probably, but the cheerful, off-key whistling was still headed his way. If he went in, he'd have to fight for it. No matter how hungry he was, he didn’t want to hurt anyone.
Something caught his eye in the bottom drawer, a blurry brown package inside the crisper. He yanked it open, his heart pounding. A package of hot dogs! John nearly shouted for joy. With the package cradled to his chest, he turned.
The door between the house and the garage cracked open.
Heart thumping, John tore across the garage.
He nearly tumbled over a backpack at his feet. Fabric peeked out of the opening. Clothes.
Snatching the bag, he bolted out of the garage and into the yard. The dry grass pierced his feet as he tore over the lawn. He eyed the deep, shadowed woods. Only a few more steps until safety.
20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 148