Maggie Mackey hasn’t slept well in a month, but that doesn’t explain how the monsters from her nightmares suddenly seem so real. Or why, when a team of intimidating, sword-wielding toughs rescue her, their leader captures her mouth in a swift, knee-weakening kiss.
Once he tears himself away, Zeke’s mental forehead smacking begins. Their embrace has confirmed they have a rare tangible bond, a phenomenon which fooled him once before. Somehow he must tutor the woman of his dreams without getting attached. Otherwise her nightmares could become his own.
Warning: Contains lots of cussing, pop-culture references and monsters with nasty, big, pointy teeth.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Tangible:
Zeke hated it when the dreamers were Joss Whedon fans. Based on the pixel-perfect accuracy of the vampires she’d conjured—vamps who were now attempting to eat her—this dreamer had memorized every incarnation of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, from the show transcripts to the books to the comics.
Cursing, he flung his knife at an oncoming vamp and whirled to stake a second. The ugly mother snarled its way up the spike before exploding into a million particles of dust. How the hell many were there? The density of the pack wasn’t a good sign.
In fact, it was very, very bad. Especially for him.
The neo they were here to collar huddled in the alley behind him, brandishing a gigantic pocketbook like a flail. Blood from a small wound at her throat trickled down her skin and stained the collar of her coat. He had to hand it to her. She had moxie. And a seriously overactive imagination that had to be harnessed before it got her and everyone else killed.
Well, at least she’d stopped screaming.
“Zeke, five o’clock!” Rhys called. The vamp with the knife sticking out of its shoulder barreled into him, knocked him down and attempted to sink jagged teeth into his neck. His vest and coat protected his torso but not his throat. He grabbed the monster’s head. Yellow goat-like eyes gleamed in the shadows of the buildings that lined the alley.
The rest of the field team was a minute away. His arms trembled with strain and his vision tunneled as he concentrated on keeping himself whole. As many vamps as they’d had the past ten years, they should add gorgets to their field gear.
Not that they could afford it, but it was a nice fantasy.
“Shut your eyes,” commanded a female voice. The dreamer. His dreamer.
“Stay out of this!”
She didn’t. A hand clutching pepper spray appeared between him and his attacker. Desperately, Zeke shoved away the vamp right before a noxious blast hosed its wrinkly mug.
With a howl, the monster convulsed, clawing its head. Zeke rolled the other way fast. Fire bloomed all over his face anyway.
“Excuse me, ma’am!” Rhys thundered up, huge feet kicking snow and gravel every direction, and pounced on the vamp. Zeke heard growls, curses. Over the sound of his own hacking, he detected the telltale whoomp of a monster getting dusted.
The dreamer, her voice anxious, blurted out, “Are you okay, sir?”
No thanks to you. Zeke blinked, coughed and scooped up snow to hold against his face. The icy wetness relieved the burn somewhat. Thank God he’d missed most of the spray or he’d be out of commission. He dabbed his eyes on his jacket sleeve, careful not to smear the residue. With blurred vision, he glanced up to see his target extend her hand to him.
After a long hesitation he accepted, though she’d been more than enough help already. Right before their skin touched, his palm warmed. A whisper of sensation, a magnetic pull, shivered up his arm.
He bit back a curse. A tangible bond—and he’d only been in her head once.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to get saddled with an L2 at most. Screw Sean and his statistics.
The woman tensed, perhaps feeling the faint zing, perhaps sensing his hostility. She hauled him to his feet anyway. The process was complicated by the fact his lungs burned, the ground was slick and he couldn’t see straight. Once he was upright, she sidled away, rubbing her hand on her pants.
He copied her gesture, trying to wipe away the sensation of her cold, slender fingers and the potency of their connection. For high-level alucinators, walking someone else’s dreams occasionally forged a spontaneous link that could mean a number of things.
Most were undesirable. None could be addressed in an icy, dark alley with corporeal wraiths on the loose.
“Who were those guys?” Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and she clutched the pepper spray in a defensive position. “They looked like... I’m not crazy, but they looked like vampires. How did you make the bodies disappear?”
He was thankful she didn’t carry a gun. A lot of new dreamers did, their unsettling nightmares driving them to protect themselves from horrors they couldn’t yet name.
Since Zeke was still coughing, Rhys answered for him. “Ma’am, we’ll explain everything as soon as we can, but first we have to take care of stragglers.” And onlookers or witnesses, but so far nobody had come to check out the screams.
“Is this a setup?” The woman confronted them, angry and scared. “Reality TV? I signed no contract, gentlemen, and you will be hearing from my lawyer.”
“Do you see any cameras?” Zeke managed, his breathing normalizing. The deserted alley where she’d been attacked was a long, narrow lane separating rows of historic buildings with tiny back yards. Snow coated most exposed surfaces in a pale gleam of winter.
“You could have concealed them.”
Open concrete carports and trash cans bordered the track, providing lots of places for cameramen...or wraiths. Though lurking wasn’t really the monsters’ style.
“It’s not a setup, ma’am,” Rhys assured her. He clapped Zeke on the back. “Will you live?”
“Yeah. Just caught a whiff.” He flicked on his walkie-talkie, stifling another cough. The device crackled, static-riddled. He smacked it until it worked. What he wouldn’t give for earbuds. “Secure the area. We’ve got the neo. Have Lillian confound any witnesses.”
Though he couldn’t see them from his position, his other teammates would fan out, casing the intersecting streets for more wraiths. The creatures were attracted to the dreamers who’d produced them, but that never stopped them from assaulting passersby. When everyone reported the area complication-free, Zeke coughed one last time and turned to the reason for his current suffering.
Enough light filtered in that he could distinguish the woman’s features and form. Not a kid, thank God. Past her twenties—the most common age for neonati. The cut on her throat looked like a failed bite. It would sting but wasn’t dangerous. Caucasian, US citizen from the accent, with long disheveled hair, dark eyes with circles under them, and a round, cold-reddened face. Five-foot-five or six. She boasted what seemed to be generous curves under her heavy coat and fuzzy pants.
She was on the pretty side of ordinary, with intelligence in her sharp gaze and alertness in her body language.
The problem was she wasn’t even slightly ordinary. She was an alucinator. A person whose mind could access the dreamsphere and drag monsters into the terra firma. Untrained and powerful, she was more dangerous than his whole team combined.
How strong was she? Her initial manifestation and their tangible suggested L4. Not L5—since L5s were extremely rare—but his comfort level extended only to L3, no matter what the vigils and Lillian had insisted.
Someone on his team was going to have to take this dreamer off his hands. He’d mentor the next one.
“Who are you talking to on your radio, your cameramen?” She gestured at the walkie. “Can you prove this isn’t a setup?”
Zeke clipped the walkie to his belt. The old-timers in the organization claimed the first-meet between dreamer and field team had been easier before Candid Camera. Reality television had increased humanity’s disbelief threshold tenfold.
“Vamps turning into dust before your eyes not convincing enough for you?” he asked her.
Predictably, it was not. �
��Special effects. Projection cameras. How many more fake vampires are there?”
As if they could afford special effects and high tech cameras. “They’re not fake and we don’t know yet.”
“A likely story.” Her words were firm but her big eyes and pale face spoke of a woman who was completely shaken up.
Most dreamers manifested between one and four wraiths at first. Not fifteen. The only way she was getting through this alive was if she cooperated with everything he and his team required.
Hell. He’d never been good at the touchy-feely aspects of training, but when he’d reported the neonati last night—after he’d geotracked her odd composite signature in the dreamsphere—HQ had reiterated that his administrative leave from mentoring was over. They wanted him to take this one and his whole team knew it.
As he watched the woman assess him and, from her expression, find him wanting, inspiration struck him like an invisible wraith. If he could make her hate him so much she refused to associate with him, it would force someone else to step in.
Not a bad plan.
Never take Fate along on a date. The kiss goodnight could be deadly.
Veiled Target
© 2014 Robin Bielman
A Veilers Novel, Book 1
Tracking down Veilers—non humans—is only a sideline for Tess Damon. Vengeance for her fiancé’s murder is her reason for living. But with two botched jobs on her record, if she fails to eliminate her next mark, she’s dead.
She’s not afraid to die, but not before she gets even. Too bad fate has a really bad sense of humor.
Hugh Langston, a wolfen half shifter, lives to keep both humans and his pack safe. But when rogue humans kidnap his apprentice, his rescue mission is compromised by a hot-as-hell, kick-ass woman who makes him think only one thing: mine.
Tess tries to ignore her feelings, but temptation trips her up. Especially when Hugh figures out he’s her next target and forces her into an inconvenient alliance that tests all the laws against their attraction.
Now, with the line between good and evil getting blurrier by the minute, it becomes clear Tess’s only hope of living to see another day—and finding a murderer—lies with the one man she’s supposed to kill.
Warning: Contains one obscenely hot alpha and the woman who wants to love him before she kills him. Look out for a blind date, scorching sex, humor, lies, and untamable attraction.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Veiled Target:
Tess hated feeling helpless. She hated not knowing what to do. Her insides churned, making her stomach clench. A sharp pain on the right side of her head came and went like clockwork every thirty seconds. Perspiration trickled down her sides. The last time she’d felt this anxious was when Jason lay in her arms. Dying. There’d been nothing she could do about it. She’d gotten to him too late.
As much as Hugh dropping dead beside her would solve her business responsibilities, she didn’t want him dying like this. Or maybe she did. No. No, she didn’t. But it was for reasons completely inappropriate, completely unsettling.
Her thoughts of Jason, and comparing the situations threw her for a loop. Yes, she had some sort of connection with Hugh, but death was part of her job, so why did it bother her so much this time? She needed to remember he was her assignment and nothing more.
Get in the car, Tess. Drive away and don’t look back.
Or stay in the agonizing quiet. She always got uncomfortable hanging out with someone in silence, but hell if she knew the right thing to say. She should start her investigation of him this instant with questions about his job, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He looked too vulnerable.
Too human.
Diverting her attention to a spot of oil on the street seemed like her best bet at the moment. She stared without blinking until her eyes protested. Then she looked across the street to find Dane heading toward them.
“Hey,” Dane called, crossing with long strides and looking like he’d been in the bar all night, not out prowling the streets in search of a friend.
Hugh lifted his head and stood taller. Maybe he’d just needed a few minutes to rest. He looked glad to see Dane, but Tess could swear she saw a hint of anger there too.
“Dane.”
The one word acknowledgement spoke volumes. Hugh didn’t ask how he was, he didn’t ask about Trey. Instead he waited for Dane to fill him in without prodding. “Dane” had been a command, not a greeting.
“What the hell happened?” Dane asked, looking Hugh up and down before turning an eye on her.
She glared at him, more for Hugh’s sake than her own. Was he allowed to talk to Hugh that way? “We were attacked by a Banoth,” she said. She wanted to add “you jackass,” but held her tongue.
“A Banoth? Jesus.” Dane’s chest deflated some, his shoulders rounded. “Did it get its fangs in you?” he asked Hugh, concern in his voice.
“Yeah.”
“Are you carrying?”
Carrying? What was he talking about?
“No. So talk.” Hugh pushed himself up so his shoulders rose above the car roof. His face was hard to read under the dim streetlight, but beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Tess swept a gaze over him from top to bottom and noticed a dark bloodstain on the leg of his jeans.
Dane nodded in her direction. “Right now?”
“She’s clued in,” Hugh said, “and I trust her.”
Why the hell did he have to go and say that? She was not to be trusted. Not to be included in their pack activities. Not to know what he wasn’t carrying, even though she was dying to get that bit of information. Then again, she couldn’t have asked for a better cover, an easier way into Hugh’s life. He knew she was a private investigator. She could use that to her advantage to help him find Trey. She’d pretend friendship to help him and get the information she needed to do her job. She’d just keep P.I.E. out of the picture.
Friendship. Yeah, right.
She smiled at Dane. A great big smile to let him know she was sticking around, and he’d better get used to it. Something about Dane unsettled her. He didn’t like her involvement, she knew that from their confrontation in the alley, but there was more. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.
“The tip on Trey was bogus. I got to the location and he wasn’t there.”
“I’m not surprised,” Hugh said. “This whole thing was a setup to—”
“Get Hugh,” Tess finished. “And probably you too, Dane. Did you meet with any trouble? See anything that might give you some clue as to who or what planned this little attack?”
Dane looked like he was about to fall over. Maybe he’d never heard someone finish Hugh’s sentence before and then go on to ask the questions. A happy buzz wove through her body that she couldn’t blame on the beers from two hours ago. She’d come to the rescue of the lone wolfen and the idea that possibly no other woman ever had gave her a great deal of satisfaction.
“You a cop?”
Her occupation no longer a secret, she answered, “Private investigator.”
He looked back to Hugh for confirmation.
Hugh nodded. “I don’t like what’s going on. And I don’t understand why things have escalated so”—he coughed, a retching noise that sounded painful—“quickly.”
Dane took a step toward him. “You need to sit down. You need—”
“I need you to talk. Now,” Hugh said in a huff. He pushed away from the car and paced back and forth, his posture still rounded but his feet moving swifter.
Tess gulped. She could tell his movement was forced. That it would cost him. But his pride was obviously worth more than his comfort. Panic wove through her and her heart raced with sickening speed. Was his ego more important than his life? Because he literally looked like death warmed over. He needed medical attention. He needed a hospital room with machines whirring and tubes pumping drugs into him.
“I came across a couple of Wolf Seekers not far from Trey’s supposed location. I messed them up a bit and got the
m to talk. They had some very interesting information.”
“And that was?”
“Wolf Seekers?” Tess questioned. How come she’d never heard of them either? “Who are they?”
Dane looked to Hugh before he answered. “They’re humans who want to rid Los Angeles of wolves. At the moment, they’ve set their sights on the Night Runners.”
“Who’s in charge of them?” She knew there were groups of humans who were aware of Veilers and wanted to erase them from society. Heck, she’d gotten assistance from a couple of them. But why didn’t P.I.E., the most elite organization for eliminating Veilers, know about this faction? It was P.I.E.’s business to know about competing groups.
“We don’t know,” Hugh replied, falling back against the car again. The bloodstains on his shirt and jeans had spread, hair matted to his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest was more pronounced.
Tess fought the urge to move closer and take his arm in hers for support. “I can find out for you.” This was her in. The way to keep tabs on Hugh and investigate him while also finding out more about the Wolf Seekers.
Dane got right in her face. “We don’t need your help.”
She pushed him in the chest. Hard. “Do not speak to me like that ever again or you’ll find yourself singing soprano.”
“I doubt that.”
“Try me. You’ve got no idea what I’m capable of.” Not all Night Runners are created equal, she decided. Dane, she wanted to kill. Could kill. Right now.
“Nor you I.” He whispered the retort like he didn’t want Hugh to hear.
Was he an idiot? Didn’t Hugh hear everything? She glanced toward him. Okay, maybe right this minute his senses weren’t too keen. But threaten her? Dane’s warning rumbled though her, leaving a cold, resentful feeling she wanted to hang on to for as long as she was breathing.
Talent to Burn (Hidden Talent #1) Page 27