Alphas Unwrapped: 21 New Steamy Paranormal Tales of Shifters, Vampires, Werewolves, Dragons, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More

by Michele Bardsley

  Only then did air seep into Jaylene’s lungs as she felt her heartbeat leveling out—a vice released.

  Ling Mai continued, “He brought you here.”

  Jaylene figured that much. But it didn’t answer the other, more pressing questions whirling through her mind. “How?” Dyer? Grabeski? She glanced at her own body beneath crisp white sheets. A low ache in her back, but otherwise nothing. No pain. No blood. Whole.

  “The men who wanted you dead have been disposed of,” Ling Mai said as if talking about taking out the trash. “They cannot hurt you or your mother ever again.”

  Another pump of her heart.

  “And Kane?” She didn’t question why she needed to know more—where was he? How was he? When could she see him?

  “I’m sure when you see him next, he’ll be able to tell you the details.”

  Jaylene shifted her gaze, staring at the ceiling now, still grappling to understand.

  Kane had better talk to her. He might have saved her life—no doubt about it—but that didn’t mean she didn’t have unfinished business with him. Lots of unfinished business.

  “Where?” she asked, aware that Ling Mai was tap dancing around something. “Where’s Kane?”

  Yes, she wanted answers, but more than that she wanted reassurances. She needed to see him, touch him if possible, make sure for herself that he was hale and whole. That he forgave her for a boatload of things.

  When Ling Mai didn’t answer, Jaylene glanced back at her, aware, more than ever, of the stillness around this woman. The same kind of stillness Kane possessed—as if currents ran deep within them. Secrets, too.

  Instead of answering Jaylene’s question—the one she asked and the unspoken one she knew radiated from her gaze, Ling Mai rose.

  “The offer to remain here, as offered before, is open, Miss Smart,” she said. “A one year commitment to the Invisible Recruit Agency and then you’ll be free to go your own way, your past expunged from all records, a chance to start fresh.”

  Then, as if Jaylene had spoken out loud, Ling Mai added, “In the meantime, your mother has been moved into a state-of-the-art facility. All of her needs will be well-provided for if you choose to remain, and afterwards.”

  Dyer could have learned from this woman. Offer the right incentive, one that was impossible to ignore, make it damn hard to walk away.

  “Plus your step-father will be held accountable for his deeds.”

  That snagged Jaylene’s breath. The woman had mentioned it before, but now? Now it seemed real. If this woman worked with Kane, and Kane could wipe Dyer, Grabeski and those others off the face of the earth, maybe, just maybe they could do the impossible.

  But…

  “I want to talk to Kane,” she said, as if seeking a touchstone, one she didn’t even know she’d wanted, needed, to keep her whole.

  Love? No. Not yet. But who knew?

  Ling Mai crossed to the door, still not answering Jaylene directly, even as she rose to her elbows. “Kane?” Her tone demanded even as she knew she wasn’t in any position to do so. This woman was making sure Jaylene’s mother was okay, though Jaylene would double-check before she committed to anything. But that didn’t mean Jaylene would sit up and beg.

  “Kane?” she repeated, as if Ling Mai was hard of hearing instead of hiding something. “I want to see him. Now.”

  The pause lasted long enough Jaylene felt the thud, thud, thud of her heartbeats.

  “That’s not possible,” the other woman said, a hint, but only a hint of regret in her tone. “He’s gone.”

  CHAPTER 28

  For the second time in who knew how many hours, Jaylene slammed hard against an unmovable surface. “What do you mean?” she blurted, aware of the desperation behind every syllable. “Where is he?” When was he coming back is what she wanted to shout but swallowed the icy cold fear that jammed those words in her throat.

  “There’s nothing more I can share.” Ling Mai stood—calm, poised, unwavering. Until she offered, “He brought you here. Healed you as best he could before he had to leave.” The woman’s gaze held Jaylene’s. “He had no choice. Duty called.”

  Then she left the room, her parting words, “You know where to find me when you make your decision to stay. Or leave. Your choice.”

  The quiet click of the door closing sounded like a canon blast through Jaylene.

  Like hell it was a choice.

  Jaylene sank back onto her pillow. Go, and then what? No way to take care of her mom. Find a replacement for Dyer as an employer? That’d take time, especially as his disappearance would be destabilizing a lot of players. And…as much as she hated to admit it, here was where Kane would be.

  She didn’t know when. It could be days, months or—

  No. Focus on what was, not what might be—good or bad.

  Kane would be back.

  She’d be waiting. Not happy. Not patiently. Not expecting anything, but she’d be here.

  And then there’d be a reckoning.

  “Herm Kane, you and I have unfinished business,” she whispered to the empty room. “So you’d better show up. And if you don’t?”

  Who knew she’d have a smile left inside. A special one. Reserved for Herm Kane. “And if you don’t, I’ll be coming after you.”

  THE END

  About the Author

  USA Today Best selling author Mary Buckham learned to get into and out of trouble at a very early age. Time has added to her opportunities—detained by Israeli intelligence; strip-searched by a Greek border patrol while traveling with a priest, sneaking into Laos. When not personally avoiding nuisances caused by her insatiable curiosity she creates lots of disorder in her two Urban Fantasy series—Alex Noziak and Kelly McAllister.

  Mary writes stories full of grit and determination with plenty of action, but always with a sense of hope and a good dollop of romance (and yes, some very definite woo-woo!) mixed in. The stories are set on a world stage from small-town America to the jungle of equatorial Africa. Witches and Shamans, Shifters and Weres, Demons and Dark Angels are only the tip of the iceberg—if it’s out of the ordinary, it’s fair game for her stories.

  Go to www.MaryBuckham.com for one-stop shopping with everything to do with Mary—there you can join her Newsletter (highly encouraged as it contains all info about upcoming books, plus random surprises) follow her on Twitter, and like her on Facebook. Just want to send Mary a quick email? Easy enough, that’s Mary@MaryBuckham.com.

  White Witchmas

  Paris, Texas Romance (Book Four)

  By Dakota Cassidy

  Note from Dakota Cassidy

  I’ve taken license with the lovely town of Paris, Texas, because it worked so perfectly for my witch Cozette (Cozy) and her journey. First, I turned the town into a paranormal-palooza—dripping with witches and magic.

  Second, I’ve fictionalized it to a degree, creating street names to suit me and places I’m certain don’t exist, but I kept the amazing Eiffel Tower with the red cowboy hat on top—because it’s just too awesome a structure to ignore.

  That said, to anyone who reads this and lives in Paris, no disrespect intended. I lived in Plano, Texas, for nine years and I love Texans. Y’all are some of the best folks on the planet!

  Enormous thanks to Scharize Khamille for her help with the Spanish in this book—you rock, chica! And thanks to Teen Wolf for the binge-watch. You gave me a great idea when I was stuck!

  Also, this one’s for my one-eyed wonder, Milo the Shih Tzu. You’re cranky, incontinent, defensive, disobedient, and mean. But I’d walk through fire for your four-legged butt!

  Dakota Cassidy xxoo

  Editor Kelli Collins

  Cover Art Renee George

  Author note: While White Witchmas is completely a stand-alone novella, if you’d like to read Winnie, Calla and Bernie’s stories and see how they came to Paris, Texas, you can do so by beginning with book one, titled Witched At Birth!

  Chapter One

  “GUS MORTIMER, WHAT’
S in that cup?”

  “Why do you ask, Cozette Meadows?”

  “Because it’s a red Solo cup. No one drinks innocuous apple juice from a red Solo cup, which is what I’m serving tonight at rehearsal in matching innocuous plastic cups. Come to think of it, we don’t even have red Solo cups here at the senior center.”

  “Maybe it’s grape juice…”

  Cozy fought a snicker, pushing her eyebrow to rise in mock suspicion as she stroked the ears of her familiar, Jorge, before setting him down on the ground and adjusting his blue camouflage diaper.

  “And maybe it’s whiskey.”

  “Or maybe it’s gin, so hah!” Gus said in a “take that” kind of way, puffing his chest out.

  She sucked in a breath of the cool Texas night, jamming her hands into the pocket of her jeans as she rocked back on the heels of her boots and used her eyes to warn Jorge to keep his cranky, opinionated yap shut.

  Cornering Gus, one of her favorite seniors ever from Hallow Moon Senior Center, she asked, “Gus? Do you want to be angel number five in the Christmas concert?”

  “More ‘n I wanna breathe.”

  “Do I detect sarcasm in your tone?”

  “Nope. You detect the ‘my youthful dreams of Off-Off-Off-Broadway finally comin’ true’ tone.”

  Cozy shook her head with a grin. “Ditch the booze. For me, Gus. Please? How will it look to the council of elders when we put this extravaganza of a concert on if you’re lit up like a firecracker on the Fourth of July, buddy?”

  “I dunno how it’ll look to those bags of brittle, outdated bones, but it’ll feel a damn sight easier on my ears if I got a little hair o’ the dog in me. So I figure, everything’s better with hooch—especially when the Depends Patrol sings. Because we suck.” He looked down at Cozy’s one-eyed, incontinent Chi/Dachshund for confirmation. “Ain’t that right, Hor-Haaay?”

  God. That was true. They did suck. Every last golden-oldie witch and warlock at Hallow Moon Senior Center starring in the Christmas recital sucked. Off-pitch, squeaky suck. But it was the most adorable suck ever.

  Jorge let his head drop in disgust before he looked up at Gus, his bulging Chihuahua eyes flashing. “Hey, Papi! Jorge is all one word, you uneducated, hedonistic—”

  “Do you need a diaper change, mister?” Cozy narrowed her eyes in warning at him again as she reached down and clamped his tiny muzzle shut.

  Jorge sniffed indignantly, but he remained silent.

  She rose and made a pouty face at Gus, pinching his weathered cheeks. “You’re going to make a great angel number five. You look so cute in your halo, and Glenda-Jo did shorten the length on the angel costume she made out of a sheet so you’ll stop tripping when you make your big entrance during ‘Angels We Have Heard on High’. That’ll make up for the suck.”

  “That’s somethin’ I been meanin’ to ask you, Cozy-Coo. Why did everyone else get Egyptian cotton sheets for their angel costumes and I got smelly old Clive Stillwater’s leftover flannel sheet from nineteen twenty-two?” he asked, running his thumbs under his reindeer-and-mistletoe suspenders.

  “Did they make flannel sheets back in nineteen twenty-two?” she asked on a giggle.

  She loved Gus Mortimer. He was one feisty elder witch, and he was a handful, but he was her handful, and she intended to take good care of him and all the others while they practiced to put this holiday show on for their families and the esteemed council of elders.

  He waggled a wrinkled finger at her, his lined face scrunching up. “That ain’t the point.”

  “Nope, it’s not, and you’re deflecting. The point was, you were out here sneaking some Scotch when you know better than to drink while we’re rehearsing, if at all. If not for Jorge, I might not have found you until you were snockered. Not to mention, Calla would kill me if she found out I didn’t have my eye on you. She’s a werewolf, remember? She’ll eat me for supper. Scotch is bad for your blood pressure, pardner, and you know it.”

  Calla Ryder, one of the rare werewolves in a town full of witches and warlocks, ran and owned Hallow Moon Senior Center. It was the place to be if you were a bored, aging witch prone to magical shenanigans, with grown children who didn’t know how to keep up with you during their busy workdays.

  The center was designed to keep the seniors active and a part of the community. Thus, the program had spawned a tight-knit group of co-conspirators who were up for almost anything their wands could touch.

  Upon Cozy’s return to her high school music teacher job in Paris, after her summer break—or breakdown, depending on how you spun it—Calla had asked her to volunteer her services for the seniors’ Christmas concert, and she’d been all in.

  A distraction like this bunch of greased-in-Flexall-454 cats, albeit hysterical, utterly adorable greased cats, was exactly what a girl needed to mend her shattered heart.

  They kept her busy and focused and she’d jumped at the chance to fill her long, mostly empty nights after spending all day teaching. If she could just keep her brain busy, her plate full, maybe her heart would finally heal.

  Don’t think about the bad past. Think about your bright new future.

  “What Calla don’t know won’t hurt her,” Gus said on a charming wink, reminding her why she was here tonight.

  “Which is exactly why you’re going to give me that cup or suffer the wrath of my schoolteacher’s propensity for penance.”

  “What’re ya gonna do? Make me write my name on the blackboard a hundred times?” Gus taunted as though he were ten and just shy of sticking his tongue out at her.

  “Aw, heck no. That’s too easy, Gus. I’m gonna take away your Ice Cream Tuesdays for a month and make you write your name on the chalkboard one hundred times. Plus, if you keep pushin’, I’ll use my magic wand to mete out justice, and you know how unpredictable my crazy wand can be. How do ya like them apples?”

  “You’re a hard taskmaster, Cozy-Coo.”

  “That’s mistress to you.” She smiled and curtsied before pointing her finger toward the back door of the center with an indulgent chuckle. “Now off with you.”

  Gus set the cup down on the wrought iron patio table located just outside the center, where they’d earnestly been practicing three nights a week for almost two months, and backed up a step with his hands raised in white-flag submission.

  “Can’t believe you’re making me do this, Teach. That’s some fine booze.”

  She chuckled again and snapped her fingers to make the cup disappear before she made a shooing motion at Gus. “Go! Hurry before Flora tries to steal Clive’s part as the Great Christmas Tree again. She’s always taking advantage of how he nods off. You’re the only one who can soothe those two when they get to fighting, and you know how adamant Flora can get when she doesn’t get her way. No one can convince her she wasn’t born to play the part like you can, Gus.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go soothe the old bat’s ruffled wings and remind her that being one with the branches on a Christmas tree isn’t exactly gonna win her an Emmy,” he muttered and tugged a lock of her hair with a saucy grin as he made his way back into the center, leaving her with a moment to herself.

  She didn’t like too many moments to herself; she liked constant motion, a steady whir of thoughts and activities to keep her from dwelling.

  Jorge plopped down on her feet and sighed. “You okay, Jefe?”

  She smiled down at her loyal companion. “The seniors are work, huh?”

  Jorge snorted, scratching his backend. “All the work. I don’t know how you do it, mi corazon. I especially don’t know how your ears do it.”

  “The same way I deal with you,” she teased, nudging his round middle, but he’d drifted off to sleep, his soft snores rising upward.

  Cozy took another cleansing breath of the night air, leaning on the railing surrounding the patio to look up at the deep velvet of the Texas sky. Stars filled the ebony Milky Way, clustered and bright, as a cool breeze blew.

  She’d missed Paris while she’d be
en away licking her wounds at her friend’s swanky SoHo apartment in New York. Missed the sounds and smells of Paris. Missed her friends. Missed her community of witches and warlocks, with the occasional werewolf or other supernatural creature thrown in for good measure. Missed her family.

  Missed…

  She sighed, preparing to go inside and fill up the empty spaces of her mind with bickering seniors and song-list rearrangement, but a shooting star arcing in a bright sizzle of light across the sky made her stop.

  And she found herself closing her eyes and making a wish like she used to as a child.

  Dear Shooting Star,

  I think there’s some kind of nursery rhyme or something I’m supposed to chant before I make a wish. Like star light, star bright, first star, something, something, something tonight. Wish I may, wish something else…um, have this wish I wish tonight?

  I dunno, I can’t remember the whole thing. Despite the fact that I’m a schoolteacher, I’m pretty crappy at keeping my nursery-rhyme stuff straight. Anyway, fancy requests aside, I’d just like to make a wish, if you don’t mind. Let’s call it a Christmas wish, if you will.

  So here goes. If Finn Donovan is out there somewhere—you know, the guy who abandoned me the night of our engagement party? Even though he’s a jerkface of the highest order (I realize it’s not terribly mature of me to call him infantile names, but it’s like college level compared to some of the other things I’ve called him since he disappeared), please look out for him. He needs looking out for. Please.

  Um, thanks.

  Cozy Meadows

  “Did you see that?” Calla asked as she pushed the door to the center open, from which the sound of the seniors barking out “O Christmas Tree” floated to her ears. She came to stand next to Cozy, wrapping her arm around her shoulder and giving her a squeeze.

  “I did.”

  Calla tucked her long dark hair behind her ear and smiled. “Did you make a wish?”