Romancing the Paranormal

by Stephanie Rowe

  I allowed it because it gave me the opportunity to drive my silver blade hard and fast into his chest. I remembered my parents and my clan and twisted it in his heart.

  The blade was treated with a special, magical venom. I pulled it out a few inches and then pushed it in once more past flesh and muscle to make my mark in his heart.

  I pulled it out partially and whispered, “For William … for the others,” and then rammed it in again hard and fast.

  His gaze met mine. Had I become a sociopath? I felt no remorse.

  I saw utter surprise in his eyes as he straightened and staggered backwards.

  I watched him without pity. What did that make me? Satisfied. It satisfied me. His eyes opened wide as he realized he was about to die.

  He fell to his knees, and as he drooled blood to the pavement, he fell in on himself. For him, it was over.

  I rolled his body a bit when I bent and retrieved my knife. I wiped it clean on his shirt and pants and returned the blade to its metal sheath before tucking it into my inner jacket pocket.

  One down, I thought without empathy. About twenty-seven more and Carsen Banks to go.

  His death wouldn’t bring even one member of my clan back. His death wouldn’t erase the pain he had caused or eliminate the threat Banks still posed, but—and there you are, here was the but in my equation—it felt damn right knowing he would never kill anyone else. So what I felt was relief. It had been the right course. And, yes, revenge was sweet and righteous.

  One down, Banks. One down.

  Okay, before I lifted the concealment spell, I had to do something with Carbo’s body. I couldn’t just leave it there for the Garda to discover. I stared at his lifeless form, wondering just what to do with it. I would have to have a ‘disposal plan’ in the future.

  All at once a shiver swept up my spine and made me stare down the alley. There stood my immortal, looking like a hulking, frigging avenger, and he didn’t look pleased.

  Chapter Eight

  KIAN O’HARA was the finest of all male specimens. A Titan in blue jeans.

  His arms were folded across his wide chest, which his jean jacket strained to cover. His tawny hair blew in the breeze, and his eyes were wildly, oddly glittering blue ice.

  His nostrils flared, and, hell, how I could be thinking about sex at a moment like this? I was ridiculous.

  I pulled myself together.

  Obviously he had witnessed something of what I had just done. Note to self: spell of concealment not so effective on Mr. Immortal.

  Puzzled, I watched as he strode hard and fast to tower over me. His face was a mask of fury. He took my shoulders in his very firm grip and actually shook me. I was as much startled as ready to kick him in the shins.

  I pulled out of his hold, which took considerable force, and objected. “Hey!”

  We stood glaring at one another, or at least I was glaring. His gaze raked me over the coals, and those coals were red hot.

  He turned in a circle and ran a hand through his locks, faced me again, and snarled. No words, just a snarl, but that wordless sound said so much.

  I blinked as I saw him flick his wrist. Carbo’s body simply … vanished.

  Surprised and diverted, I asked, “How … what … where did you send his body?”

  “To another realm, where it will never be found.” He grabbed my arm then and pulled me in close, right up against his body, and I was stunned immobile.

  His voice was a low rebuke. “What the devil is wrong with ye, lass? What did ye do, track and ambush him? Why—why the devil would ye be so stupid? He is one of Banks’s guardians. He could have led us to him!”

  Okay, now I was seriously angry. He had just pushed my ‘how dare you’ button. Was he right—would Carbo have led us to Banks? No. And I hadn’t been tracking him. He had been tracking me. Gotta keep the facts in sight here.

  There was, however, the question of should I have kept him alive and tortured him for answers? Nah. He was a beta guardian; he would not have given his alpha away. But should I have tried? Damn it, no, so I pulled out of Kian’s strong hold and said, “Drop dead—oh, wait, you can’t … so go jump in the proverbial lake.”

  He stopped, gazed thoughtfully at me for a long moment, and finally said, “Since that would serve no purpose other than to please ye, and at the moment that is not my inclination, why don’t ye just answer m’question.”

  I bit my upper lip and controlled the volume of my voice. “Ditto.”

  “Ditto?” He arched a look at me.

  “Yeah, no inclination to please you, either,” I snapped.

  “Och aye.” He suddenly grinned and shook his head.

  He had grinned at me. I was incredulous and repeated, “Och aye? What the hell does that mean?”

  “Well, ye are being female—emotional—so I’ll make an allowance,” he actually said out loud. Okay, he had pushed my ‘how dare you’ button again. In fact, that button was being badgered today.

  I had my fists on my hips, glared up into those so beautiful eyes of his, and told him, which was amazing as I was seething and thought I might be foaming at the mouth, “Emotional? You arrogant, cocky thing!”

  “Och now, I wasn’t meaning to insult ye,” he offered with a boyishly warm smile.

  When he looks at you like that he is not exactly hard to resist. He is impossible to resist. Still, I resisted. “Yeah, right,” I told him.

  I swiped at the sticky blood still running down my neck and over my top. “I don’t answer to you. You are a convenience, nothing more. You don’t get to call my shots!”

  “Ah, maybe that is true, and maybe it isn’t. Time will tell, but think on it, lass, wouldn’t ye use any means at yer disposal to bring Banks down? I’m a means to that end. Work with me, lass,” he said, his voice clipped.

  I could see his own temper glittering in his eyes and making his nostrils flare. Holy shit, but he was the sexiest thing I’d ever encountered. He aroused me; even there, in that alley, still angry, I was thinking about kissing him … throwing him down and—

  “Well?” he pursued, his voice low and his eyes now back to human blue but looking like an ocean storm, dark and full of crashing waves.

  I tried collecting my wayward self and shrugged my shoulders. “So, you want to work together. In order to do that, I need to stay alive. He—” I pointed for unnecessary emphasis. “—wanted me dead. He wasn’t going to tell us anything, and I couldn’t take the chance that he might have the ability to send a mind link message to Banks.”

  “Are they mind-linked, the beta werewolves to their alphas?” my immortal asked thoughtfully. “Only a few packs have that ability, and they are usually shifters, not werewolves,” he said, this time frowning over the possibility.

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t taking any chances. I don’t think he was linked or … at least I don’t think he sent off a message to Banks, but your Tara is an immortal witch or whatever, and she is on his side. No telling what she has cooked up for his use.” I grimaced at him. “I played the safe card.”

  Suddenly his gaze flickered to my open wound. I realized blood, while not pouring out of me like a river, was making a steady stream.

  I was now immune to a werewolf’s bite, but I was bleeding badly, and that wasn’t good. It would deplete me, make me weaker. Another problem I needed to solve was how to secure a ready supply of blood.

  I looked at my once pretty top. If I kept losing my clothes like this, I’d have to go shopping. It was at this point that I realized I felt just a bit light-headed from the loss of blood. I would need replenishing soon.

  “You’re hurt,” he said softly, and suddenly I was scooped up in his arms like a babe. The next thing I knew he had stepped through his shift into an enormous bathroom. We were back at his place—his bathroom, going by the monogrammed towels on the rack.

  Curious, I looked around, making note of the huge whirlpool tub. Nice. I wouldn’t mind soaking for a few hours.

  Lovely palms and assorted
exotic plants gave his bathroom the feel of a solarium, and I wondered if he simply flicked a finger to keep everything watered and alive or if he had help.

  He chuckled and said, “I have a cleaning service in once a week, and in between … a flick of the wrist keeps things orderly and dust free.”

  How did he do that? Had he read my thoughts? “Hey … reading my mind?” I accused.

  “No, your face,” he answered as he sponged off my bloody wound with a warm washcloth.

  I wanted to set ground rules and said, “You know, you have to stop doing that.”

  “What? Cleaning your wound?” He frowned.

  “No, shifting me … without telling me first. It is very disconcerting, you know, at least to me since I’m not used to.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” he answered.

  I was in the process of taking off my jacket and laying it aside when, without asking, he flicked his talented wrist, and my bloody top was off and discarded.

  Ridiculously, I crossed my arms over my naked breasts, and then even more ridiculously I wondered why he hadn’t taken a better look, for he hadn’t. In fact, he turned and walked away.

  I watched him bend into the huge shower stall and thought a person could have a party of six inside it. I heard the water stream with power as he turned it on. Over his shoulder he said, “Get the rest of your clothes off … and get in.”

  I am a contrary thing. I wanted so badly to hop right into that nice hot shower, but I so didn’t like to be told what to do. I compromised. “Turn around—or better yet, get out.” There. Self-respect preserved.

  He smirked, but he did, in fact, leave.

  I am, as I said, contrary, even with myself. I realized with a wave of disappointment I hadn’t really wanted him to leave. What had I wanted? Him, in the shower—with me? I am nuts.

  I pulled off my shoes, socks, and jeans and stepped into the marbled shower. Ahh, it felt good, so good. I thanked the fates for the invention of multi-jetstream shower heads. It was oh so nice and hot, and for a moment all I wanted to do was stand there in the hot wetness, in the steam, and forget everything and everyone.

  So for a moment that was what I did, while the water washed my blood and all brainwaves away.

  The wound Carbo had left in my flesh was already closing. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but I had already lost so much—too much—blood. Mike had told me that as a new hybrid I might need less blood than I had as a vampire. Yes, but I knew I would need to feed—and soon. I was sadly depleted.

  A wave of dizziness made me put my palm against the marble wall to steady myself. I took a few steps and sat on the long teak bench where the hot water still hit and soothed me.

  I bent and leaned into my hands, letting the water pour over me as I tried to recover my balance.

  A voice, deep and commanding, told me, “Drink this.”

  I looked up and stiffened as I got to my feet. Naked—I was naked, and there was nowhere to go. Besides that, Mr. Immortal was also thoroughly naked.

  Damn, oh hot damn, he was one burning hunk of male!

  I thought I should slap him and tell him to get out. Since I didn’t think that would work, maybe I should slap myself?

  I couldn’t stop my gaze from touring over his body. Yup, I did the sweeping glance thing, and when my eyes came to rest on his cock, which was at full attention and pointing at me, there was only one thing to do: cave in to the moment.

  My gaze swept up and met his eyes. They were bright, deep blue and changing. Something in their depths was mesmerizing and compelling. Something in their depths said, I am what you want, and he was right. And then he put out his hand.

  I froze. He was handing me a container of blood. I could smell it. Pig’s blood.

  “Drink it,” he repeated and then frowned as he added, “I was worried ye might be dizzy … so I decided what ye needed was some steadying.”

  I arched a brow at his face and purposely looked down at his glorious, dancing dick. “Steadying? Is that what you call it? Do you always deliver refreshments stark naked?”

  He laughed and handed me the plastic container. “When I deliver them in the shower. Drink.”

  I was startled both by his naked closeness and the fact that he was holding out a bottle of animal blood for me to drink. Shy wasn’t the right word. Overwhelmed might do.

  Actually, what I felt was more like confusion.

  I tried to bolt past him.

  He blocked my path and held my shoulder with his free hand. He was so dynamic and I was drawn into his gaze with such a force that I wasn’t able to move an inch.

  Did I really want to—move an inch, that was? He then wrapped my hands around the container and repeated, “Drink it down now, lass … before ye pass out on me.”

  Would he be disgusted—watching me drink blood? I am what I am, and at that moment I needed the replenishing. There was no getting away from it, but I have been a vampire all my life, hiding my thirst from my human friends. Some habits die hard, but I took the container, and, oh yeah, I downed it in three long gulps.

  I then realized he was soaping himself down … all over, and I have to admit that, fascinated, I stared. Oh, how I stared as he soaped the length and width of his huge rod and then brought his eyes up to mine.

  He paused as he saw that I had finished with the container. With a flick of that talented wrist of his, it was gone, and he said, “Now … let me help ye, lass.”

  “Help me?” The words were barely a squeak. Why was I still standing there, naked and staring at his nakedness? Oh, I knew why.

  He turned me around, and with his two hands he placed my palms flat up against the shower wall, even as he managed to bend me over. His leg went between mine, and the next thing I knew, he had a sponge sweetly scented with soap all over my back. His hands worked me in a way that drew a groan from me.

  He massaged and rubbed that soap with a tenderness and expertise that made me wish he would never stop.

  “Feeling better?” His low, husky voice went right through me.

  Was that me moaning and uttering, “Uh-huh”?

  What was wrong with me? I was standing there naked, letting this man, who was in love with another woman, soap me down.

  Only a little while ago, I had been a killing machine. It was a good thing, wasn’t it? I had avenged William and some of my clan. Carbo had brutally mutilated them. I had done the right thing, but I knew it had changed me. I knew it, felt it, wanted to forget it in Kian’s arms …

  My body was inviting him to do more than soap me down. As I said, I don’t lie to myself.

  But what was this for him? Payback for Tara’s infidelity? I didn’t want to be payback.

  He was still bent over me. I could feel his breath at my ear and his enlarged and throbbing cock on my ass. His lips were warm at my neck, and his teeth nipped my earlobe and sent a myriad of body-shaking shivers through me.

  I was burning up and trembling from the rush his touch elicited.

  “Och, lass,” he said, and I felt his erection press harder against my butt. I wanted to beg him to shove himself inside me.

  I don’t know how I didn’t bump my butt back against him. I don’t know how I answered, “Yes, thank you … I think I can take it from here.” Miss Stupid Will Power, yep, that’s me.

  “Oh, but the question is … do ye want to?” he answered.

  “I … I …” Will power failing.

  “Ye don’t really want me to go,” he whispered softly, “and I sure as bloody hell don’t want to go.” He put his large palms over my hands, still flat on the wet marble shower wall. Then, over my shoulder I saw him take his cock in hand. When I felt him trace a pattern with it on my rump, I pushed back suggestively.

  “Do ye feel m’name in yer head, lass … the way I feel yers?”

  What was he saying? Yes … he was always in my head. Was I truly in his? What was happening to me? Why was I always drawn to him on a level I felt was natural and right?

&n
bsp; “I … I …” Words still failed me, but my body was his for the taking.

  “Ye want this as much as I do. I know … I can feel ye inside m’brain calling me to take ye.”

  I decided not to try to speak, because the words I heard were fuck me. No, no, I was not telling him that …

  He had his hands on my hips as he situated me, and then one arm went around my waist and bent me into position. He moved both his hands then as he stroked and grabbed my butt, and his touch was like magic.

  He continued to stroke me with both his hands as he rubbed his dick against me. I was now beyond thought. I had one thing now on my brain, one driving need.

  “Aye, lass … yer ass is fine and made for me. Tell me, what do ye want now … in the here and now—tell me.”

  Again, I looked over my shoulder at him, but now his arm went under me as he picked me up and turned me around.

  His mouth connected with mine with desperate need. His lips locked and parted mine in a way that whispered he never wanted to let go. What was I doing? Putting my feelings into his actions? Was I fooling myself?

  I didn’t care. I was lost in that kiss, lost to his velvet, vanilla-flavored, delicious tongue gently stroking mine. I was lost in his scent, in the slow, virile, erotic motion of his body up against mine.

  Stop! Wy warning signals shot off in my brain. Why stop? This … oh, this felt so good. Yes, but what will you feel when he turns away from you for the woman he really loves? Remember, he loves Tara. Don’t forget that.

  Cold splash. I pushed hard at his chest. I was in trouble here. For me, this had become more than a physical connection. I didn’t know how it had happened, but I could feel myself falling into a pit called Kian O’Hara.

  Inner woman said, Just hop into bed and enjoy him.

  William had been the only one I had ever been with, and that felt like a million years ago. I couldn’t detach enough to be a ‘hopping into bed just for fun’ sort, though I sometimes wished I could and had considered it once or twice in the past. But we are what we are.

  This immortal was different—everything about our connection was different.