The Monster Ball: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Heather Hildenbrand

  I bit back a nasty response, hating that it had come to this—with my fate in the hands of someone like Rodrigo Munoz. Guys like him didn’t deserve the power, not when they used it to lord over girls like me.

  Someday…

  I promised myself that one word just like I’d done for the past three months of training. Only now, someday sounded a lot farther off.

  A cleaner.

  I had no idea what the job entailed, but I was positive I wasn’t going to like it.

  At the top of the stairs, Rodrigo turned back, looking down on me with that same disgusted satisfaction. “If it makes you feel any better, you were one of the most entertaining cadets I’ve ever had,” he said. “Tonight was a shitshow, but at least no one can ever say you’re predictable.”

  I scowled. “You know, I thought they said what happens at the monster ball stays at the monster ball.”

  His smile was so smug, I had to clasp my hands together to keep from rushing up the stairs and smashing them into his face. “For you,” he said, “It’s more like what happens at the monster ball haunts you for life. Good night, Gem. I’ll see you at the annual Christmas party. Hopefully, you’ll have cleaned up by then.”

  The last thing I heard was his laughter echoing off the walls of the elevator shaft as he stepped inside. And I knew, I hadn’t earned the future I’d always wanted. All I’d done was trade one prison for another. Someday, I vowed, I’d break free. And when I did, Rodrigo would be the first casualty of my escape.

  The End – For Now

  You can read more about Gem’s adventure in Heather Hildenbrand’s #Fanventures—a FREE, exclusive story only available in her newsletter. Read the new chapter and then VOTE on what happens next!

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  Isle

  of

  Darkness

  By Randi Cooley Wilson

  Chapter One

  THE INVITATION

  Striker

  I stand on the stone ledge. The tips of my boots dangle over the edge as I watch the crashing waves below violently slamming into the jagged cliffs. After each wave breaks, a briny spray reaches toward the night sky before falling back into the churning ocean.

  Harsh winds whip around me, causing the sea’s upheaval. Frustrated, I stretch my neck from side to side, a habit I inherited from my father, Tristan Gallagher, the current leader of the Paris clan of gargoyles. Tonight, like the sea below, I am filled with unease.

  Sliding my hand into the front pocket of my jeans, I pull out the crumpled piece of paper and drag my gaze away from the elemental chaos happening all around me. Unfolding the tattered square, I take in its worn edges, damaged from carrying it around with me for so long. With a heavy sigh, I stare at the photo of the being I have come to resent even though we’ve yet to meet.

  My eyes follow her midnight hair as it falls past her shoulders. If you hold the image just right in the light, there are times it appears as if she has dark blue highlights hiding within the black strands. Her long, thick lashes and manicured brows both match the color of her hair.

  I look into her turquoise eyes. They stare back at me intently, haunting me. It’s almost as if they’re trying to see inside me—read my deepest, darkest fears and secrets. It’s fucking unnerving. My thumb brushes over her pink lips and pretty face. She’s unnerving.

  The angelic sheen of her fae skin is misleading because Umbria Mendoza is no angel.

  In fact, she’s the exact opposite—a Caballuca del Diablu—a demon fairy.

  And my assignment.

  Umbria is someone I have been appointed to safeguard. I scoff at her photo. No one asked me if I wanted to be her protector, but in my world, the choice isn’t mine to make.

  Gargoyles were created for one purpose: to protect. We are guardians assigned to beings, realms, or objects, to ward off those with immoral or malevolent intent. And the fae in the photo doesn’t know it yet, but I have been given the honor and task of guarding her. Keeping her safe.

  The problem is, Umbria’s bloodline is dark, not divine, which means she embodies the very immorality that I was created to protect other creatures and beings from—a dark-souled being.

  My focus shifts to my forearm where the Celtic cross tattoo should be. In order to become her protector, I had to renounce and walk away from my oaths and allegiances to the Angelic Council. After graduating at the top of my class at the Royal Protector Academy, a school established to train and prepare gargoyles for their protector assignments, I was supposed to swear my loyalty to the Spiritual Assembly of Protectors, a ruling body that oversees the divine sect of the gargoyle race. Once initiated, we are marked with a Celtic cross and permitted to accept assignments from the Angelic Council.

  Since Umbria’s bloodline is that of a dark-souled being, my duty and loyalty to her protection places me instead under the authority of the Secular Council of Protectors, meaning I have no affiliation or devotion to either Heaven or Hell. It also means that, like another gargoyle from my clan—one who never swore his fidelity to the Spiritual Assembly—I will be viewed as a traitor amongst my kind. My kin. My race. And as their prince, that is a shitty place to be in.

  Regardless, my fate was sealed two generations ago when a human woman named Camilla Gallagher befriended Umbria’s great-grandmother. Siobhan was the queen of the Caballucos del Diablu, a title and responsibility that now rests upon Umbria. One that has spilled over to me.

  I fold up her picture and return it to my pocket, sensing his approach.

  “Do you have it?” I grind out.

  “No hello? Or, you’re looking quite dashing, as always, Tag,” he teases.

  I remain silent, unamused and indifferent to my best friend’s good-natured banter.

  “Contemplating jumping?” he asks. “If so, I’d reconsider. Your wings would save you.”

  “Fuck off,” I growl, and my wings twitch under the skin on my back, begging to be released.

  “Shit, Striker. Who pissed in your cereal this morning?” Tag steps to my side.

  Slowly, I shift and face my royal protector. Tag and I have been best friends for years. We regard each other more like brothers—blood—than friends. Our easy friendship grants us both permission for constant teasing and prodding. Tonight, apparently, I’m the target. He raises his eyebrows in question at my agitated state. Normally, I’m a bit more carefree and lighthearted.

  A light mist of salty sea spray jumps up and covers us. Lifting my hands, I wipe them over my face, removing the spray, and we step away from the ledge. “Sorry. I’m just . . .” I trail off.

  Tag shoots me a knowing glare out of the corner of his eye. “I get it. Nevertheless, it’s time.”

  Meeting his gaze, I raise my hands in surrender. “I know,” I blow out. “I know.”

  “Here.” He shoves a black garment bag at me. “Your tux.”

  “Tux?” The word comes out harsh.

  “It’s a ball. You can’t wear your motorcycle boots and T-shirt.” He smirks.

  “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  “That I am, my friend. It’s my right, having known you all my life.”

  “And we’re sure Umbria will be attending?” I ask.

  He dips his chin. “She’ll be there. Bronx and Lex confirmed that she’s on the list.”

  “Bronx and Lex?” I repeat. “The identical brothers from New York?”

  “The very same. They’ve been hired as bouncers,” he replies, with a slight smirk at the idea.

  “Our host acquired gargoyles to watch the door? Interesting,” I mutter.

  Tag wiggles his brows. “Wait until you see this really cool stone statue trick they do.”

  “Can’t wait,” I grumble, eyeballing the garment bag.

  With a heavy sigh, I unzip the bag, being careful not to allow any water to get on the fine Italian silk.
I feel around, my brows furrowing when I don’t find what I am searching for.

  I throw a questioning look at Tag. “Where is the invite?”

  “On its way.”

  I eye him and curb my desire to lash out. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I exhale.

  “Patience, Your Highness,” he counters.

  “This isn’t a game,” I growl.

  “No shit!” he bites out and grabs the bag back, zipping it up. “Christ, you’re an asshole today.”

  With a curse, I begin to pace, attempting to calm my nerves. Ever since being assigned to Umbria, I’ve been a moody, brooding jerk. I shouldn’t be taking out my frustration or anger on Tag. He’s done nothing to merit my cruelty. As second in our class when we graduated from the Academy, Tag was assigned as my royal protector. Not only is the appointment an honor, but it’s pretty fucking awesome to have him continue to have my back like he always has over the years. And how have I repaid him? By being a complete jackass these past few months.

  “Tag, listen—” I begin but get cut off by a bright beam of light that begins to glow between us, appearing out of nowhere. “What the fu—”

  “Right on cue,” Tag says in a tickled voice.

  He grabs and twists my wrist, forcing me to open my palm. Within seconds, the light solidifies and morphs into a brilliant piece of paper, fluttering down and landing in my hand.

  My confused gaze meets his with curiosity. “What the hell is this?”

  Tag motions with his chin for me to read it. “Your invitation.”

  I lift up the piece of parchment and read the elegant calligraphy: The Monster Ball.

  “Flip it over,” he orders, and I do.

  “Just as the moon has brought me to you, so shall the moon bring you to the ball,” I read out loud. Underneath, the date, October 31st, is inscribed, and below that, The Witching Hour.

  Tag tilts his head, assessing me as I examine the piece of paper.

  “Why so cryptic?”

  “It’s how our host does things,” he answers and hands me back the tux.

  “Who is this mysterious host, anyway?” I ask.

  Tag shrugs. “No one knows for sure. I guess that’s all part of the fun.”

  “Peculiar,” I mutter, and place my hand on the tux.

  As soon as we both are touching the garment bag, Tag teleports us back to my loft in Paris.

  I watch as he makes his way into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and grabs a beer. Removing the cap, he strolls over to the couch and flops down onto it, crossing his legs at the ankles. After taking a long sip from the bottle, he tilts it, motioning to the clothing bag still in my hand.

  His smirk turns knowing, and with a wink, he says, “You’d better get changed, Cinderella. You have a ball to attend and a fairy-demon-queen-girl-being to win over.”

  With a heavy sigh, I look around my loft. It’s all an open space with very little privacy.

  “Are you going to watch me undress, or can I get a bit of privacy?”

  He crosses his arms and eyes me. Yeah, he’s not fucking going anywhere.

  “Do you really think I am going to blow off the ball? And my assignment?” I question.

  “Yes,” Tag responds in an entertained voice.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “That is what you do, Striker.” He sits back and studies me. “You run. I chase.”

  He’s right. I run from responsibility. Tag forces me to face it. It’s our pattern.

  “Hell,” I whisper under my breath and jerk off my shirt, tossing it at his face.

  With a dark chuckle, Tag settles further into the couch, getting comfortable, and throws the damp shirt to the side. Irritated with this entire situation, I turn toward the hallway to go shower.

  Slamming the bathroom door, I turn on the shower and let the steam fill the room around me. For a moment, I glare at myself in the fog-covered mirror. This protector assignment is already grating on my last nerve, and it hasn’t even begun. It doesn’t help that my best friend is either going to torture me or kick my ass the whole time I am assigned to Umbria.

  Meeting my own reflection, I inhale. I’ll be okay. As long as I don’t let her in, I’m good.

  I sift through my emotions, grab every shred of hatred and resentment that I can find in my body, and use it to protect myself. Each becomes a plate of armor to shield me.

  Umbria is just an assignment.

  I am Striker Gallagher, heir to the gargoyle race. Their future king. And as such, I won’t be getting attached to the queen of the Caballucos del Diablu. Ever. The. Fucking. End.

  UMBRIA

  Remaining within the shadows, I make my way through the dark labyrinthine streets. One of my favorite things about many of these narrow old paths is that they open into quaint squares—none of which is my destination tonight, sadly. Determined, I continue forward, ignoring the desire to stop and admire the old architecture that is abundant in the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona.

  “Avoiding someone?” a raspy female voice asks from the dark, startling me.

  Instantly, I freeze and lift my gaze to the cerise eyes glowing at me through the darkness.

  “Darciana,” I hiss. “What the hell are you doing?”

  In the moonlight, I can see the fae warrior casually leaning against the stone, a challenging brow arching at my response to her presence. One of her knees is bent as she presses a thigh-high-booted heel against the ancient wall. Her snowy skin radiates in the silvery moon’s light, a stark contrast against the inkiness surrounding us. Pushing off the wall, she steps closer. Even through the black abyss, I can see her short crimson spiked hair, which does nothing to hide her icy stare. The color of her irises deepens with her agitation at me.

  “I was about to ask you the same, Majesty,” Darciana muses, her cherry lips lifting in a smile.

  I release a heavy sigh and take a step closer to the guardian. “I told you not to call me that.”

  The leather of her skintight jumpsuit groans as she lifts a shoulder. “It’s your title, Umbria.”

  A warm breeze wraps around us, bringing with it the scent of the Mediterranean seafront.

  With a frown, I look around El Gòtic, my neighborhood in Barcelona. The stairs to my apartment are only a few feet away. Almost, I think. I was almost home without incident.

  My face remains expressionless as I tilt my head. “No. It’s not.”

  “Enough.” Darciana steps forward. Her heels click against the stone path. The sound echoes in the small alleyway. “It is time that you return to Aragon. Reign over your realm and kin.”

  “I have no desire to return or reign over the Caballucos del Diablu.”

  The leader of my mother’s Royal Guard looks around the empty street. “How much longer do you really think you can continue to live among mortals, Majesty? You are a very powerful demon fairy. A queen who is about to awaken. Hiding among humans is not the best of ideas.”

  I grit my teeth. “It is my choice. Not yours.”

  “You are the queen,” she argues. “There is no choice. You must return home.”

  “Aragon is no longer my home,” I hiss out.

  “For fuck’s sake, Umbria. You are acting like a child,” she scolds, dropping her formalities.

  “I’m acting like a daughter who found her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother slaughtered, Darciana,” I counter. “Fae are almost impossible to kill, and yet all three had iron swords in their hearts and their necks snapped,” I remind her, and she flinches. “And where were you? The leader of their great army? Off on a scavenger hunt. A babysitting job.”

  “I was doing my duty.”

  “Your duty was to protect them!” I yell.

  “As it is to protect you,” she shouts back. “I can’t guard you in the mortal world, Umbria.”

  I inhale and bite my lip. “You will have me return to a realm that is harboring a traitor?”

  Her shoulders fall as she softens her stance. “News ab
out the revolt is spreading throughout the fae dark realms. If it isn’t handled soon, by a leader—our queen—it will turn into a war.”

  “The revolts are of no consequence to me. As I have made clear on numerous occasions, I have no desire to reign over or intervene in political matters with respect to the Caballucos.”

  Darciana’s lips part in shock. “It is your birthright and obligation to do both.”

  I don’t answer her. We’ve had this argument more times than I wish to count.

  “Our realm needs its queen,” she adds.

  “Why do you even care?”

  “Because I am your guardian now.” Her voice is quiet, thoughtful. “It is my purpose to care.”

  A quiet moment passes between us. My hatred for the title and the responsibility that comes with it notwithstanding, I have to admit she’s extremely shrewd and loyal, stubborn even.

  I glance at her and brush my hair out of my face so I can look her levelly in the eye. “I absolve you of your role.”

  “You absolve me?” She laughs without humor. “I took a sacred oath, Majesty. One I do not intend to break. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve pledged to the Unseelie Court to become a guardian and protect the Caballucos’ queen. It is a great honor bestowed onto me by the dark-souled deities. And by remaining in the mortal world, dishonoring your title, you are causing me to violate my oaths by taking that responsibility away from me. You can’t absolve me.”

  “Given the fates the women in my family have had under your protection, I think I can.”

  “You know nothing.” Darciana stares at me, her face blank. “I fail to see the logic of your argument. I have been protecting our queens for thousands of years without incident—”

  “Until now,” I interrupt her. “Three generations of the royal bloodline are now deceased.” I ignore the pain in my chest their deaths have caused. “I left because I refuse to be the fourth.”