The Monster Ball: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Heather Hildenbrand

  He grins. “It was real.”

  I nod and study his face. There is no sign of him being resentful or remorseful, only sad.

  A lump of dread makes its way into my stomach. Real.

  Real means someone getting hurt. Most likely me.

  Striker pulls me closer so that our chests are pressed together. I’ve always hated feeling trapped, but in this moment, I don’t want to escape from Striker’s hold. As we dance, I feel breathless and overwhelmed, which isn’t helping at all with the need I have to feel in control.

  I feel the burn from every look he graces me with. Every glance causes me to shiver, recalling the way his lips felt as they commanded mine earlier. Apparently, being under his protection means indulging in mini make-out sessions and having beings staring at me with an odd envy.

  The gargoyle grants me a cocky, knowing expression. His focus is completely on me, his gaze searching my face, taking everything in. There’s no room to hide with the way he’s studying me.

  “You two want more alone time?” a deep, unfamiliar voice asks.

  At the question, Striker stiffens and frowns slightly, putting space between us.

  “This has to be a record, Striker. Even for you,” the stranger continues.

  “Tag. Enough. You’re being rude,” a female chimes in.

  The two beings whose voices we’d heard suddenly appear at our side on the dance floor. At their sudden presence, the color from Striker’s face is gone and he narrows his eyes at the guy.

  Tag smiles warmly at me and tilts his head. His dark hair is slicked to the side, and black lashes stand out against his chocolate eyes.

  “Drink?” Tag holds out a glass of champagne. “I didn’t drug it.”

  “Good to know,” I reply nicely.

  “Rule number one,” Striker takes the drink. “Never accept drinks from a stranger.”

  “Does he qualify as a stranger?” I ask.

  “You should be more careful,” Striker sighs.

  “I assumed they were friends of yours,” I challenge.

  “Where are my manners? Apologies, Majesty,” Tag interrupts, and I bristle at the use of my title.

  “Manners?” The girl next to him laughs. “That’s new.”

  “Tag MacEwan, second in command to the Edinburgh clan. And Striker’s royal protector.”

  I take him in with disbelief. “You’re from Scotland?”

  A friendly smile crosses Tag’s lips. “My dad is Scottish. My mom is from South Korea.”

  “Oh,” I reply, feeling silly.

  “Oh,” he repeats, entertained by my confused state of mind. “I inherited my mom’s good looks and my dad’s charming Scottish accent. It’s a handsome mix, don’t you think?” he teases.

  “Um . . . I guess.” I frown. “Tag,” I test his name on my lips.

  “My dad won the coin toss,” he adds.

  “Coin toss?”

  “Who got to name me,” Tag responds with a beaming grin.

  I smile back at him and nod as if I understand our conversation, which I don’t.

  “My mate,” he says, motioning to the girl, “Anya.”

  The pretty blonde girl steps in front of him, holding her hand out. “Petrov. Formerly of the Moscow clan,” she introduces herself with a slight Russian accent. “Now, I’m with the Edinburgh clan.”

  I take her hand and smile brightly. “Nice to meet you, Anya.”

  Anya’s light blue eyes sparkle as she takes me in. This girl is my complete opposite in every way possible. First, she’s bubbly. Second, she’s tall and extremely beautiful—bright white teeth, fair skin, and stylish blond chin-length hair. Her long bangs are beautifully messed around her face. She’s poised and elegant. A light sheen on her flawless skin gives her a goddess-like aura. In fact, I would have assumed she was a guardian angel, not a gargoyle, based upon my first impression.

  “How did you two get in here?” Striker interrupts.

  “Lex and Bronx,” Tag replies. “With our host’s approval.”

  I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks at the reminder of the gargoyle bouncers.

  “Why are you here?” Striker asks with a bit of snarl to his tone.

  “Our timeline has been moved up,” Tag whispers.

  “Come again?” Striker inquires, seeming confused.

  “Time is of the essence, Striker. We will need to leave tonight,” Anya adds.

  “Leave? Leave where?” I ask, trying to follow.

  Tag’s gaze meets mine. “It’s time to take you back to the Isle of Darkness, Majesty.”

  STRIKER

  Umbria’s expression falls when Tag says we’re taking her back to Aragon. I know she doesn’t want to go. I also know that for the last few months, she’s been hiding and living in the human realm, not fully awakened, which is dangerous. A Caballuco fairy who hasn’t come into her full powers can do a lot of harm to mortals when she finally does complete her awakening—intentional or not.

  Anya and Tag give me perplexed looks. They aren’t aware that she doesn’t want to go.

  “What happened to up our timeline?” I ask my friends.

  “Up our timeline?” Umbria asks.

  “We were planning on giving you a few days to get your things in order,” I explain.

  “Darciana paid Umbria a visit earlier—her ultimatum was nonnegotiable,” Anya points out.

  “You have been following me?” Umbria accuses.

  Anya’s eyes widen, darting between us. “Apologies, I thought you kne—”

  “How would I know?” Umbria barks out, cutting her off.

  “Well, this is delightfully awkward.” Tag chuckles.

  Looking around, I realize we can’t have this conversation in the middle of the dance floor. I want the supernatural creatures in attendance tonight to think we’re madly in love, not fighting.

  Silently, I hold my hand out to Umbria. Her mouth flattens at the gesture, and she gives me a harsh shake of her head. We stare at one another, nonverbally willing each other to give in.

  After a moment, she slaps her hand into mine, and I step around her, guiding her back to the outside area where we met earlier this evening. Tag and Anya follow close behind.

  Once we’re out of earshot, I offer her a stiff smile. “You knew we were going back.”

  “How long?” Her words come out as an accusation.

  “How long what?”

  Umbria rolls her eyes. “Have you been following me?”

  I shove a hand through my hair. “Months.”

  Her lips part. “Months?” Her tone is both angry and bewildered.

  “Umbria.” My voice is tight and low. “I am your protector. Watching over you is part of it.”

  “You mean spying on me is part of it?” she argues. “Invading my privacy and private life?”

  I wait a moment, trying to formulate an answer. “Keeping you safe.”

  Umbria narrows her eyes, knowing I’m right, even if she doesn’t like it. “It’s an invasion.”

  “It’s necessary for your protection,” I counter.

  “And it will make you two more believable as a couple if Striker knows your habits.” We both look at Tag, and he shrugs. “What? It’s true. I totally know all Anya’s habits. Good and bad.”

  “Hey. I don’t have bad habits,” she huffs.

  “Ah, yeah, you do,” he banters.

  Anya’s eyes narrow at him. “Name. One.”

  Tag bristles a bit. “Snoring. Being a morning person. Slurping,” he ticks off. “Shall I continue? Squeezing the toothpaste container from the side instead of rolling it from the bottom.”

  “Snoring is not a bad habit,” Anya argues. “Neither is being a morning person.”

  “It is when I have to listen to it,” Tag replies. “Or when I want to sleep in.”

  Umbria meets my gaze. “This is what you want us to be like?”

  “No. This is what I want us to pretend to be like.”

  “I don’t snore. And I roll the t
oothpaste from the bottom.”

  “Well,” I exhale. “Lucky for you, I’m a side squeezer.”

  “If you make them stop, Operation Fake Girlfriend is on,” Umbria mutters, ending their fight.

  “Glad to have you on board, Majesty.” Tag smirks and curls his hand around my shoulder, leaning into my ear. “We need to go. Now. Why don’t you two finish up and be seen leaving the ball together. Anya and I will wait outside of the glamour for you both.”

  I dip my chin at him as he stands to his full height.

  “Come on, pretty girl,” Tag holds his hand out for his mate. “You have ten minutes.”

  Umbria and I are silent as they disappear. I can tell she’s holding back tears at the idea of going back to Aragon. I stare down at her. This is what I’ve been preparing for—her.

  The sound of supernatural creatures laughing and talking inside the ball can be heard in the distance. The party is still raging on. As I meet her eyes, I frown. I’m not scared of her. Being attracted to Umbria is a no-brainer. I like the way she looks, and my body likes the way she looks at me. What terrifies me is the pull to her—getting so wrapped up in her, I forget my purpose.

  The real world—the one where this is a bad fucking idea because protecting her is definitely going to turn it upside down—awaits. There is no room in my plans for her. Protect her. Get in. And out.

  Weakly, I manage, “Ready?”

  Her eyes never leave mine as she tangles her fingers with mine.

  “This has been a strange evening,” she whispers.

  I rub the back of my neck and step closer. “That’s an understatement.”

  “Things are about to get a whole lot stranger, aren’t they?” Umbria’s eyes meet mine.

  Without thinking, I lay my free palm over her warm cheek and lean into her. “Remember.” My voice is husky. “Whatever happens on the Isle of Darkness, I will protect you, always.”

  She closes her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. “A rule of yours?”

  “No. A London clan family vow,” I reply proudly.

  Umbria nods. “The traitor is going to come for me.”

  “And we will be ready.”

  I hold out my hand, and she folds hers into it before I guide her toward where Tag and Anya are waiting for us. It’s been a long night but not as long as my protection detail will be.

  “We should get our story straight,” Umbria says as we make our way to the car.

  “Story?”

  “How we met. Fell in love…” She trails off.

  I wait until Tag and Anya slide into the vehicle before I pull her closer to me, gauging her reaction. Her eyes flicker with interest for the briefest second before she looks at my lips.

  “When asked, just say our love story began… at The Monster Ball.”

  The End – For Now

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  Pucker

  Up

  By J.L. Weil

  Chapter One

  His lips tasted of Bud Light and peppermint. Like he was trying to cover up the keg stand he had gulped down twenty minutes ago, prior to seeing me across the room. But I didn’t care about the sweet and sour combo of his lips. It was the taste of his soul that was so divine it had me craving more.

  A hundred bucks kegger-boy was a virgin. The high I was getting from just a kiss was too pure, plus his bumbling hands seemed unsure of where to touch me. They kind of hung awkwardly at his side.

  Amateurs.

  They were the best, and I didn’t mind taking the lead.

  “Wow,” he murmured against my lips. “What’s your name again?” he asked, searching his booze-induced brain for the answer.

  I hadn’t given it to him. What he called me wasn’t important.

  “Tessa,” I purred, capturing his bottom lip between my teeth. It was one of my many aliases. A girl in my line of work needed plenty. My given name was Alexis Shay, but only my friends and my boss ever called me that.

  Rule number one of being a species of Hell: Don’t reveal your true identity.

  Rule number two: Don’t make a mess that can’t be cleaned up.

  The tip of my tongue licked the remnants of his soul from my lips and I sighed. Nothing ever tasted so divine. The rush tingled through my body, and my eyes closed, enjoying every drop of that poor douche’s stolen soul.

  There were many reasons mortals sold their soul—power, money, sex, love, and revenge. This cute idiot had just lost a year of his life for a kiss from me. A normal human would feel sorry for what I had just done, but I was no longer human…and hadn’t been for centuries.

  I might look like the cheerleader next door, yet I was anything but your average beautiful girl with pom-poms. I was shallow. I was insensitive. I played dirty. And most importantly, I was Hell’s favorite pet.

  A succubus.

  A nightmare wrapped inside a curvy, enticing, sexy little package, sentenced to forever steal the souls of mortals. It was the only way I survived in this world, and if you had been to Hell, stealing souls seemed like a walk in the park. Paradise, actually.

  My favorite target—college boys. Mmm. Scrumptious.

  I didn’t discriminate though. There had been a time or two—call it my experimental phase—that I’d sucked the souls from the female population. It just wasn’t as satisfying for me, unless of course, she had it coming. And trust me you’d be surprised at the number of college girls who were nastier than me. I mean please; I was from Hell. I should be the meanest bitch around. Except, that kind of attitude wouldn’t get me what I wanted.

  The essence from consuming souls was what fueled my demon body. Not pancakes. Not chocolate-peanut butter ice cream. Not vegan burgers. Food was useless to a demon, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy scarfing an entire pizza by myself. Food and souls held two different sources of nutrients. One I desperately needed to live as a demon. The other helped me to nurture this mortal body. Surviving on Earth was tricky business. This wasn’t a job for just any demon. It took skill.

  And I excelled at my job. I was like the top of my class—straight A fucking student of the underworld.

  Why college boys?

  Because they were walking, talking, hormonal feeding banks. I preyed on their emotions, their dreams, their wants, their insecurities. Anything I could find to make them vulnerable and mine. The purer the heart, the higher the rush.

  How did I take their soul?

  Simple. One sweet kiss and their souls were mine. These lips were a deadly weapon. But I found it messy to kill my prey. I took just enough to satisfy my Hellish superiors despite the fact I had the ability to suck them dry. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I had done so before and probably would again. I felt no remorse. Really, I didn’t feel anything.

  No pain.

  No sadness.

  No love.

  Spinning on my heels, I left James or Kyle—his name wasn’t important—dazed in the alley as I took in my surroundings. College towns were like a gold mine. Frat parties. Jocks. Overeager nerds desperate to get laid.

  Somewhere in the night, a stereo boomed, the bass echoing down the streets. Another party to crash. “When can I see you again?” James or Kyle yelled.

  I lifted my hand in the air and waved, never faltering in my steps. “I’ll find you.” My voice carried down the alley.

  The shadows were left behind when I rounded the corner and shook my hair. My long strands swayed in the air, losing the glamour of a leggy blonde, to my preferred human form. A handy trick of being a succubus, I could shape-shift with a twitch of my nose or flip of my hair. The sensation was so familiar, like second nature, that I didn’t need a mirror to see what I was doing.

  My model frame shrunk to a more petite and slender build. The California tan faded to a creamy ivory, and my long blonde locks darkened to jet-black, which were silky and straight. I lost the tiny ska
ter skirt and white crop top, opting for jeans and a Cambridge University T-shirt. The tennis shoes remained. They were comfortable, after all. If I would be scouring the streets of College Town USA, I had to at least look the part.

  Padding across the campus courtyard, the blades of grass tickled my bare ankles while I moved toward the sounds of the party. A couple was making out on the park bench, and for a moment, I thought about asking if they wanted company, but the flash of fangs on the pretty brunette had me striding past. There were rules within the supernatural world.

  We didn’t step on each other’s toes, not without paying a price.

  Skirting around the manicured hedges, I glanced up at the slice of moon, feeling at home with the darkness. The music was growing louder as I jogged onto Main Street. It was then I saw it. A silvery light in the sky, catching my eye, like a star covered in glitter. It descended slowly toward me, glowing brighter as it flittered with the cool breeze and solidified into a brilliant silver paper. It floated softly into my open palm.

  What the hell?

  Don’t tell me Lucifer has forgone technology for stationary. But the little slip of paper wasn’t Hell’s style. It did, however, have a magical hum about it. On the outside of the silver parchment, it simply read:

  The Monster Ball in elegant calligraphy. Catchy. I was intrigued. Flipping the palm-size paper over, I let my eyes scan the phrase:

  Just as the moon has brought me to you, so shall the moon bring you to the ball. Underneath was a date—October thirty-first, and below that a time—the witching hour.

  Looked like I had just gotten myself invited to a secret Halloween bash. How could a succubus say no?

  Chapter Two

  Climbing the stairs to my apartment, I stared at the little silver ticket in my hand. My curiosity was piqued, and it took a lot to captivate me. Who was the mastermind behind the gathering? And what did it mean by the moon shall bring you to the ball? What if I chose not to go? Did I even have a choice in the matter?

  I had texted Julian, my egotistical demon superior, on the way home and struck out. He ordered me to attend, only informing me that I should consider it an honor. The Monster Ball picked you, not the other way around. As with every conversation with Julian, it ended with him trying to weasel his way into my pants.