The Monster Ball: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Heather Hildenbrand

  He must have seen the hint of something in my eyes because one of his hands slipped from my hip, his fingers finding my center. I quickly lost myself to an intense, body-clenching explosion as his hands glided up my sides, closing around my breasts. A deep groan vibrated from his body to mine as his grip grew tight, his hips surging up with his release.

  We both collapsed to the bed afterward, and I slowly returned to my mind as the light dusting of sweat dried along my body, the music slowly throbbing back into my awareness, the twinkling lights in my peripheral vision trying to remind me of where we were.

  It didn’t matter what the truth was, or what Torstein said. His magical cock and his heart-melting kisses weren’t going to knock me off-course. He was coming home with me tonight, and by next week, I was going to put a deposit down on a new apartment—one far away from my dirty-dancing ex-boyfriend—because Torstein’s magical cock and heart-melting kisses were going to make me rich.

  Chapter Eight

  “I have another task for you,” Torstein muttered against my skin, tugging me so that my body draped over his, drawing my knee up over his hip.

  It felt strange to lay on a floating bed, completely naked, with a whole ballroom of people below us. It was even possible that there were other couples shrouded away in some of the other floating beds, though I couldn’t see or hear anything but the band below, and I had no idea how they would have made it up to the beds without a teleport power like mine.

  “I think you just used up all your favours.” I stretched out on top of him, testing the brief ache in my muscles, another satisfied sigh slipping out of me. His hands passed down over my spine, his fingers pressing into all the right sore spots.

  “This is my game, Sparky. You don’t make the rules, and I say there’s still one favour left.”

  I swatted lazily at his chest, trying not to get distracted by the muscles that jumped beneath my touch. “Are you always this bossy?”

  “Always.”

  I rolled my eyes, but he couldn’t see the reaction with my face tucked against him. “What’s your favour?”

  “I want you to go out with me next Friday.” His voice was careful, the tone even, his hands stilling on my back as though he had surprised even himself.

  I sucked in a quick breath, ignoring the way my heart jump-started. I was going to trade him in and get rich—or, if fifty-thousand dollars wasn’t enough to call myself ‘rich’, then I was going to trade him in, start an investment portfolio with my fifty-thousand dollars and then get rich. I was pretty sure that was how it worked. I usually charged a high price for my services, but I sometimes had to wait weeks or months for a new job. That money would go a long way.

  “Okay,” I said, knowing that there would never be a date.

  The knowledge had emotion clogging up the back of my throat and a frustrated grip clenching around my heart, so I quickly pulled his mouth up to mine, hoping to drive the feeling away.

  Before long, we were tangled together again, his huge body pressing me back down into the mattress, his mouth moving along my collarbone to my shoulder as I hooked my leg around the small of his back, welcoming him back inside me. I was sure that I would have marks all over my body the next day. The memory of Torstein was going to haunt me long after I said goodbye to him—he was going to make sure of it.

  When we came together a short while later, it was in a frenzied rush of emotion and need, as though he had sensed my intention to let him go and was determined to imprint himself permanently onto my soul. He was such an asshole … of course he would do that. Even if he wasn’t sure that I had lied, he was still covering his bases. The self-satisfied chuckle that left his lips as his fingers traced a hand-sized red mark on my ass was all the proof I needed.

  “You’re out of favours,” I told him, rolling away to reach for my bodysuit. If I spent any longer up there with him, I was going to change my mind and keep him … or let him keep me. I wasn’t sure which version would be more accurate.

  He allowed me to dress again, and even shrugged his jacket back on—though he didn’t bother with the shirt again. My eyes had adjusted to the lighting enough that I could clearly make him out as he sat there watching me, his jacket hanging open over the hard planes of his torso, his velvety eyes alight with a strange mix of contentment and hunger. I crawled back to him, my hands finding his shoulders. He was silent as our lips met again, and I coaxed my power into action. The blackness took over my senses, and a second later, we were falling onto the dance floor, knocking more than one person over. The commotion was short-lived as Torstein was noticed, several people attempting to help him up. He brushed them off, finding his feet as his arm scooped me up, standing me next to him.

  “Do you think this place has video cameras in the ceiling?” he asked, as the people swarmed in closer, the music pounding around us, vibrating along the floor.

  We began to dance, my post-sex daze lingering enough that I just wanted to move and feel his hands on me. I felt the need to escape outside and cool the sweat, but I wasn’t ready to leave the circle of his arms yet, so I moved with him as I thought of an answer.

  Finally, I replied. “If they do, what do you think the tagline for our porn clip is going to be?”

  “Viking gives Jessica Rabbit a nice, thick carrot,” he replied, far too quickly.

  I snorted. “You think I look like Jessica Rabbit?”

  “Little bit.” He pulled back slightly, flashing me that sharp grin of his. Somehow, it tugged on my heart.

  When did that start happening? God, why did I have to get all emotional after sex? Sometimes it wasn’t fair being a woman. All I wanted to do was take advantage of a hot guy and then sell him for a full bank account. Was that really so unreasonable?

  “We could make a fortune off those tits of yours,” he remarked, tugging me closer against him, his eyes wandering to the top of my dress. “Maybe we should sue the host of this party for copyright and release the tape ourselves.”

  “You can organise the local signings when we get famous, and I can negotiate foreign rights deals,” I agreed.

  “Foreign rights deals?” His laugh shook through me. “You want to get our imaginary sex tape translated?”

  “No, they can remake it. But I want to be on the casting panel. Of all the up-and-coming actresses vying to play my part, I want to make sure their tits are marginally less fantastic than mine. Just in case you’re one of those guys who likes his shiny new red race car until the new model of shiny new red race car is released.”

  “That’s a very complex way of fishing for my declaration of undying love,” he remarked dryly.

  I tried to hold in my laugh but it spilled out of me anyway, and I decided to let the conversation drop as I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, losing myself to the easy beat and the now-familiar pressure of his hands. We danced for a long time, with him occasionally drawing my lips to his so that I never quite escaped my state of constant arousal. It didn’t seem to matter that I had already had him twice. My body was already craving more, and I made that known to him as I ground my body into his, drawing a strained sound from him that was lost in our kiss.

  I could have danced just like that all night, but at some point, we realised that the others were leaving the floor, and we slowly broke apart, moving to follow everyone else as they passed out onto the lawn at the back of the castle. The loud sound of fireworks had me jumping almost out of my skin—like a bucket of cold water washing over me. It felt like I had been drugged, drowned in lust, but was finally waking up. The fog swirled around the other guests as we all turned our faces toward the sky, drinking in the sight of the exploding lights. I reached for Torstein, but my fingers closed around air, and I turned about with a frown. He had been right behind me, but now he was nowhere to be seen.

  I stepped back towards the castle, a niggling sense of foreboding starting up in the back of my mind. A familiar form stepped in front of me before I could move back inside, taking me by the arm an
d tugging me onto the lawn.

  “Where are you going? There are fireworks!” Reggie exclaimed, giving me a little shake as he pointed unnecessarily toward the sky.

  “Oh really?” I smirked. “I hadn’t noticed. Where are they again?”

  He pointed harder, if that was even possible, and then he grabbed my shoulders, turned me forcibly around, and lifted my head up toward the sky, his hands on my cheeks.

  “Up there!” he intoned, his breath smelling heavily of liquor.

  “There you are,” another familiar voice grumbled, and Werewolf Number One appeared beside us, a grouchy frown half-hidden beneath stubble that seemed to be almost an inch longer than it had been when I had first seen them at the bar.

  “What are you so upset about?” I asked, pulling away from Reggie. A quick glance around proved that Torstein still hadn’t re-appeared.

  Werewolf Number One shrugged, jerking his head back toward the ballroom. “Tiny—this witch I met—said I could go home with her, but then she decided she was a lesbian and chose Ruby-the-hippy-with-orange-hair instead.” He sighed, and his frown turned into what looked suspiciously like a pout. “Is it because I’m too clingy?” He seemed to be directing the question at me.

  “Ah, no?” I ventured. I didn’t sound sure, but that was only because I was trying not to be honest. Anyone who desperately asked if they were too clingy deserved an eye-roll, in my opinion. “Are you sure she wasn’t a lesbian to begin with?”

  “She did have short hair,” he mused.

  “How short?”

  He indicated shoulder-length, and I tried to bite back my smile. “Definitely a lesbian.” I nodded sagely.

  “Yeah.” He perked up at the thought. “And she said her feet hurt because she probably doesn’t wear heels often. She was probably just wearing them so that people wouldn’t know she’s a lesbian.”

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed. “Most lesbians wear heels to hide from the rest of us normal people. It’s a fact.”

  “I should have realised, then I wouldn’t have wasted my time.” He let out a relieved laugh, clapping Reggie on the shoulder—who—to his credit—looked a little embarrassed for his friend.

  “Have either of you two seen the big blond giant from earlier?” I asked, casting another glance around the gathered people. I had assumed that him taking on the image of what people most desired didn’t extend to men, since the bartender had responded to my description of him.

  “Oh, yeah,” Reggie pulled something out of his pocket, passing it into my hands. “He told me to give you this.”

  I frowned, accepting the phone, but I didn’t have time to do anything with it before the image of my hand gripping the object began to blur. I quickly snapped my head up, but the fog around the yard was lifting, the moonlight sneaking in. I felt a prickle of suspicion at the base of my neck, an insistent feeling of something that wanted to be acknowledged. I remembered the familiar feeling of being pulled from my surroundings a moment too late, my eyes widening in disbelief, as panic surged through me as the world slowly began to drop away. I shouted out Torstein’s name, but the bastard was still nowhere to be seen, and the castle was disappearing, the light swamping my vision.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my balcony. Alone. I was breathing heavily, still clutching the phone. The party next door had died down, and silence now cloaked the night. I sank down onto one of my wrought-iron chairs, turning my attention to the screen as I tapped it.

  One new message.

  I pressed the icon and the message popped up onto my screen, the two short sentences that stared back at me forcing both laughter and frustration to fight for dominance over me.

  Nice try, Sparky. See you next Friday.

  “What an asshole,” I muttered, throwing the phone to the chair beside me, a slow smile curving up the sides of my mouth.

  The End

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  Black

  Orchids

  By Jennifer Snyder

  Chapter One

  His slacks were pressed to perfection. His shirt crisp and white. When he smiled his teeth were straight and pearly, but there was still something off about him. He scratched the back of his neck as he stared at the flower arrangements in front of him. When his brows pinched together, I wondered if he was nervous about something.

  I gripped my scissors tighter. After snipping off a couple inches from the stems of a few daisies, I glanced back at him. He was still standing in the same spot, staring at the bouquet in front of him. My stomach fluttered with newly woken butterflies.

  Shit. Not again.

  I smoothed a hand over my forehead and forced a slow exhalation from my lungs. Ice slithered through my chest. My fingertips tingled, and all I could hear was the heavy sound of my breathing. Why was I having a panic attack? My vision tunneled and grew distorted.

  No. Not today. Not right now.

  I shifted my focus back to the flower arrangement I’d been working on. My fingers shook as I picked my scissors up again. I grabbed a flower and snipped too much off the stem. The sound of the blades slicing through the thick stem echoed around in my head until I heard the guy standing near the front of the shop cough. I stuffed the too short flower into the painted pumpkin I was using as a vase for the centerpieces I’d been hired to make.

  In—one, two, three. Out—one, two, three.

  Since busying my hands didn’t seem to be working, I decided to focus on my breathing instead. It was a coping trick I’d learned from one of the many shrinks I’d seen over the last two years. After a few minutes, my muscles loosened, and the butterflies in my stomach dissolved. I finished the centerpiece I’d been working on and placed it with the others waiting to be delivered to town hall.

  I attempted to count them, curious to see how many I needed to make still before tomorrow afternoon. Janice was expecting them by noon so she could decorate for the annual Halloween party. Ten. I still needed ten more.

  A breath of hot air rushed from my lungs. I’d really be cutting it close.

  The guy near the front of the shop moved, crossing from one side to the other. My attention shifted to him again. He noticed and flashed me a weak smile. My lips quivered as I plastered a fake one of my own on my face. His gaze lingered on me longer than I was comfortable with. I’d already asked if he needed help. He had said no.

  Was he waiting on me to ask him again?

  My stomach somersaulted as an entirely new thought occurred to me: Did he know me?

  Crap. There was a chance we’d met before my incident and I just didn’t remember him. Maybe that was why he seemed so nervous to be here as well as why he kept staring at me.

  I zeroed in on him, searching for anything about him that seemed familiar. Was there anything about his face or his eyes maybe?

  No. Nothing stood out.

  My fingernails tapped against the counter. I was going to look like a total bitch if he said something I should know and I didn’t respond right. My heart hammered as a few different conversations played out in my head. There was one in particular that had my palms sweating, though.

  What if he was an old boyfriend?

  I averted my gaze from him and grabbed a new pumpkin from the box at my feet. Staring at the guy wasn’t going to do anything besides make me seem strange. My lips pinched together. Wasn’t I already strange though? I snipped the stems of two flowers and beat myself up for still not being able to remember my life from before two years ago. Doctors called it a rare form of dissociative fugue. It meant something had triggered my brain to glitch and caused me to forget who I was.

  This guy wouldn’t know that though.

  On the outside I looked the same. At least, that’s what people who knew me from before said even though I felt different. Foreign. There was a void inside me, a black, never-ending hole where something used to be but now wasn’t. My hands tre
mbled as I snipped the ends off another flower.

  Images tumbled through my mind of what I remembered about that day. I’d been here at the shop. There was a delivery, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. New flowers come all the time. However, none like the black orchids from that day. Dizziness crept through my head as I tried to remember the details of them—inky black petals, silky smooth to the touch, sweet smelling. Things became dicey after the flowers were delivered. I didn’t remember what happened next, but I was told I was found walking in the middle of the street without any identification on me shortly after midnight. I was hours away from home, and my body was in an extreme level of fatigue. Thankfully, my adoptive mother had reported me missing earlier in the day. She’d swung by the shop to visit and noticed the door wide open. My purse and car were still there, but I was nowhere to be found.

  Bits and pieces of my memory were still intact, like my family and the basic necessities needed to survive in today’s society, but there was a lot I couldn’t remember. Other people. Places. My childhood. My name.

  Out of everything from that day there was only one thing that stood out to me—the black orchids. They were important. I felt it in my core, but I couldn’t explain how or why.

  My vision swayed. I gripped the edge of the counter, steadying myself. Ice trickled through my veins, and dark spots danced across my vision.

  Shit. Not again.

  Each time I thought of the stupid flowers this happened. They seemed to be the trigger for my anxiety. I lifted a hand to press against my temple. It didn’t help. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on my breathing again.

  In—one, two, three. Out—one, two, three.

  “Are you okay?”

  My eyes snapped open at the sound of the guy’s voice. Somehow I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone. Concern softened the guy’s features when I glanced up at him.

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “I’m fine.” Or at least I was trying to be.