Protected by the Damned BoxedSet 2

by Michael Todd

  “Sir, if I may?” the colonel asked. “We have to give credit where credit is due. Katie took out eight of the ten dead demon mercs tonight.”

  “But where would we have been without you there backing us up?” Katie asked in return, joining the colonel and the general.

  “Katie!” The general smiled as he shook her hand. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, although flipping roles from businesswoman to demon hunter is a bit exhausting,” she replied. Damian chuckled in the background.

  “Thank you for your service.” The colonel saluted Katie.

  She looked at the soldiers who were listening in and they all bounced to attention and saluted her as well, warming her heart. She knew exactly how special that was, and she was glad she had been there to save some lives.

  They’re saluting you, Pandora, Katie said, smiling to the men.

  Pandora sniffled. Mmmhmm.

  Are you getting emotional?

  No, she growled. I have demon-merc cooties in my eye, that’s all.

  Oh, okay. Katie snickered.

  After the moment had passed Katie moved back and stood next to Damian. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tightly as they listened to the general address his troops.

  While it was a celebration, it was nowhere near being the end of the story.

  “We have recently received a bit more information from an FBI effort that has been in the works,” Brushwood told them. “It seems likely that there will soon be about a hundred and twenty demon mercs in this group. We don’t know how many separate groups there will be, if any; that’s all we have. From what I’ve been told, one of those bodies over there is one of the leaders of the group. Now, we aren’t sure if he was the top man, but everyone counts. Research is getting better every day, especially with the addition of a new IT tech at the Korbin’s Killers’ base. He has jumped on the bandwagon and already made his mark. I don’t want anyone to be down after today. It’s true, we lost another one of our men and that is tragic in many ways, but we are going to bag these assholes. That is a promise that I will stand here and make to you today. There will be no more surprises, no more anger, and no more crossing lines. We will be ready for them if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  The alarm blared loudly echoing through the bus.

  Brock groaned and leaned over to silence it, knocking an empty bottle of Jack onto the floor before pounding his hand on the button. He laid back down and stretched his arms over his head, yawning.

  He opened his eyes, and next to him were three stark-naked busty blondes sprawled across the bed. He smiled and rubbed his hand down the closest one’s back.

  She moaned slightly and opened her eyes, blinking at Brock.

  “I thought it was a dream.” She yawned as she looked at the other two girls.

  “It was a dream,” he agreed, and kissed her. “But dreams come true.”

  The other girls began to stir, climbing up the bed and wrapping themselves around him. All three started to kiss his skin, forcing him to take a deep breath and put his arms in the air. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the time for another go, nor did he really think he had the energy.

  Those three were wild, and he had been the only one drinking the night before.

  He sighed. “Ladies, as much as I would love to stay in bed with you, I mustn’t.”

  “Awwww,” all three groaned in unison, giving him pouty lips.

  He pulled himself from the bed and put on his robe, then turned around and laughed. “Don’t give me those faces. I have to hit the road. I’m headed home for a little vacation with my family.”

  “When will you be back in Virginia?” one of them asked, sitting up and pulling her fingers through her wild hair.

  Brock shrugged. “I don’t know,” he answered as truthfully as he could. When the truth works, use it. “I’m sure we will come through here again on tour. When we do, I want to see all three of you here waiting for me.”

  One of the other girls chuckled. “You better believe it.”

  All three of them got up and searched the room for their clothes, giggling as they traded pieces back and forth until they found almost full outfits. Brock leaned into the closet and grabbed three band t-shirts and tossed one to each. They smiled and pulled them on, bearing the marks of sin all too well.

  “Thank you,” the three said in unison.

  “Now come here and give me a kiss on my cheek before you leave,” he demanded, pointing to his cheek.

  One by one the girls leaned in and gave him a long sensual kiss on the cheek, and he chuckled as he followed them out of the back room and through the bus to the door. His bandmates were all awake and drank coffee while they watched the three hotties leave.

  He waved as the girls walked away, then shut the door and came back to the main area.

  “I don’t know how you do it!” his drummer exclaimed. “Dude, you have at least three women almost every night. I seriously feel drained from just one of those nympho groupies.”

  “That’s because you’re an old man.” Brock laughed and ruffled the drummer’s hair.

  “I am all of three years older than you.” He scoffed. “I just don’t have the magic spark you seem to have.”

  “Yeah, and you must have had extra last night because I think they heard those women moaning in Jersey,” his bassist joked. “It turned on my girl a bit, so I can’t complain.”

  “Annnnd… You’re welcome.” Brock smiled and went to the closet, pulling out a somewhat clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

  He pulled on his clothes and tossed the robe into the back room before going to the table to get a cup of the coffee that had been delivered earlier that morning.

  He stretched his back, already feeling ten times better than he had when he’d first woken up.

  His phone buzzed and he saw that his car was there and ready to take him to the airport.

  He grabbed the suitcase he’d packed the night before and looked at the guys.

  “So, you taking that game back to your hometown?” His guitarist laughed.

  “Nah.” He shrugged. “I think I got everything I need.”

  He pulled his sunglasses down as he stepped out into the sun to hide the tinge of red in his eyes.

  FINIS

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Written May 17, 2018

  First, THANK YOU for taking this ride with us for a group of stories that can be a bit hard to sell.

  Then you tried to tell your spouses and friends just why it’s so damned fun! (Damned…hehehe.)

  I apologize that some of them won’t understand, and I really appreciate your efforts to tell them. It is hard to actually constrain Katie / Pandora to a few short words…

  Which means I have to try it now.

  College Woman Not Seeking Live-In Demon, Fails Miserably—Much Shit Happens.

  Ok…maybe not that one.

  Demon political shit runs right over nice, caring Katie, who was sacrificed at the wrong place and at the wrong time.

  Huh…not exactly.

  Female Demon desires a little R & R from the machinations down in Hell. Looking for an unwilling vessel and donuts.

  Well, shoot…Pandora didn’t know about donuts at that time.

  Military Action story when eons-old female demon with no inhibitions takes up residence inside obstinate college-age woman who is just fine with her bra size. Much ass-kicking occurs.

  That is perhaps a little closer to the truth.

  The real answer is a lot longer, I think. As an indie author, we don’t have ‘people’ to do our blurbs. For the most part we do them ourselves, and since we are so close to them, the challenge is stepping back and getting to the heart of what these stories are about.

  I think of them as “tough times call for tough measures and whether you like the new reality (when you have a demon) or not doesn’t matter. It’s time to buck up (and buckle up) and shut up.”

  You MUST choose one of t
hree options.

  —OTHER NEWS

  We are rapidly coming to the end of the first series, Protected by the Damned. “Things” are going to happen which will propagate (read ‘explode’) the reality to the rest of the world, and then we will move Katie and Pandora into a new series titled “War of the Damned.”

  I won’t ruin anything. I just wanted to let those of you asking know that YES, Katie and Pandora have another series after Book 08, For Whom the Bell Tolls, coming out June 1, 2018.

  For those in the Facebook group, THANK YOU for all of your stories, your jokes and your hijinks. You keep me in stitches and offer up very interesting suggestions and comments.

  In book 8, we will have a special redshirt walk-on event for one of our fans from the group. I hope he enjoys dying spectacularly ;-)

  Ad Aeternitatem,

  Michael Todd Anderle

  PANDORA’S TURN

  All right, you little miscreants, just because The Chubby Author ™ was all nice and shit above, don’t expect the same from me. I’m onto you!

  I have visited the dreams of a few of you. For those who were very naughty…that was fun! No, seriously, you pervs.

  For those who received ugly dreams, no comment. I hope you mend your ways and take appropriate action (you know what I’m talking about).

  For the young woman who asked about the boob job? Sorry, I’m stuck in this body for the moment. I still have my way with her, but it just takes a lot longer.

  Ok, I’m told I have to go eat some donuts, so ta-ta, you little miscreants! See you in the next book!

  Pandora

  Author Notes - Laurie Starkey

  Written

  Well hello! Thanks for stopping by to read my author note. I appreciate that big time. I never wrong author notes, because honestly – my life is crazy as hell and boring outside of the craze. Not quite sure that made sense, but we’re going with it.

  Mike talked me into author notes. Blame him if this blows dog balls.

  Speaking of Mike… I just got back from 21 days on the road, a few of those spent with him. We worked through some really cool ideas for Damned spin-offs (< ---- see what I did there? LOL). I’ll let him fill you in on that goodness, but I am 100% stoked about the ideas we bubbled up together.

  Outside of the all of the great writing goodies, we’ve been looking for a house up in the hill country near New Braunfels. I think we finally found one. Now it’s time to beg the banker man for a few dollars to buy the damn thing.

  Funny – no matter how old you are or what dollar amount you have in the bank, something about having to borrow money (at least for me) feels like I’m dick-broke, 16 and ready to get rejected. It’s rather humbling. I’m thinking renting might be a better option – at least for my freaking pride.

  My team is throat deep over here (that’s horrible sounding from a romance writer – forgive me in advance) in 7sons goodies. Our first vamp book is through editing and the final touches are making their way on the file. I have a short excerpt for you below, but before I hand that over – once again – thank you so much. I appreciate you checking out mine and Mike’s project. It’s a blessing to work with him, but it’s an honor to write for you.

  Excerpt from Bad Moon Rising, Seven Sons:

  Turning into a narrow alley, the darkness grew thicker around her, and the cold bit just that touch deeper and sharper with every step. The dull, brown brick Georgian buildings pressed heavily in, creating only an arrowhead of inky, velvet sky overhead. Most of the factories looked abandoned after the working day was done, windows grimy behind heavy iron bars. Litter from the neighboring fast food stores gathered in the gutters, blown in from vacant construction sites gazetted for industry.

  London had never seemed so dismal.

  Not that she was aware of it or even felt it; there were other things occupying her mind. It had been a long and difficult day, and pervasive memories of vivid faces continued to plague her still. There remained an indescribable loneliness.

  Somewhere in the distance, Big Ben began to strike the hour. With each heavy chime, she could feel the moment fragmenting, she could feel the stillness of time falling.

  When will it stop? Aislinn wondered, restlessly.

  She felt an echo of her former self. Her past faded behind the city blocks. Her future stretched before her in that moment, thin and insubstantial, down the darkened street.

  *

  The man paused in the shadows. Sneaking a quick glance across at the young girl he was following, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t showing any signs of being affected by, or even aware of, their miserable surroundings. In fact, she seemed particularly immune to almost everything around her, except the pealing echoes from Big Ben.

  His fingers twitched nervously around the switchblade in his hand as if anticipating the moment when he would feel it slice through her warm flesh. But not before he’d had some fun with her first. Pretty young things like the pale, blonde-haired girl before him didn’t venture into this part of London-town often. He took a moment to let his eyes roam up her body.

  Fuck. Who was he kidding?

  Pretty young things almost never came to his part of town, unless they were looking to buy some meth or coke or that new drug he’d been hearing a lot about; Black Mambo or Black Magic or whatever it was called. Maybe that was why she was here. Hoping to score. Well, so was he. And he’d lucked in. He usually had to go find them.

  He watched her possessively, tension in every muscle. His fleshy, pock-marked face broke into a lascivious smile. He liked the way she moved. Graceful. Like a dancer. Her platinum-blonde hair fell down her back to her waist, a waterfall of harnessed moonlight. He could feel his heart beat wildly; so loud and fast it pounded against his rib cage, thrumming in his ears, momentarily drowning out her footsteps.

  Again, his hand twitched, feeling the familiar weight of the blade.

  His tongue poked out between suddenly dry lips.

  Delicious.

  *

  She stopped at a corner beneath the awning of an empty curiosity shop, an aged sign in the grime-streaked storefront window advertised that it was up for lease. Hesitating briefly, she knew better than to linger on darkened city street corners, but she knew something wasn’t right. An instinct honed back at the beginning of duration for all living creatures. A prickling sensation along the back of her neck.

  Like the hunter and the hunted, the predator and the prey, she sensed that something – someone – was following her.

  The streetlamps flickered up and down the laneway as if by a surge of her own adrenaline, but the muted yellow glow they emitted wasn’t enough to keep the darkness at bay.

  With an anxious thrill bordering on agony, Aislinn set off down the grim alleyway, the rain beginning to fall softly with the onset of another restless night. Each darkened doorway, boarded up window, fluttering streetlamp that she walked past became a familiar blur of insidious intent.

  Close! He’s close! Aislinn thought, experiencing a strange sense of déjà vu.

  She fixed eyes the colour of cornflowers upon the alleyway ahead, picking up her pace as she saw his shadow under the streetlights slide along the granite setts, matching her pace.

  Aislinn felt herself tense, readying herself for the attack. The cold air gusted and made her platinum-blonde hair and long leather coat flap violently about her. The broken blinds and chimney pots were filled with the blustering wind, whistling between gaps in the narrow alley. But she barely noticed.

  Shhh. Aislinn. Calm down.

  He’s close.

  He’s close now.

  She tried not to look over her shoulder. She could have easily confirmed that he was following her, but she deliberately chose not to. Instead, she quickened her pace. That ancient voice that warned her to be cautious spoke up; shouting in her ear like the frosty draughts of winter wind which infiltrated the alleyway’s hollow nooks and crannies, slipping furtively under windowpanes and doors, and between the cracks and
gaps in brick and plasterwork.

  Don’t let him know you’re aware of him. Just keep going. Keep walking. Careful now, Aislinn.

  *

  He continued to dog the girl’s footsteps. She was making it easy for him, even with her quickened pace. Her head was bowed low, shoulders hunched, hands thrust into her coat pockets to protect herself from the increasing wind and rain.

  She seemed anxious. This slip of a girl with the moonlight hair who was so young-looking, though most probably in her early twenties. This pretty, young thing whom he would make sob in the pitch black.

  He hoped she would scream. He liked it when they screamed. He was going to take good care of her.

  It was easy.

  He’d done it before. Twice. And each time he felt stronger, more confident, more adept.

  The gloomy alley was completely empty, except for the rain and the rats and himself and the girl. Even the rats were scampering for cover.

  Silly girl.

  Anyone who needed a hit that badly deserved what was coming to them. Or maybe she was buying drugs to go clubbing later with her foolish friends. It was Friday night and the nightclubs and bars nearby were always jampacked with fresh meat.

  But they weren’t here with her now. Instead, she was alone.

  It seemed like they were the only two people left on earth. He relished the thought. And soon there would only be one.

  The tension in his shoulders began to fade as he readied himself for the kill. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Hey, girly. You lost?” he asked, approaching her from behind. His words carried towards her on the wind.

  As if startled, like a jittery colt, she whirled around to face him before he reached her.

  Flawless pale skin, a pixie-like face, and fathomless dark eyes.