Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  With a grin, she climbed in the front seat, putting Lacey on her lap. She still hated Jeff, but she was glad he wasn’t dead.

  “Thank you for coming in when you did.” Dana reached over and brushed her fingers over Brandon’s cheek.

  He brought her hand to his lips, and placed a gentle kiss on her palm. “It was taking too long. I couldn’t sit here and go crazy worrying if you two were okay.”

  Genuine joy bubbled up from the depths of her soul. It’d been so long since someone truly cared about her. “Let’s stop at the next town. We need to drop Jeff off somewhere and pick up a car seat for Lacey.” She buckled Lacey and herself into the passenger seat. “Think it’s very far? This isn’t safe.”

  “Only two miles or so, I’d guess,” Brandon answered. “I’ll be extra careful.” He looked at her. “Where to after that?”

  She leaned her head back. “We’re going to find that doctor in Kentucky—the one that’s helping everyone. I heard about him and all that happened through an old friend who used to be imprisoned by The Curators. She gave me a general idea where to find him. And I have contacts I can ask for more specifics. It’s time we joined the fight. His name is Dr. Weston, and he can send someone to deal with Dr. Morrison.”

  She patted her pocket. “I still have the key so I don’t think he’ll be getting out of that cage anytime soon.”

  Brandon nodded. “Hell yeah. Count me in.”

  They pulled away from the hospital and turned onto the interstate. Dana looked at her daughter and then at Brandon and smiled. No matter how long it took, they’d eventually be free to be themselves. Dr. Weston worked for an organization striving for that very goal.

  Regardless, as long as she had Lacey and Brandon, she knew she had all she needed.

  About Amy Hale

  Since childhood, bestselling and award-winning author Amy Hale has been using the written word to inspire, encourage, and entertain. She loves creating characters and worlds from nothing but her imagination and a few glasses of wine. Her popular paranormal series The Shadows Trilogy has earned multiple awards, as have the Havenwood Falls books, of which she is a participating author. For the last couple of decades, she’s also carried the titles of Laundry Goddess, Chef, Butt Wiper, Soother of Temper Tantrums, and in more recent years, Moderator of Sarcastic Eye-rolls and Sass. She resides in Illinois with her husband and two grown children who claim they are never moving out. Regardless, they are the center of her universe, although her cat believes otherwise. If she had any spare time, she’d love music, photography, watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 with her family, and long rides on the back of her husband’s motorcycle.

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  Also By Amy Hale

  Ulterior Motives

  Shadows of Jane, The Shadows Trilogy, Book One

  Shadows of Deception, The Shadows Trilogy, Book Two

  Shadows of Deliverance, The Shadows Trilogy, Book Three

  Catching Whitney

  Letters From Jayson

  Somewhere Within (Havenwood Falls High)

  Blood & Iron (Havenwood Falls High)

  Flames Among The Frost (Havenwood Falls)

  Betrayal Among The Frost (Havenwood Falls)

  Dawn of a New Era by Brenda Trim

  Chapter 1

  Not another round, Murtagh thought as he paced the throne room. His boots pounded the stone floor and echoed throughout the spacious room. The wall-mounted candelabras flickered, casting shadows against the tapestried-covered walls.

  Bloodlust had the Vampire King on edge and ready to throttle his assistant, Glen. Murtagh needed to feed. Blood was as vital to him as food and water. But this was about more than just choosing a female to feed from.

  Glen led a group of females into the dimly lit room, and Murtagh took a seat at his throne. There were six in all, each more beautiful than the one before. Yet, the moment he laid eyes on them, Murtagh knew this was a waste of time for everyone involved. Instinct told him not one of them was his Fated Mate.

  He took a deep breath, trying his best not to lash out at his assistant. Granted, it wasn’t Glen’s fault Murtagh was forced to sit through another showing of potential mates. Ever since his parents’ untimely death, the pressure was on to find his Fated and produce an heir. At one hundred seventy-eight, Murtagh was a young vampire and should be sowing his royal oats, but a king without a queen was considered intolerable, no matter his age.

  “Please introduce yourselves,” Glen instructed the females after he positioned them in front of Murtagh.

  They were dressed in their finest clothes, and their hair coifed to perfection. Murtagh’s sensitive nostrils were attacked by various scents wafting from the group. Some were fruity while others floral, but it was enough to give him a headache. Would it be rude for him to send them away so quickly?

  As the females stated their names one by one, Murtagh couldn’t help but reach for the pendant hanging around his neck. The sacred Triskele Amulet that belonged to his father. It was his direct connection to the Goddess Morrigan, the supreme being who created all supernaturals of the Tehrex Realm, including vampires, shifters, sorcerers, and many other species.

  How many times had he thought about contacting her to ask about his Fated? If she would simply tell him where to find her it would save so much time, and Murtagh wouldn’t have to see the females’ disappointed faces when he rejected them.

  He tried his best to act interested as Glen relayed each female’s background and interests, as well as why they’d make a suitable queen, but it didn’t matter. Murtagh knew the type of female he wanted by his side. Strong, loyal, intelligent, and loving to a fault. But, most importantly, he sought the one that carried the other half of his soul. His Fated Mate.

  As he perused the line-up, his attention snagged on one of the females. She had long red hair and emerald-green eyes. Her curves appealed to him even if he didn’t feel the undeniable draw that was associated with Fated Mates. He recalled his father telling him about the mating compulsion he felt toward Murtagh’s mother the moment they met. His father said he couldn’t concentrate or think of anything but claiming her as his own. That was what Murtagh desired, and none of these females incited such feelings.

  “Liege? Do you wish to speak with Fia alone?” Glen asked and intruded into Murtagh’s ruminations. From the way his assistant cocked his head with a pinched brow, Murtagh guessed his assistant was misreading the situation.

  Murtagh met Glen’s brown eyes for a second before returning to the red-haired beauty. The gleam in her green eyes belied her innocent disposition, and Murtagh dipped into her mind. As Vampire King, he could read the thoughts of his subjects, and it didn’t take much effort to know the lovely Fia was calculating precisely how she could get him into mating her. Additionally, it was no surprise that Fia wasn’t concerned if Murtagh was her Fated Mate or not. She saw the opportunity to advance her status within the realm and that was her only goal.

  As advanced as the vampires considered themselves to be at the turn of the eleventh century, social status still defined who one was. Peasants were at the bottom of the chain, followed by the upper class, with royals dominating at the top. Miss Fia came from an upper–class family, but she had her lovely eyes set on the biggest prize of all. Vampire Queen.

  “No’ at the moment,” Murtagh replied but didn’t send her away. Of the six females, he found her physically appealing, if nothing else. Perhaps he could feed from her, then take her to his bed for a night. That would at least sate his bloodlust.

  As Glen nodded his understanding, Murtagh decided he couldn’t listen to another second of the drivel. Right as he was about to excuse himself, his commander entered the throne room and paused behind the line of females. Relieved for the interruption, Murtagh motioned Eilig forward.

  “Liege,” Eilig replied with a bow. “We have a problem.” From the male’s stern expression, Murtagh knew it was serio
us.

  The king held up a finger, silencing Eilig, then turned to Glen. The females didn’t need to be privy to such matters, and he had no desire for them to report whatever they heard to their families and friends, causing unnecessary alarm. It was bad enough that Murtagh listened to the elite complain about minor issues like their flowers not being as fresh as they expected.

  “Glen, would you please escort the females back to their homes? Fia may stay if she’d like. I’ll send for her after I speak privately with Eilig.”

  Fia smiled seductively at Murtagh, and nodded. Hopefully, she would agree to his proposal, even if it wasn’t the matrimonial kind she was seeking.

  “Aye, Liege. Come with me,” Glen informed the small group. Several females glared contemptuously at Fia, and one looked relieved to be leaving.

  Once the room cleared, Murtagh turned to Eilig. “What happened?”

  “Rogues, Liege. On the ootskirts of Fife in an abandoned barn, they’ve taken females hostage.”

  “Humans?” he barked as his sapphire-blue eyes blackened with his rage. If the rogue vampires had exposed their existence to the human population, he would have their heads. It was Goddess Morrigan’s edict to remain hidden, and Murtagh ruled with an iron fist.

  “Nay, no’ humans. The hostages are vampires,” Eilig replied.

  Murtagh was relieved he wouldn’t have to erase the memories of any humans, but taking any female hostage was reprehensible. “Gather your weapons. We leave in five,” he ordered, and the two males rushed from the throne room.

  He sent a mental message to Glen to send Fia home, as well. He didn’t have time to deal with her. Feeding would have to wait. His subjects needed him.

  A scream rent the air, freezing the blood in Murtagh’s veins. He yanked on the reins, and his horse came to a sudden stop. One of his vampires was being tortured, and it was a failure on his part that ate at his gut. The vampires relied on him to keep them safe from all dangers, including rogue subjects.

  Eilig followed suit, and the two males tied their horses to a nearby tree. On silent feet, they approached the dilapidated barn where the scream had come from. Murtagh crouched outside a slightly ajar door and used his preternatural hearing to determine what they faced once inside.

  Holding up four fingers, he let Eilig know how many rogues they would encounter. His blood raced through his veins and the mantle of power he carried surged in his chest. As king, he could force his will on his subjects, making them concede. It was imperative he send a message to the rogue vampires that those refusing to fall under his rule would suffer the consequences.

  Murtagh shoved the rickety wooden door, causing it to slam against the wall of the barn. The king rushed through the portal, and his sifting ability had him beside the closest male in the next breath. Sifting was an additional skill bestowed on Murtagh by the goddess when he transitioned from a stripling to a mature vampire at the age of twenty-five. He could travel short distances at the speed of sound, which came in handy when fighting an enemy.

  Weapon in hand, Murtagh sliced out at a male that was in desperate need of a bath. Dirt and grime coated his hair and face in a thick layer. The king’s sgian dubh missed the male but caught on the loose sleeve of his cotton shirt.

  A fist landed in Murtagh’s side while he was distracted. Another male shot into action to save his fellow rogue. Murtagh kicked the second male while at the same time thrust his hand toward the first. When his blade pierced the vampire’s abdomen, Murtagh yanked and tore a hole in the male’s side.

  With one down, and bleeding out on the ground, Murtagh turned his attention to the male that landed the lucky punch. He swung his leg and kicked, but missed the rogue that was dancing lithely around Murtagh. As he swiveled, the king got a clear view of the three females being held by the rogues. They wore fresh wounds on their necks and wrists, telling Murtagh they were being fed on by the rogues.

  Their clothes were dirty, and two of them looked like they hadn’t eaten in far too long. One of the females caught and held Murtagh’s attention, and he froze in place.

  She was mesmerizing, despite her filthy top and long, tattered skirt. His nostrils flared when they were attacked by a pungent odor wafting from the female, but it didn’t deter from her appeal. He stared at her long, black hair, wondering what the silky strands would feel like as he ran his hands through them. His body hardened as his mind conjured an image of her nude body beneath his, screaming his name in pleasure. Murtagh’s fangs descended, urging him to sink into her supple flesh.

  But it was her hazel eyes that held him in place. They were haunting, and he wanted to erase the sorrow he saw in their depths.

  Suddenly, horror washed across her beautiful face. His ogling cost him as a sharp stick punctured his chest. Thank the Goddess, a wooden stake to the heart wouldn’t kill him. Beheading was the only sure way to end a vampire’s existence. Luckily, the rogue missed his heart altogether, and Murtagh yanked the farm tool from his body. He quickly jumped on the male and took him to the ground.

  “That was a verra big mistake,” Murtagh growled.

  “What do you know with your fancy clothes? These females belong to us. You need to leave,” the male spat as he struggled against Murtagh’s hold.

  Murtagh glanced to the females chained to the wall. “Doesna look like they belong to you. I willna leave withoot them.”

  The rogue laughed and punched Murtagh in the face. The pain jolted him and pissed him off. His mantle of power surged, and the rogue grimaced in pain but Murtagh decided not to force his will on the vampire. The power wasn’t there for him to abuse. The male might be a strong and skilled fighter, but Murtagh could defeat him one on one.

  Murtagh punched, tagging the male’s shoulder. When an arm wrapped around his waist and fingers dug into his injury, the Vampire King cursed before kicking the rogue’s knee. The male buckled and his hold loosened, allowing Murtagh to maneuver out of his embrace.

  The sounds of Eilig battling the other rogues filled the open space, adding to the adrenaline coursing through Murtagh’s veins. In the next heartbeat, he punched the male in the head then sliced across the rogue’s neck with his blade. Blood poured from the gash, and the vampire cried out in pain while at the same time one of the females screamed in horror at the gruesome sight.

  Murtagh hated that they had to witness such violence, but he had to remove the threat. Otherwise, the rogues would drain them and lure more unsuspecting females to their demise.

  “Underestimating me was a mistake,” Murtagh declared as the adrenaline in his system dissipated. The males were no challenge against the Vampire King, and their deaths would be an example for other rogues. They best think twice before going against his rule.

  Murtagh returned to the first rogue and finished him off then turned to see how he could help Eilig. He noticed his commander had dispatched the other two rogues and was celebrating his victory by drinking the blood of the slain. His gums tingled, reminding him he needed to feed, as well, but Murtagh preferred to feed from a willing female, which had him turning toward the dark-haired beauty.

  The other two females were sobbing uncontrollably, but not her. He saw a mix of emotion in her hazel eyes, but not one ounce of fear. Murtagh sensed she was a warrior to her core. Without hesitation, he rushed toward her—every fiber of his being needed to be closer to the alluring female.

  Chapter 2

  Tears of joy filled Annis’s eyes when the two high-born males exploded into the barn. From the moment the rogue vampire captured her, she was certain she was going to die.

  Rogues were rare, but she still understood the danger they posed. Females taken by rogues never returned to their families. She had no idea exactly what happened to them, until she was captured.

  The males fed incessantly from her and the other two females without giving them food or water. Annis was convinced she wouldn’t survive the repeated feedings. They were slowly draining them dry.

  She had no idea why she or th
e other females were abducted. She didn’t know them, although one of them looked familiar. Annis thought she was the baker’s daughter that went missing weeks ago. Unfortunately, she couldn’t ask because they weren’t allowed to speak to one another. A rogue stood guard at all times, making sure they didn’t talk or try to break free.

  Shivering, Annis watched the males fight the rogues. She didn’t know who they were or how they found them, only that the males were above her station. As a tanner’s daughter, she would never warrant a second glance from either of these males, and a part of her wondered why they had come to her rescue. No one cared about the lower-class citizens, especially the wealthy.

  It wasn’t just because she was a peasant. She was a tanner’s daughter, and Annis perpetually smelled foul. It was a hazard of the family business. She’d spent her entire life working alongside her father, and fat and other substances from the tanning process were impossible to remove from her hair and skin. Most of the time, she was covered in blood, dung, and dirt as she washed the animal hides for her father. She looked forward to the days when she applied lime to cure the hides. It was pungent but not as vile as the filth from the cleaning process.

  She shook off her thoughts and glanced toward the males. It was a sight to behold, watching them fight the rogue vampires. She couldn’t take her eyes off the male with the piercing blue eyes.

  His shoulder-length hair was tied at the base of his neck with a cord, and his jacket and trousers were made of the finest leathers. Had he visited her family’s business? Surely not, because she would’ve remembered him. He was the most handsome male she’d ever seen. When he looked her way, she wondered for the first time what it might feel like for a male to kiss her.

  There weren’t many prospects in her village for a mate, and the males that lived in the area couldn’t stand Annis’s stench long enough to have a conversation with her. At first, it broke her heart, but after eighty-four years of rejection, she accepted being a spinster. Now, she was shocked if a male paid her any attention.