Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  “Yeah, and what’s in this one?” Louise threw her hands in the air, embracing long-suppressed rage with relish. “Let me guess—me curled up in a ball as an old lady in the nursing home, drooling while I count my imaginary cats.”

  Maurelle laughed out loud, the mocking tone stabbing Louise’s psyche until it bled white-hot fury. “Why in the name of the gods would I need to show you that? You’re more than capable of self-torment. Your thoughts, the hateful inner voice echoing from the depths of your soul? The demons created by your own twisted little mind make my job so much easier.”

  Louise fought the urge to punch Maurelle in the face, clenching her fists until her nails dug deep crescents of pain into her palms. “I’ve been fighting this for years, I’ve been helping others learn to fight their demons, as you call them, like OCD. I’m not wallowing in self-pity or making light of other people’s pain.”

  “Oh, I don’t make light of it either, sweetie,” Maurelle replied, arching one eyebrow. “It’s very serious business, pain. And yours is particularly…satisfying. But today could be a very lucky day, indeed—for you, that is, should you prove worthy of the opportunity.”

  “Now listen—”

  “No!” Long nails slashed through the air in a blur of red as Maurelle waved a hand to silence Louise. “You listen. You can keep hiding in your apartment with your cat and a computer for company, or you can take a chance and have a shot at love and happiness. What are you waiting for? You aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

  Love and happiness? What the hell was she talking about? Instead of asking, Louise rolled her eyes and said, “Now you sound like my mother.”

  “Yes, your dear old mum, who got herself together after divorce and the rock bottom depths of alcoholism. But she got help, pulled through, and got remarried.”

  “But she—”

  “What, she still has issues? Doesn’t everyone? If you’re waiting for perfect, you’ll be waiting a long time indeed.”

  “I never said I was looking for perfect.”

  Bruce spoke, his deep voice considerably gentler than his sister’s, “Then why are you waiting to be perfect?”

  Louise opened her mouth to reply, but the truth behind the words gave her pause. Surely she hadn’t… Damn it, were these wicked creatures right? No, she went out. Not all the time, of course. She wasn’t a party animal, sure, but she went out.

  Bruce smirked, though his gaze was filled with compassion, and said, “When’s the last time you went out with a man?”

  “It’s been a while, sure, but it’s not like I’m opposed to the idea.”

  “Of course you are. It’s why you ran away from the guy in your office building this afternoon. You know he’s straight, single, and kind. Don’t act like you haven’t been checking him out and getting all of the info you can on him.”

  Ugh, Bruce made her sound like a stalker. As if she wasn’t already embarrassed enough by this entire exercise in humiliation, Bruce just had to go and throw her epic fail back in her face.

  Cheeks burning, she picked her pride up off the floor and said, “I was having a panic attack and he turned up at the worst time. What was I supposed to do? Hold out my hand and say, ‘Hi, you seem like a nice fella, and I’d love to talk to you, but could you maybe wait until I finish counting to sixty-eight? You know, on account of my OCD, because that’s hot, right?’”

  “Why not?” Bruce shrugged, then smiled brightly, “Of course, you’d probably have a better shot if you went with sixty-nine.”

  Louise snorted. “Now you sound like one of your minions.”

  Bruce laughed. “Well done. Smart-ass looks good on you. No wonder Sera likes you. Keep that, too. Now then, you have a choice to make. An opportunity, if you will. Look over there.”

  Louise followed his pointed finger with her gaze and stopped breathing. Good God, he was here, standing by the bar and nursing a glass of some amber liquid. Scotch, maybe. The man from the elevator this afternoon, still in his tailored grey suit, lavender shirt, and the tie with the fleur-de-lis pattern, but he’d ditched the suit jacket and now sported a five o’clock shadow. It gave him an air of roguish charm to balance out the glasses. Her very own naughty professor.

  Wait, what? He wasn’t hers.

  “He won’t be if you don’t go over and talk to him,” Maurelle drawled.

  Louise raised her eyebrows at the small, mysterious woman. “So if I do this, will you take away the OCD? I mean, that’s what happens in all the fairy tales, right?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do I look like your fairy godmother?”

  No, you look more like Cruella Deville, but it was worth a shot.

  “Don’t try my patience. We brought you here. We brought him here. The rest is up to you. Take it or leave it.” Maurelle slid the last box toward her. It appeared harmless enough, but she hesitated before touching it.

  “It won’t burn you.”

  “I suppose asking what’s in it or what to do with it would be pointless,” she muttered, holding it in the palm of her right hand while stroking it with her left. Just an ordinary box— beautiful, but the other had been as well. Look what had happened when she’d opened it.

  Then again, she’d survived. She’d survived the past and the reliving of it, even if the side effects were unpleasant and lingering. But she knew and understood the past and present. The future was an unknown, full of infinite possibilities for joy, sorrow, terror, and everything in between.

  She took a deep breath and put the box back on the table, a stab of regret piercing her heart. This wasn’t right. People didn't get magical cures from tiny boxes. Or mystical glimpses of their future. That only worked in fairy tales, and life was not some neat little fairy tale with happy fairy tale endings.

  Life was messy, complicated, and full of soaring joys and desolate sorrows. Even for elemental guardians and their great-great-great-great-granddaughters…like Louise.

  Sometimes magic couldn’t be the answer.

  “It’s really nice to have someone to share it with,” Bruce said. “A shot at happiness is worth the risk any day.”

  Turning away from the strange siblings, Louise tightened her grip on the handbag clutched at her side and walked toward the bar. One, two, three, four… It would take at least ten steps, maybe eleven to get there. And then she could count the bottles on the mirrored shelves behind him.

  “Hi,” she said, fighting not to dip her head and avert her gaze. Passing out was a distinct possibility at this point, but at least he’d seen that before.

  “Oh, hey,” he replied, after swallowing the sip he’d just taken from the glass tumbler. He rubbed his hands over his slacks and shook his head. “Good to see you, I mean, I…ah…well…I was kind of worried when you just disappeared earlier. Are you okay? Oh, I’m Callum, by the way. Callum O’Daniel.” He extended his hand with such an endearing awkwardness, she almost stumbled over her mental tally in the rum section.

  Crap. She’d been counting again. Nerves.

  “Louise,” she said, accepting the proffered hand. Warm, but a bit clammy. Was he nervous? His grip was firm and reassuring, though, which gave her the courage to continue. “Louise Erin, from Public Relations.”

  “Nice to meet you. I just got hired by Accounting.”

  She lost it and he let go of her hand, apparently startled.

  Well, of course he’s startled, idiot. That’s what happens when you throw the totally inappropriate laugh-snort combo during introductions.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, gasping between residual giggles. “It’s just a little, um, inside joke between me and some interesting friends.”

  He smiled. God, somehow this guy managed to infuse the crooked lift of his lips with enough boyish charm and smart-ass challenge to melt her heart. “It’s pretty refreshing, actually. Most folks either look bored or panicked when they meet a numbers guy.”

  “Numbers are kind of a thing for me.”

  “You won’t hear me complaining.”
>
  She sighed. “Not yet, but you will. Trust me.”

  He didn’t laugh it off or dive into another topic. He just slouched against the bar, nursing his drink and piercing her with his gaze. Those rich brown eyes looked at her over the lenses of decidedly non-rose-colored glasses and invited her to elaborate.

  “Back at the office, I wasn’t having a blood sugar crash. I was having a panic attack. I’m not a diabetic. I have OCD and I count stuff to cope.”

  He just stared at her.

  “Well?” She’d expected some sort of reaction, surprise, or an indication of discomfort and awkward embarrassment along with some lame excuse, like he needed to get going, but dead silence?

  “Okay,” he said. He didn’t look away, just cocked his head as if thinking. “What’s that like?” Then he shook his head and grimaced. “Wait, first thing’s first. Want to get a table? Have a drink and some pub grub while we talk and, ah, get to know each other?”

  She laughed again, trying to stifle the sob clawing its way out of her throat.

  Callum winced. “I messed up, didn’t I? Said the wrong thing. I’m not trying to pry, and we can talk about something else if you want, but I would like to get to know you if you’re, you know, interested?”

  God, he was so adorable, so beautifully awkward and open. He was just a nice guy asking a girl—one with a mental illness that had made more than one nice guy cut and run in the past—to sit down and…talk.

  “Okay.” Louise blinked hard but managed to smile. “We can talk. I’m just surprised you want to.”

  “Because you told me you have OCD?”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “In my experience, disclosing my diagnosis tends to make men run for the hills. It’s a lot to take, especially for you since you saw me in the middle of a panic attack.”

  He didn’t dismiss it like it was nothing, or say something stupid like everyone’s a little OCD, a line that drove her bananas, metaphorically speaking. She appreciated it. She also appreciated the way his hair stuck up in the back and the small dimple on his left cheek when he smiled. He still smelled really good. Odds were those arms would feel really, really good wrapped around her.

  “It’s not the only time I’ve seen you,” he said. “Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, I noticed you around the office.”

  Was he blushing? A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. He was. It was so cute, so ordinary, and yet so extraordinary.

  “To be honest, I’d been working up the nerve to talk to you. Thought I finally had my chance back at the elevator.”

  Her smile fell, and she looked away, not wanting to find pity in his gaze. “Yeah, guess I ruined the moment.”

  “No,” he said, his voice loud and insistent. She jerked her head up, startled, and almost took a step back when she caught the intensity in his gaze.

  He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m doing this all wrong.”

  “You’re not,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “I’m no good at this sort of thing, either. I’m sorry. You don’t have to, you know, feel obliged to hang around. I manage okay most days, but my illness is chronic. I’ll have more moments like the one you saw.” And worse.

  “I don’t feel obliged,” he said, putting his hand over hers. “Nothing’s changed. When I looked up and saw you walking over to me tonight, I thought, ‘Wow, this is your second chance. Don’t blow it.’ I hope I haven’t.”

  “No, you haven’t,” she said. “Let’s sit down.”

  He grinned, charming her with the dimple, and took her hand in his. As they walked toward the table, he said, “This is going to sound corny, but I swear this feels like, I don’t know, fate? Like this is where I was meant to be tonight—here, with you.”

  “Not corny at all,” she said, smiling. She glanced back at the corner table, but Maurelle and Bruce, the unlikely instruments of fate, were gone. “I think this is where I’m meant to be, too.”

  She counted the steps to the table. Seven. She counted the number of beats as her heart fluttered—not with panic, this time, but with giddy excitement. Ten. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Callum. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  The corners of Bruce’s mouth turned up in a smile as he watched Louise and Callum talking over drinks. Satisfied with her “meal,” Maurelle left not long after they’d sent Louise off to enjoy her date with destiny. His sister wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, but she’d given him a quick peck on the cheek before dashing off into the night.

  That in and of itself would have made the mission worthwhile.

  Bringing two souls together, making the world a little bit brighter, filled him with a sense of satisfaction he’d been missing. Sera had been right. This was exactly what he’d needed.

  And, right on cue, his phone pinged with a text from his mate.

  * * *

  How’d it go?

  * * *

  He texted back.

  * * *

  Great. I think your friend is at the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

  * * *

  She replied a few seconds later.

  * * *

  Feeling better?

  * * *

  He laughed. Of course she’d do the whole I-told-you-so thing.

  * * *

  I do. You were right. What would I ever do without you? Satisfied?

  * * *

  Her next text widened his smile and had his heart thumping.

  * * *

  Not yet, but I will be as soon as you get your fine ass back home. Just bring some ice cream. And pickles.

  * * *

  She didn’t have to tell him twice. With a light heart and a spring in his step, Bruce left the two lovebirds in the restaurant to their budding romance so he could go home and enjoy his own.

  About D. B. Sieders

  Award-winning author D.B. writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance. Her stories feature unlikely heroes and heroines who face a healthy dose of angst as they strive for redemption and a happily ever after, which everyone deserves. She lives in Nashville, Tennessee, with a husband, two children, a rotating number of cats, and her very active imagination. Want to know more about Bruce and his matchmaking adventures? Check out the Southern Elemental Guardians series. Book 3 (Firestorm) is his, but he features in all of the books. Stay tuned for Boice and Roice! The twin demons of technology will show up in a brand new series.

  Connect with D.B. Sieders

  Website

  Also by D.B. Sieders:

  Lorelei’s Lyric (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 1)

  Crosscurrents (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 2)

  Firestorm (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 3)

  River Spell (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 4)

  Forest Charmed (Southern Elemental Guardians Book 5)

  * * *

  Dragons of Tarakona

  * * *

  Waking the Dead (Soul Broker Book 1)

  Raising the Dead (Soul Broker Book 2)

  The Quick and the Dead (Soul Broker Book 3)

  With His Life by Theresa Hissong

  A Rise of the Pride Short Story

  Chapter 1

  The sun was still below the horizon when Talon Shaw awoke, but that wasn’t uncommon for him. He wanted nothing more than to stay in bed on that cold February morning, but his job as alpha to the Shaw pride was never going to be a nine to five gig where he could call in sick or ask for vacation time. His family, the pride of panthers that resided on his land, needed their leader at all hours of the day and night, but that morning, he just wanted to hold his mate, Liberty, a little longer.

  He rolled to his side, using his strong arm to curl around his mate’s waist. The connection of their mating tingled across his skin when he drew her back to his bare chest. His beast rumbled at her scent. He’d never tire of that feeling, knowing Liberty was his forever.

  The magic he was born with swirled around his body like a live
wire. It wasn’t very often he felt uneasy, but when he did, there was usually a reason. The fact that whatever his senses were worried about surrounded the love of his life only made him want to tell the pride to hold their needs of him for another day.

  “Mmmm, Talon,” Liberty mumbled with sleep fogging her voice, making the sound husky and warm. “What’s wrong?”

  Of course, she felt his unease. His magic wasn’t only his, it belonged to his entire pride. When he was on edge, his people felt it through the connection of his blood. Most of the time, he kept the magic at bay, hiding some of his concerns. When he wasn’t himself, the entire pride was affected. Today was going to be one of those days.

  “My mystical mojo is all out of whack,” he mumbled into her hair. Liberty had used the phrase when it came to his magic. When she’d first used it in reference to his powers, it pissed him off, but now he expected it from her, and actually thought it was cute. He couldn’t fault her for being weird about him in the beginning since she had been born human.

  “Why?” she asked, her voice less husky and more concerned in an instant.

  “I just need to hold you.” He evaded her question, rubbing his thumb over some exposed skin on her side. He paused for a moment, letting the warmth settle into his bones.

  “You’re not answering me,” she scolded, twisting around so she was facing him. Her icy blue eyes bore into his. She’d always been able to read him much like he could read his pride. She had some of his alpha magic inside her, acquiring it from the blood share he’d done with her to save her life and change her into a panther shifter like himself. “Something’s wrong.”