by Fox, Piper
She nodded and pulled out her phone. After we’d traded contact information, she began gathering up her belongings. “Do you think you could possibly take me somewhere with a real train station? Or maybe an airport? I’m not missing my stay at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
* * *
It turned out Yuma had an airport. I offered to let MaddieAnne stay in the van until the sun rose, but she declined. The last I saw was the determined set of her shoulders as she strode into the building.
I assumed I’d hear back from MaddieAnne after she had some more experience under her belt. Assuming she didn’t get herself killed first.
But I could just about guarantee that MaddieAnne assumed she’d never have to see me again.
I couldn’t help but snicker just a little.
Wolf glanced up at me in the closest thing I’d ever seen to a wolfy side-eye.
“I know, I know. And I really don’t want her to get hurt. But she’s so damn snooty.”
Still, I grinned as I drove away.
In that last fight, I’d seen more than a hint of Gracie in MaddieAnne. They were definitely related. And though I wouldn’t admit it to MaddieAnne, it had felt good to once again tag-team a monster while fighting beside a cousin.
That hadn’t happened in far too long.
I hoped she could come to truly accept her destiny.
Her curse.
Our curse.
Chapter 12
MaddieAnne
It took everything I had to trust Blaize.
As I watched the Sunset Express pull of out Yuma, Arizona on its way to cultured California, my heart sank. The last week had been the hardest of my life, and now I’d just learned that my destiny might involve breaking more than a few nails in hand-to-hand combat.
Just when you think you know yourself.
I waved good-bye to Blaize, Wolf, and the van at the departures terminal of the Yuma airport. I was sure I wouldn’t miss the van. At all.
It would be morning before I could get a flight to LA, but the airport was small, and the gate agent promised she’d wake me when my flight started boarding. I fell asleep at the gate, paperback open on my chest.
I was in LA by nine the next morning and settling in my suite just in time for lunch.
My room was plush and luxurious and a balm to my soul.
After ordering room service, I took a shower, washed the grime of the desert and the ghouls out of my hair, and wrapped it in a towel. I ate my chicken salad croissant in my robe and then snuggled into bed for a well-deserved nap.
When I woke, it was late afternoon judging by the slant of the sunlight streaming through my windows.
I needed a manicure, and a pedicure, and a new Louis Vuitton valise. All those would be easy to procure in Beverly Hills.
But when I thought of those things, things that used to make me happy, I felt a little empty inside.
Killing not one, but two, ghouls with the help of Blaize and Wolf had awakened something in me, a satisfaction I’d never felt before El Paso.
Maybe I was more than just a Southern girl who knew Lenox flatware patterns better than anyone who didn’t work at Macy’s had any right to. Maybe I was a little bit of a demon-hunting badass.
If I was, I wasn’t going to do it like Blaize. I was going to do it my own way, with grace and style and my trademark panache.
I picked up the remote, ready to escape into the world of reality television, but before I clicked the power button, I called downstairs.
“Concierge,” a man answered.
“I’d like for you to arrange karate lessons for me. Beginning tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am. What time works best for you?”
“Anytime. Just let me know.”
“Good enough, Miss Honeycutt.”
I hung up the phone and smiled.
It was better to be prepared. Just in case.
About the Authors
Margo Bond Collins
New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author Margo Bond Collins is a former college English professor who, tired of explaining the difference between "hanged" and "hung," turned to writing romance novels instead. Sometimes her heroines kiss aliens, sometimes they kill monsters. But they always aim for the heart.
Keep in touch with Margo online.
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* * *
Blaire Edens
Blaire Edens lives in the mountains of North Carolina. She grew up on a farm that's been in her family since 1790. She's held a myriad of jobs including television reporter, GPS map creator, and personal assistant to a fellow who was rich enough to pay someone to pick up the dry cleaning. When she's not plotting, she's busy knitting, running, or listening to the Blues.
Keep in touch with Blaire online.
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Cat Among The Demons
Supernatural Guardians Series Prequel
Lillia Hunter
About Cat Among the Demons
When Kat Emerson takes in a stray cat in the middle of a snowstorm, she has no idea how much her life is going to change. When someone - or something - tries to break into her house, she discovers that her new feline companion isn’t what he seems.
Now, with demons out to kill her for magic that she didn’t even know she had, can she learn to control it before time runs out and survive long enough to find out if love can be furever?
Chapter 1
“Hey, kitty. Come on, come here, sweetie pie. It’s okay,” Kat cooed.
The huge black cat stared at her from a safe distance, peering at her from just under the bumper of her car on the snowed in driveway. Kat stared back, half-convinced she’d just seen a flash of amusement in its eyes. She shivered and glanced around. She’d heard more of those strange noises near the house not long ago and she really didn’t want to be outside in the dark, but she couldn’t leave an animal outside in this weather. She wrapped her arms around herself as a blast of icy air swirled around her, lifting her long, dark hair and whipping it across her face. Snow drifted from the skies, beginning to come down thickly, and it was already several inches deep.
“Come on, kitty. Please. You can’t stay out here on your own in this. And it’s freezing. I really want to go inside. How about you?” She patted her thigh. “Come on, beautiful. Come inside where its warm.”
The cat cocked its head as though it was listening but didn’t move. She took a slow step forward and then another, wondering if she could get close enough to pick the animal up and if it would let her. She’d seen it hanging around the house for a few days now, always nearby but never too close. It didn’t have a collar and, although it looked well fed, she didn’t think it belonged to anyone.
Kat took another cautious step and was almost within reach of the stunning black cat when she heard her neighbour calling, “Tiberius, come back here.” She watched helplessly as her neighbour’s dog approached, growling, and headed straight for her feline visitor, that was unconcernedly washing its front paw while ninety pounds of muscular German shepherd bore down on it.
She ran towards them, “No, Tiberius. Leave him alone.”
But she was too late. The huge dog launched himself into the air.
The cat turned to face him and, from somewhere, Kat heard a full-throated roar that wouldn’t have been out of place in the jungle. Tiberius put the brakes on so hard that he twisted around in midair and landed facing almost back the way he’d come. He ran back down the hill hell for leather, whimpering and heading for the safety of his own yard.
The cat sat back down and casually inspected its other front paw as if nothing had happened at all.
Kat looked around, a prickle of unease running down her spine, feeling ridiculous for checking that no j
ungle creatures were about to suddenly appear out of nowhere, then she ran towards the cat and risked scooping it up. He - it was definitely a boy cat - snuggled into her shoulder, purring, and nuzzled her face as if he’d been born to be hers. She retreated hurriedly into the house, cat in her arms, and shut the door.
In the hallway, Kat looked down at him. “Are you okay, sweetie? I thought I’d lost you for a minute.” She frowned. “That noise wasn’t… You didn’t… Of course not. I don’t know what that was, but it can’t have been you.” She tickled him under the chin and he purred again, resting his head on her hand. “No, look at your cute little face. You couldn’t have made that noise. What was I thinking?”
Her new cat let out the tiniest of delicate mews as if to say, ‘who me?’ then jumped out of her arms and followed his nose to the kitchen in search of food.
* * *
“Who’s a gorgeous boy?” Kat smiled as her new boy turned himself in circles a few times and then lay down full length along her side. “Well, my not-so-little house panther, what shall I call you?” She tickled him under the chin and he purred. “Midnight? Coal? No, I’ve got it. How about Inky? Well, I am a writer, after all, and you couldn’t be a darker shade of black. Yeah, let’s go with Inky.” She stroked his head gently and then rested her hand on his back and snuggled down into her pillows, beginning to relax for the first time in days, even though they’d heard those odd, scary noises outside again, not long after she’d brought him in and closed the door.
Inky had not liked hearing the noises outside any more than she had. He'd leapt off the sofa and paced around the house, hissing and yowling, his fur standing on end. At one point, he'd run upstairs and then she'd heard that odd full-throated roar again and she'd almost leapt off the sofa, too. She'd hurried around the house again, double-checking that the windows and doors were all locked. She couldn't tell where the roaring noise was coming from and she had no desire at all to find out what was causing it, or the other noises. She had no intention of being the dim-witted one in the horror movie who opened the door wide and went out to investigate. Nope, not happening. She was staying right where she was in front of the fire.
Soon after that, the noises had stopped altogether and Inky came running happily back into the lounge, tail up and curled into a question mark, before jumping onto her lap and going to sleep.
Speaking of sleep, she could feel herself drifting off. Somehow, however unlikely it sounded, she felt safer now that she had her beautiful cat.
* * *
Kat had no idea how long she'd been asleep but she was awoken abruptly by something that sounded like cannon fire. A screaming whine sounded outside, as if a World War II bomb was streaking across the sky, and then the whole house shook as whatever it was landed somewhere outside. She sat up in bed, just about catching sight of a blur as Inky tore out of the bedroom and headed downstairs.
Oh god. He must be terrified. She was terrified, so he really must be. She picked up the hockey stick that she'd taken to leaving by her bed and cautiously crept to the top of the stairs, peering down into the hall. Someone shook the front door so hard that she could actually see it move and the handle started to twist even though it was locked, as if a great force was being applied to it. She heard the rattle of claws on the tiled kitchen floor. They were coming nearer, far bigger and heavier than any noise Inky could possibly have made. Though what else it could be... she didn't even want to think about. Then as the front door started to open and a gnarled, misshapen hand reached inside, a blood curdling roar rang out and a huge black shadow sped into the hall from the kitchen, knocking over the coat stand as it went.
That was quite enough. She'd seen enough and she didn't want to see any more. Kat dropped her hockey stick and ran as fast as her legs could carry her back into her bedroom. She shut the door as quietly as she could and pushed a chest of drawers in front of it, then she huddled into the far corner, making herself as small as possible.
More snarling roars sounded, and she could hear breaking glass and what sounded like a small army knocking furniture over.
She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Wrapping her arms around herself for comfort, she covered her ears as inhuman screams came from below. For a long time, she couldn't move, tears streaming down her cheeks and sobs wracking her body as what sounded like a battle royal raged downstairs.
Finally, the front door opened and slammed shut and she heard footsteps running away outside.
Silence.
* * *
Nothing on Earth could have made her open that bedroom door and go downstairs. Nothing except her worry for her new cat.
She pushed the chest of drawers away from the door and opened it a tiny bit. She peeked out into the corridor, looking first left and then right, but there was nothing; no-one to be found and absolute silence where uproar had been before. She dared to open the door a little more and poked her head out. So far, so good. Cautiously, she stepped out into the corridor and bent to pick up the hockey stick that she'd dropped in her flight from whatever the hell had been going on downstairs.
Holding the stick high in both hands, she crept slowly downstairs, step by step, pausing and holding her breath every time the floorboards creaked, in case someone was still in the house.
After a tense few moments, Kat reached the hallway that led to the front door. The door was clearly the worse for wear, with a splintered, almost scorched looking frame and the handle hanging on by a thread, much like her nerve. But she was relieved to see that there was no-one there and she couldn't hear anyone else in the house.
"Inky," she whispered. "Come on, sweetheart."
She paused, waiting to see if he would come to her, but he didn't appear.
"Inky," she tried, a little louder. "They've gone. You can come out now."
Nothing. Her stomach dropped as she realised that he could have run outside when the door was open and gotten lost in the heavy snow. Oh god. What if she never saw him again?
A quiet huffing sound that might have been her cat came from the lounge and she slowly pushed open the door, hockey stick raised just in case, only to come face to face with a full-grown black jaguar, panting heavily.
She would have screamed but she didn't seem to be capable of even breathing, never mind moving any part of her body. The jaguar padded towards her and she closed her eyes. Surely this was the end.
* * *
She jumped and opened her eyes as she felt the warmth of soft fur against her hand, and then froze again as she realised the jaguar was standing right in front of her, pushing his head into her hand, just like any domestic cat wanting to be petted. She swallowed, not knowing what to do, but knowing she had no hope of escape if the creature attacked.
The jaguar rubbed its head against her thigh and licked her hand gently, the rough, sandpaper-like feel of his tongue instantly recognisable to anyone who'd ever had a cat.
Was it having a taste first before it decided to eat her? She didn't want to find out. Somehow, she managed to make her legs work and she slowly took one step back away from the beast, but it followed her and pushed its head against her hand again.
"Meow," it said, in a distinctly human, male voice.
Kat did a double take, “Did you just say…meow? What the…? No,” She shook her head. “Definitely not. I’m obviously imagining things. Oh, I’m still asleep, aren’t I? This is a dream. Of course, it is.”
She looked suspiciously at the jaguar and it looked back, eyes bright, with just the same expression as a mischievous human. It blinked slowly at her, just once, and flicked the tip of its tail, then it sat down neatly, purring.
Kat looked into its clear blue eyes. There was something familiar about them. She’d seen them before. It couldn’t be. Could it? “Inky? Is that you?” Well, why not? This was one hell of a dream. Why not have a cat that changed into a jaguar? Perhaps she could put wings on it next.
The big cat nodded its head and slow blinked at her again. It moved back a little way f
rom her and shook itself, its body beginning to shimmer and blur in front of her eyes.
She took a step back, trying to get away from whatever was happening now, but she hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go. Her legs gave way and she sank down onto the floor.
Another roar tore from the jaguar's throat as it began to change and shift right in front of her eyes. Muscles shifted and bone reformed, fur receded and blood pumped through newly shaped legs and arms until, instead of either cat or jaguar, a grown man stood, fully clothed in front of her.
He stretched his neck from side to side and pushed his shoulder blades back. "Ah, that's better. It's been a while."
Kat looked up at him, awestruck. He was tall, at least six feet, with muscles that looked almost as powerful as the jaguar's, jet black, shoulder length hair and those same beautiful clear blue eyes she'd seen in both her cat and the jaguar. And his face...Kat sighed. If Jason Momoa and Joe Manganiello had had a baby, this was that baby.
She sighed again. "Okay. Best. Dream. Ever."
The man's lips twitched in amusement, "Well, thank you." He reached out a hand. "Here, let me help you up."
His voice was warm and deep, with a hint of a growl, and Kat's legs wobbled anew for quite a different reason as he helped her to her feet. She couldn't look away. Apparently, neither could he.
They stared at each other for a long moment before Kat realised she was still holding his hand. She hurriedly let go. "Sorry. I..." She blushed and looked at the floor, then around the room, realising for the first time how little furniture she had left. The television was on the floor, on its side, the screen in far too many pieces to count, and the sofa looked as if something had shredded it with its claws. She looked at the man/jaguar in front of her. Come to think of it, something probably had. "Oh god." She shook her head in denial. "No, this is a dream," she said, stubbornly. "It's just a dream, and everything will be back to normal in the morning."