The Red Shoe Chronicles : A Fantasy Romance Anthology

by N. R. Larry

  “Gen.” She sighed. “You scared the shit out of me, I thought you were gone.”

  The woman’s expression folded into an agonized mask.

  She narrowed her eyes and inched closer. As she did, Gen’s pale skin flickered, turning hallow and burning crimson red. Destiny’s mouth began to gape. She reached out to touch her.

  The tip of her finger connected to Gen’s sharp cheek bone and something zapped her.

  Gen’s power.

  It wasn’t really her, but some energy form she’d left behind.

  Everything inside of Destiny emptied out and she crashed to the floor, her body rocking with violent sobs.

  “I suppose this is where I monologue, Des.” The holographic image of Genesis flickered as tears of rage rolled down Destiny’s cheeks. “Only this time, the bad guy wins.”

  Destiny glared up at the image and swatted at it. Her hand trapped in a web of ruby energy, and when she tried to pull it back, she was trapped.

  “You deserve better than this, Des. But I am not better. I never was.” The copy of Genesis lowered herself to the floor and sat with her legs crossed.

  Destiny scrutinized the hologram’s outfit. It was her old super suit, a scarlet genie costume that included silk, baggy pants, and a sheer veil covering her mouth.

  “What I didn’t tell you about the shoes is that while they give you whatever you want, they also take from you your greatest strength.”

  Destiny pressed her hand against her chest.

  “No,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time.

  Her flair.

  She shook her head and once again tried to jerk away from Genesis’ holographic form.

  “I also didn’t tell you why I really went to the moon.” Her gaze lowered. “I went there to find out how to win, and there was only one way. To take you out. This was the only way I could do it. I talked to a psychic during my trip and she told me you came out of retirement, that you stopped me, that you…” She shook her head. “I know I’m a monster for this. I won’t pretend not to be, but the heroes are wrong, and without me, the world succumb to their tyranny.

  So, I had to take out the only hero that could stop me doing from what I have to do.”

  Destiny whimpered, trying to pull her hand away. She added her free arm to the effort and strained until sweat beads built up along her hairline. “You wouldn’t do this.”

  “I’m long gone, so don’t look for me. None of you will be able to find me, not until I want you do. And Des—”

  She stared into the sockets where Gen’s eyes should have been. Red bursts of light crackled within them.

  “Know that I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. And one day, when this is over, I hope you can forgive me. I hope that you’re the kind of woman that can love a monster.”

  With that, the hologram flickered out, releasing Destiny’s hands. She fell onto her back with a thud, and rolled her head to the side. She knew she should get up. Call the Sling Group. Call Brutus. But she didn’t.

  She just lay there, staring at those damned red shoes that were the only thing Genesis left behind. Tears blurred her vision as the empty feeling of no longer having her power dug holes into her. She didn’t even try to use her flair because she knew what Genesis had said was true.

  She was flair less.

  Useless.

  Alone.

  After drowning in her new reality for what felt like weeks, she gathered herself up and walked over to the window that started this whole thing. She untied her old cape from the hinge and hugged it to her chest. Then, she took the stairs to the bottom floor with deliberate slowness.

  When she walked out into the chilly air, Brutus was gone, of course, the shoes probably sent him on his way as part of their magic, but other than that, the world was exactly how Destiny left it before she went into that building.

  Before she walked into the world’s most obvious trap.

  For some reason, the fact that the world felt like it should be falling apart, but wasn’t, gave her comfort.

  She may no longer have her flair, but she was still a hero, and as long as the world kept spinning, she’d keep fighting for it. Genesis may have taken her power, but she she’d also confessed her love.

  And love was a better weapon than any superpowered flair she could think of.

  Waving the White Cape is part of a larger universe coming soon that will include the (YA) series White Hat Academy and Unlikely Heroes. For updates, join the Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/233678740683267

  About the Author

  N.R. Larry is the New York Times bestselling author of multicultural paranormal fantasy. She curses too much and is a DC comics fangirl, or fanatic, depending on who you ask. For teens, she writes as Natasha Larry and lives somewhere with her daughter. Her published works include The Night, Underground Magic, and Gods and Monsters.

  Read more from N.R. Larry

  https://www.facebook.com/natashalarrybooks

  https://www.facebook.com/thenightebook

  https://www.facebook.com/InhumanetheBook

  New Orleans Heat

  Margo Bond Collins & London Kingsley

  About New Orleans Heat

  When Jenna Riggs’ twin sister Angelina sends her a pair of red stiletto heels and an invitation to meet up in New Orleans, Jenna never expects to end up having to pretend to be her own twin—or to hook up with the hottest man she’s ever met. The only problem? No one is who they seem to be…

  Chapter 1

  Damn it all to hell.

  This was not how her first trip to New Orleans was supposed to go.

  Jenna Riggs glanced down at her phone, checking the name of the bar her sister Angelina had texted her against the sign hanging over the building across the street.

  Pirates Cove, on Burgundy. Meet me there.

  She was in the right place—a narrow corner building painted a light blue. Heavy wrought-iron scrollwork formed a rail around the small balcony overlooking the street. Couples sat sipping drinks at the black metal bistro tables, watching as people streamed past on the boulevard below.

  Angelina had said that the tourist industry still didn’t match pre-Hurricane-Katrina levels, but the French Quarter had seemed plenty crowded to Jenna as she threaded her rental car down the narrow, one-way streets until she found a parking garage.

  Then again, Angelina had said a lot of things.

  Like It’ll be fun. And You need to get laid. Come visit me, and we’ll find some hot one-night-stand action for you.

  And, weirdly enough, When you get here, put on the shoes in this box and do not take them off again.

  The shoes in the package Angelina sent were gorgeous, Jenna had to admit—bright red with stiletto heels that were absolutely not her style. Besides, she wasn’t about to try to walk through the French Quarter in heels.

  The rest of the plan was as ridiculous as the heels. But, although Jenna had laughed and told her twin that she was being silly, the idea of finding a hot guy for some short-term fun had held more appeal than she was willing to admit out loud.

  It had been a long time since she had stepped out of her quiet routine.

  And never to the extent that Angelina was suggesting.

  But the thought of finding some handsome, anonymous stranger and taking him back to a hotel—hell, just taking him, or letting him take her—had fueled her fantasies for the last month.

  And now here she was, standing in front of a French Quarter dive bar, searching for her sister instead.

  The humid air was stifling. A drop of sweat rolled down between her breasts and she sighed.

  Might as well go inside.

  An air-conditioned breeze brushed against her as she pushed the door open, instantly cooling the perspiration that had beaded in her cleavage, and tiny goose-bumps took its place. She blinked to adjust her eyes to the dim interior.

  The main room was relatively empty, only a few tables occupied. She scanned the spac
e for Angelina, but didn’t see her twin.

  Of course.

  At the far end, next to a rack of pool cues, two men sat at a table. The one facing her made eye contact, then spoke to his companion, jerking his chin to point towards Jenna. The other man turned in his seat to look at her, and Jenna’s heart stuttered in her chest.

  He was gorgeous.

  Dark hair brushed the collar of the leather motorcycle jacket that stretched across his broad shoulders. One hand rested against a muscular, jeans-clad thigh, and his bicep bulged a little as he twisted around.

  But his eyes were what held her attention. Bright green, even in the dim light of the bar, they pinned her down in an intense gaze. She could feel her own eyes widen as her sweat-chilled skin tingled under his scrutiny. Even her nipples tightened.

  Dear God. Angelina is right. I do need to get laid.

  It took more willpower than Jenna anticipated, but she broke eye contact and slid onto a bar-stool, running her fingers across the scarred wood in front of her. A gray-haired bartender finished wiping down the end of the bar and turned to her. “What can I get you?”

  Mr. Gorgeous over there.

  “Gin and tonic,” she said aloud. So what if it was only three in the afternoon? She was on vacation.

  Without Angelina, apparently.

  She heaved another sigh.

  Leave it to her twin to be late, as usual. And so damned secretive. Why couldn’t she have simply called Jenna to tell her when and where to meet, instead of pulling some cloak-and-dagger bullshit? Why a text right before Jenna’s flight left Dallas?

  She was probably running down a story—as a brand new, junior reporter for the New Orleans Times-Picayune, Angelina worked crazy hours. And Jenna had known that her sister would still be on the job, even as she played hostess for Jenna’s first Mardi Gras ever.

  Still, she could at least have met Jenna at the airport instead of leaving her twin to find a rental car and make her way to the French Quarter.

  Staring at the door and willing Angelina to arrive wasn’t working, but she was so distracted by the effort that she jumped a little when the barkeep set her drink down in front of her.

  “Not your usual,” he said.

  How did he know?

  “No. But it sounded right in this heat.” She pulled a twenty out of her purse and paid, then sipped at the drink. The cool, pine taste of the gin against the sharp lime was absolutely perfect, and she closed her eyes as she slumped a little. She would give Angelina fifteen minutes, and then she was heading to the address she had for her sister.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” The deep voice startled her out of her reverie. She spun on her seat to find Mr. Gorgeous from the back table standing beside her, glaring at her with those amazing green eyes.

  “Excuse me?” She kept her voice low, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

  His eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared a bit. “I asked why you’re here.”

  Jenna could feel heat rolling off him as he took a step closer. She swallowed convulsively, then took another drink to steady herself.

  What was this? Why did this stranger seem so very angry with her?

  “Waiting for someone,” she finally said.

  He reached out and grasped her upper arm, clasping so hard that she yelped.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped. The remains of her gin and tonic slopped over the rim of her glass, and he took it away from her, setting it down on the bar—he treated the glass more gently than he was treating her, some back portion of her brain noted.

  “Getting you out of here. It’s not safe.” His voice was as hard as his grip, and she stumbled as he tugged her off the barstool. She had enough presence of mind to grab her purse as she lurched after him toward the door, but as he moved into the bright afternoon sunlight, she planted her feet on the ground and refused to budge. He was strong enough—and pulling hard enough—that the soles of her flats slid across the hot sidewalk.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  “I told you not to come back,” he said. “You’re going to get hurt.”

  Told her not to come back?

  Oh my God.

  He thought she was Angelina.

  It had been years since anyone had mistaken her for Angelina. They were identical twins, sure, but people who knew them rarely mistook them for one another—Angelina was loud, brash, extraverted. The life of any party. Everything Jenna was not.

  She drew in a breath to tell him she wasn’t her sister, but he reached up and placed his forefinger against her lips to stop her from speaking. An electric spark leapt between them, and he hesitated, then blinked at her.

  Shaking his head as if to clear it, he said, “I’ll come by your place later. You need to get out of here before Salas shows up.”

  And then he was gone, headed back into the dim coolness of the bar, leaving Jenna gaping after him, rubbing the fast-fading imprint of his hand on her arm.

  Crap.

  What had Angelina gotten herself into?

  And how was Mr. Gorgeous involved?

  New Orleans police detective Corvin LaValle stalked back into the bar, clenching his fists to hide the slight tremor that ran through them.

  What the fuck was Angelina Riggs doing back here?

  And what was different about her? He had never been attracted to her before—hell, he hadn’t reacted to her at all just one day earlier, even when she had practically thrown herself at him, purring that she knew he had information she needed. Implying that she knew something about him, something that he might want to keep secret.

  He had been certain that his thinly veiled threats had convinced her to back off.

  I should have known better.

  He was inches away from taking down the Salas crime ring. He had them on narcotics and prostitution. And almost enough evidence to bust them on human trafficking, too.

  What he didn’t have was time to babysit some fledgling reporter out to make a name for herself—and bound to get in trouble along the way, probably blowing his cover and taking him down along with her.

  And he sure as hell didn’t have time to waste thinking about her ass.

  But that’s exactly what he was doing. From the moment Luis had pointed her out today, she had captivated his attention. She looked different this afternoon. Softer. Her blonde hair seemed less brassy, her blue eyes less piercing—but more inviting. And as she hitched herself up on the barstool, flashing a length of long, lean leg under her black skirt, he felt himself go hard—it had taken a full five minutes before he could stand up to escort her back out of the bar.

  He leaned his elbows on the scratched wood and called out to Edwin, “Hey. Two more beers, when you get a chance?”

  Touching her had been a bad idea, probably. He could still feel the heat of her lips against his fingers.

  Moving into the men’s room, he closed the door behind him, leaning his forehead against it for a long moment. With a curse, he bent over the sink and splashed water on his face.

  Get it together, man.

  Gregor Salas himself was meeting them in fifteen minutes to bring Corvin Lejeune, low-level drug runner, into the Salas fold. Corvin had spent a full year developing this cover, working himself into the organization that had killed his sister, at least indirectly.

  He wasn’t about to let any woman, no matter how enticing, keep him from finishing his job.

  And even more importantly, he wasn’t about to let another woman get hurt by Salas—not if he had anything to say about it. The further away she got from him, the better.

  Walking back out to his table, he hooked his chair with his boot, turning it around to sit backwards on it, leaning his arms across the backrest. He took a swig from the beer Edwin had left for him.

  “So,” said Luis, “who’s the chick?”

  “Her?” Corvin asked, mind spinning to fabricate a story Luis would buy—something with enough truth to it to keep the mid-level manager in
the Salas ring from pursuing her. He shrugged. “Ex-girlfriend. Been following me around trying to talk me into hitting it again.”

  “Dude. You said no?” Luis took a long drink of his own beer. “Didn’t think you were stupid.”

  Corvin snorted. “Stupid? That’d be hooking up with crazy again.”

  “Ah, shit. She one of those?” Luis shook his head. “That’s too bad, man.”

  “You got that right.” The two men laughed and Corvin changed the subject.

  But he couldn’t quit thinking about Angelina.

  Reaching into his jacket pocket, he fingered the card she had given him the day before—the one with her address scrawled on the back.

  He knew he shouldn’t go to her apartment after he met with Salas.

  But he also knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.

  He could find out what she knew, tell her one more time to back off.

  But he wouldn’t, under any circumstances, find an excuse to touch her again—to trace those full lips, let his hand run down her neck and across those luscious curves, cup that ass and pull her close.

  He would simply talk to her.

  Yeah, right.

  Chapter 2

  Jenna made her way back to the parking garage where she had left her car, absently rubbing the spots on her arms where Mr. Gorgeous had grabbed her, then reaching up to brush her lips with her thumb where he had placed his forefinger to keep her from speaking.

  That touch wasn’t even meant for me. It was meant for Angelina.

  He knows Angelina.

  But she couldn’t shake the idea that he had been as surprised—shocked, even, she thought with wry smile—by the electricity that had jumped between them when he reached out to shush her.

  Not that it mattered.