Cold Hard Secret (Secret McQueen) (36 page)

If she didn’t find him…

Doubts were indulgences—wasn’t that what the Conclave instructors always said? Every moment wasted on second-guesses was a moment someone could die.

One path beyond the stream led farther into the depths of the bayou. The other, back toward the tiny town whose scant lights twinkled through trees heavy with Spanish moss. Intellect told her the darker path was too facile, too obvious. If she were on the run, she’d head toward town, double back and catch her pursuer at his heels.

But the man had come here because his wolf had pushed down everything rational in his mind and let instinct take over. Instinct would tell him to flee from signs of man, to take to the woods and stay there. Live as the animal he was.

If it were that clear-cut, Anna would have been content to leave him be. But the man would always push back, struggle to reassert control over the beast. Sooner or later, the memory of what he’d once been would drive him to seek out humanity—with disastrous, deadly results.

Anna took the dark path and forged deeper into the swamp.

Too much thinking, and it almost got her. She rounded the end of a fallen tree and stumbled into a small clearing—the perfect place for an ambush.

Her paws dug into the earth as she scrambled back, but the sharp snap of a twig heralded the attack. The feral wolf sprang from the cover of the trees to her left and took her down hard. She twisted, barely avoiding the massive jaws aimed at her throat.

Anna came up biting. She wasn’t part of his pack, and they weren’t playing. He’d go straight for the kill, and that gave her an edge. Let him try it, exhaust himself with lunge after lunge. Eventually, he’d tire. He’d make a mistake.

He was strong and he was desperate, and the fight dragged on long enough to worry her. The magic spilling out of him wasn’t dominant, and in other circumstances she’d have tried her best to cow him and end the fight with submission instead of death.

But crazy men didn’t surrender, and that was exactly what he was, only worse.

Finally, he stretched too far as he charged her, baring the vulnerable expanse of his throat for a shade too long. One lucky shot and she took it, sinking her teeth in deep and holding on.

For as long as the fight had lasted, he died quickly, the light seeping from his eyes like his blood into the soil. Anna imagined that he looked grateful in those last moments, but she knew it wasn’t true.

Ken Trumaine of Corpus Christi, Texas, hadn’t wanted to die any more than he’d wanted to be bitten, turned into a wolf and driven insane by the whole fucking experience. He probably wanted to get drunk on Bourbon Street, pay a stripper way too much for a two-minute lap dance and go home with some goddamn hilarious war stories about his long weekend in New Orleans.

He hadn’t wanted to die.

She didn’t realize she’d shifted until she heard her own hoarse, muttered curse. Anna rose and stumbled back, caught herself before breaking into a sprint. She could run, but what was the point? Nothing to run from here, just a dead wolf and a man whose family would never find him.

She could run, but she couldn’t run away.

Anna Lenoir had gotten tattoos.

Crouched against a tree, Patrick let his gaze slide over her naked skin, indulging himself in the few moments he had before this crossed the line from cautious to creepy.

Maybe it already had. Charms masked his scent, little wooden discs etched in runes and blooded with power. They throbbed against his skin under his black T-shirt, their prickling energy a reminder of his own weakness. The last time he’d raced Anna Lenoir for a kill, he hadn’t needed magic. He’d had his own, the power and spells etched into his skin instead of wood.

She’d beaten him then too, without even knowing it.

Any second now, she’d realize he was there. His charms might hide him from most of her senses, but Anna was a wolf, a creature of instinct. She’d feel his gaze soon enough, and then he’d have a damn hard time explaining why he’d crouched in the bushes, admiring her ass, when he should have been making sure she was okay—or throwing her some damn clothes.

But she had
ink
. When he’d last seen her naked, she hadn’t had any. They’d been in the bayou then too, preparing for a battle. It hadn’t stopped him from fixing her surprisingly curvy figure into his mind.

Now he focused on that ink. It stood out against her skin, provided fascinating contrast even though he wasn’t close enough to make out the distinct shapes. He wanted to get closer. Touch her.

Damn, he
was
creepy. Closing his eyes, he whistled sharply. “Lenoir, it’s McNamara.”

Her ragged, indrawn breath carried in the still night. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Showing up late to the party again. You’re fast, woman.”

Her cheeks glistened in the moonlight, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. “There’s no paycheck attached to this one, so you may as well go home.”

She was crying. Guilt punched through him, and he rocked to his feet, stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it into the clearing before turning his back. “Wasn’t about the paycheck. This is my town now too.”

“Sure.” The word was muffled, and her footsteps rustled out of the clearing. “You can tell Alec it’s done if you want.”

His shirt came down to her knees, covering everything he’d been leering at a few minutes ago. “I wasn’t really thinking. You probably want to change back to get out of here instead of walking barefoot.”

“No,” she said too quickly. “I’m fine like this. Thanks for the shirt.”

“No problem.” He glanced at the wolf—dead, a neat, fast kill. Merciful. “Walk back with me?”

She hesitated, then nodded and fell into step beside him. “I didn’t know you were on this one. No one at council headquarters tells me shit.”

“I volunteered.” Patrick shrugged. “Not that Alec tells me much, but Julio’s always willing to put me to work.”

“It’s not that you’re not handy to have around,” she muttered. “If it sounded that way, it’s not what I meant, okay?”

“You just sounded like you wanted to be in the loop. I don’t blame you.”

She sighed almost inaudibly. “How have you been?”

No one asked that question wanting to know the answer. Not really. “Doing good. Living the posh life in the Southeast council headquarters. I’m surprised Julio and Sera don’t bully you into coming over for family dinners.”

Anna stopped and looked up at him until he met her gaze. “How have you
been
, Patrick?”

Stupid him. Anna wasn’t everyone else. “Still in one piece, more or less. You?”

“Same as ever.” She fidgeted with his shirt, her fingers clenching in the black cotton. “Are you careful?”

The thought that she cared could make a man giddy, but he’d been dancing with Anna for too long to let himself cherish that hope. She blew hot and cold depending on the weather or the phase of the moon or the day of the week.

But she seemed sincere enough, so he bit back the snippy reply he’d given the last person to ask that question. “I’m not out to get myself killed, I promise.”

She frowned, intense and troubled. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

Redemption lies beyond the veil between truth and lies.

Shadows Of Fate

© 2010 Angela Dennis

Shadow Born, Book 1

After witnessing her husband’s murder, Brenna Baudouin temporarily lost control of her Shadow Bearer powers. Her penance: one hundred years policing hordes of supernatural misfits that spilled onto Earth after a cataclysmic war.

When she learns she’s been assigned a new partner, something about the other Shadow Bearer sparks her suspicions. Particularly when people closest to her start turning up as piles of ash.

Gray Warlow holds tight to the glamour that allows him to get close to the woman on whom he plans to wreak vengeance for betraying his people. Yet as he manipulates his way past her distrust, he begins to see her not as the heartless monster he was led to believe, but a strong, vulnerable woman.

As they work to put together the pieces of a killer’s macabre puzzle, an attraction deeper than blood and bone flares between them. And they must reveal their deepest secrets to avoid becoming the final targets.

Warning:
A thrill ride of supernatural proportions. Contains violent battle scenes, nail-biting suspense, crazy hot sexual tension, and enough twists and turns to make your head spin.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Shadows Of Fate:

Her gaze stretched to the bar. Beneath the glittering liquor bottles and burnt oak, a bottle of Jack in one hand and Grey Goose in the other, stood her target. Dirty blond hair brushed past his eyebrows, the rest tied back in a rubber band. He seemed innocent enough. As he flipped a glass bottle behind his back, muscles rippling on his shirtless body, magic seeped from his skin. It flowed around the women stretched across the bar, their assets on display as well as their lust.

Thankfully, he didn’t get much bang for his buck. This one was weak. Newly possessed, the demon hadn’t had time to gain a strong enough lock on the victim’s body. This shouldn’t take long. The piles of paperwork she had left on her desk might even get done tonight.

She pushed through the crowd, stripping her leather duster off her shoulders as she went. The black corset underneath, paired with tight leather pants, flattered her figure. She turned heads, especially the demon’s. She released the hair tie at the back of her neck. With a quick shake, her burnt copper curls slid down to her waist. She stopped at one of the tiny tables and threw her coat across the barstool.

Eyes closed, she pretended the music was something more aesthetically pleasing as she stepped onto the dance floor, keeping her mark at the forefront of her mind. She felt his eyes on her body as she swayed to the music. Hips gyrating to the heavy beat, she pulled on her glamour to blend in with the other dancers as she let her magic wrap his body. Losing herself in the music, she let him watch her move, feeling his desire amp. His energy vibrated as he made his way through the crowd, his power wild.

His hands draped her hips and he pulled her to him, his magic sliding over her body. Darkness tinged her aura, but she shrugged it off. Dealing with demon magic never got easier, but his wasn’t powerful. Grinning, she wrapped her hand around his neck, pulling him close until her lips brushed his ear. His burning skin jumped against her touch.

They stilled for a moment as the DJ switched tracks. “Think you could get me a drink?” she breathed, brushing a hand down his bare back. “I’m thirsty.” She grinned as he nodded, eager, the demon jumping beneath his skin.

“Anything for you, darlin’.” He wrapped a possessive arm around her waist, moving her toward the bar. “What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey. Straight.”

A grin played on his lips. “My kinda woman.”

Pushing past the other bartender, he grabbed a bottle of Jack and poured her shot. She caught it as it slid across the splintered wooden bar. Tossing it back, she reveled in the slow burn of the liquor. It was an old favorite. Just cause she was working didn’t mean she couldn’t treat herself.

She tossed back a second shot, thankful she didn’t have the ability to get drunk. Giving the demon her best longing look, she leaned forward. “Thanks. I needed that,” she murmured. “What’s your name?”

“Zed.”

Leaning forward, she traced a finger down her cleavage. “Do you think you could give me a ride home, Zed?” she asked. She bit one finger in a nervous gesture, knowing he was buying it. “My friend went home with some guy and left me here. I can wait.”

His eyes flashed, and she knew she had him.

“Sure.” He glanced at the other bartender. “Give me a second. I got off an hour ago.”

Sure you did
, she thought.

A few seconds later he was back, pulling on a t-shirt as he walked. The gesture was surprisingly human. With the demon hiding inside, the brimstone dancing in his blood would keep his body uncomfortably hot, eventually burning him alive from the inside out. It may be the middle of winter, but he would never feel the cold.

He held up his keys as she rose to meet him. “My truck’s out back.”

She moved closer, letting him drape an arm over her shoulder. “Let me grab my coat.” The duster was where she had left it. She draped it over her arms as she turned on her psychic link with Xavier. The mage accepted, and Brenna turned to the demon, knowing Xavier was watching through her eyes. At this point, the mark’s lust was so inflamed he wouldn’t notice the slight change of color in her irises.

Wrapping her free arm around Zed’s waist, she led him through the mass of patrons to the exit. As they stepped into the wintry air, she noticed the bikers again. They stood beside their Harleys, watching her warily as she passed. She worried the tension might give her away, but Zed was oblivious.

She led him over the cobblestone to where Xavier waited. As they closed in on the shadows, she could feel Zed’s eagerness spike.

The darkness moved over them, hiding them from prying eyes. Xavier’s power sang in the night, a compass pointing her to the van. Leaving Zed to follow behind, she moved to the gray van and pressed her back against its side. Zed moved toward her, all pretense of humanity stripped away. The graceless stride betrayed his hunger as green scales peeled away his skin and his eyes turned to blood red slits.