The Hard Way (Box Set) (19 page)

“I can’t kill anymore, Jessica. I was an angel of defense and death -- now I am just a fool in love. But I am praying for the best outcome.”

He grinned at her. The slow movers were almost upon them, and death started looking real good.

“I wanna go home!” she wailed. She turned and raced back to the altar where she climbed on top and made her last stance.

“I want these souls off of my feet! I want some real clothes! I want this makeup off and these rollers out! I want to go home! My name is Shaquandra and I want to go home!”

She dropped to her knees and began slamming her head against the rough stone of the altar. “Home, home, home, home, home!” she chanted, tears running down her face as the music swelled to a tension-building climax.

They were all reaching for her. There was no way out. The priest was slamming the dagger toward her back, the demon licking her chops, the angel crossing his palms to pray. The first hand touched her arm and then…

Everything froze.

“Cut! Strike the sets!”

Huh?

Jessica looked up and around to see things slowly disappearing, revealing nothing but a wall of white.

“What’s going on?” she asked, tears in her eyes and confusion in her voice.

“You! You are what’s going on!” Carter and his three clones marched over to her, furious, wands waving high. “Do you know what you did?”

“I did?”

“The screaming and crying, the whining and beating your head on the sacrificial altar? You turned our comedy, our beautiful comedy, into a damned drama!”

“Huh?”

“We’ve been cancelled! Are you happy now? Cancelled!”

“Huh?”

“Get out!” he shrieked, face red with anger as he hefted his wand up high. The other three lifted theirs in tandem. “Cancelled!”

And then all four wands slammed on top of her head, taking her into the darkness of nothing before she could even say a word.

Shaquandra woke in a rush, her head pounding and the television droning on. She jerked into a sitting position, spreading her snack friends all around her and spilling her medicinal tequila in her lap.

“Home?” she gasped, her hands going to her tangled mass of hair and finding no rollers. She looked around at her Switzerland neutral colored living room, and her ugly couch and her disgustingly seventies
Laverne and Shirley
robe, and began to laugh!

She was home!

No sex changing demon, no Fathers who were fathers and trying to kill her for her own good, no more assassin lovers who turned out to be angels -- well, she would miss the damn good sex -- who stood there praying over her instead of helping!

She was home, gloriously home!

And her next act was to reach for the remote and turn off those damn soap operas.

No more soaps for her! In fact, no more talk shows, judges’ courts, music videos… hell, she was giving up TV altogether. Think of the money she would save on her cable bill.

From now on, she was reading, and reading nothing more exciting than the Sears catalogue. Being lost in furniture and plastic sexless models didn’t sound too bad.

“Home!” she sang, springing to her feet and…

Her feet!

The souls were gone! Those God-awful red stilettos teeming with souls were no longer on her feet. She was barefoot, and badly in need of a pedicure, and that was the way she liked it.

“I think I’m in the mood for some music,” she crowed, dancing over to her stereo and hitting the play button.

Ludacris blared to life screaming, “Get back! Motherfucker, you don’t know me like that!”

“My new theme song!” she sang, catching the chorus. “Make one false move, I’ll take you down. Get back, motherfucker, you don’t know me like that!”

She was belting the lyrics out so loudly she almost didn’t hear her doorbell ring. Realizing she had someone waiting at the door, she turned down her volume and danced to the door.

“Yes?” she sang, swinging it open, only to shriek and slam it shut. “Go away!” she screamed. “You are a figment of my somewhat intoxicated imagination!”

“Actually,” the deep, familiar, yet muffled voice called through the door, “I’m your new neighbor.”

“Darious?”

“No, but not too bad a guess. Jamari.”

“Jamari?”

“Open the door,” he called. “And I’ll even give you a hand to shake.”

Shaquandra opened the door very slowly and peeked around the jamb.

It was Darious… but he seemed… more three-dimensional.

Both men stood at the same height, had the same dark wavy hair, both looked like the Rock, Jr., but where Darious always looked harried and disturbed, this man actually smiled.

And he was smiling at her.

“We get into our partying, I see,” he joked, and her hands went to her hair and her robe, remembering the state she was in.

“Um… well, it was a hard night.” She swung the door fully open and thrust out her hand. She could face the new neighbor looking like a three-day bender gone wrong. Hell, she’d faced demons, and mad priests, and tutu-wearing fairy-flies. This was a cakewalk.

“Next time invite me to the party.” He held out the promised hand. “We can get lit together.”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing this ever again,” she sighed, shaking her head ruefully. “One trip like this is enough.”

“Good,” Jamari chuckled. “I’d hate to date a drunk.”

“Date?”

Was he as blind as he was handsome? Her hair was a rat’s nest, her clothes were soaked in liquor, and she was sure she smelled like relapse week at Betty Ford.

“Yes, date. You’re cute and I think you and I have a lot in common. We both seem to be single and available, and I have that exact same robe, only in black.” Jamari smiled.

“I am throwing it into the nearest incinerator after I take a shower,” she informed him, arching one eyebrow and wondering what game this one was playing.

“I’ll join you,” he laughed. “And I’ll chuck mine into the flames as well. How about in… two hours?”

“You want a date?”

“Hey, I kind of like your style. You seem to be, you know, real. Not like something out of a soap opera.”

Not out of a soap opera.

“Make it two and a half hours and you have a date.”

“Done.” He smiled, making attractive dimples pop out on his cheeks. “Oh, and the mailman dropped this off at my place by accident. I believe it is yours, Ms. Shaquandra Jackson.” He handed her the small box and blew her a kiss. “See you in two and one half hours.”

Shaquandra was grinning as she closed the door. Looked like she had a date. Now all she needed was to get hired and her day would be complete.

Looking down at the package, she noted it was a small box covered in brown paper and tape. Her name was printed neatly with no return address.

Shrugging, she peeled it open to reveal a shoebox. She opened it and dropped it on the floor, her hands clutching her heart.

“Lest you forget, darling,” a quiet, rough voice whispered in her ear -- Carter’s voice, “how good reality could be.”

Lying on her carpet was a pair of gaudy rhinestone red stiletto heels.

From that moment on, Shaquandra decided that maybe life got rough at times, but it was a hell of a lot better than living a lie. She showered, got dressed for her date, and decided to live her life, to play the hand she’d been dealt.

It wasn’t a perfect life, but then nothing was ever perfect, including Prefect City.

Stephanie Burke

Evan has a problem. Bitten under a cherry moon by a werewolf in heat, Evan is now at the mercy of his animalistic needs. Little does he know that the only way to control his raging lust is through massive quantities of sex.

Fortunately, he finds his way to Hatori and Delia, both alpha werecreatures, who are more than happy to help him learn. Perfect submission was never this hard… or this good.

“
I can’t
!”

Evan struggled to breathe a little longer, to force his tight muscles to ease, to allow the pleasure to continue to flow through his body. His wrenching moans filled the air, swirling with the musky scent of sex and the sound of wet bodies slamming together as passion bordered on violence
.

On his hands and knees, he threw back his head and howled his frustration. The hard slaps, hair pulling, and biting and scratching did nothing to assuage the lust that roared through his body
.

His hard cock swung from side to side, the tissues swelled with the hot blood of his arousal. His balls were pendulous, aching weights that burned with the caresses and licks they were receiving
.

Pre-cum flowed freely and was quickly lapped up by the rough tongue on his prick, sending waves of shivers through his body. Sweat poured from his skin, making it glow in the dim candlelight as the furs beneath them became slick with the moisture
.

Hot! It was too hot! His skin began to tingle and burn with the attention it was receiving, his form to shiver under the knowing hands and lips that provided this ultimate pleasure his body craved almost more than air
.

“
You can take what we give, little one,” a deep masculine voice hissed in his ear, followed by a teasing flick of the tongue that made him arch toward the cool touch that had him on edge
.

“
But isn’t he so pretty when he begs?” a feminine voice chuckled as rough hands and sharp nails ran over his skin, scoring him enough, he knew from experience, to leave small raised welts, little reminders of who owned him
.

Evan’s head dropped under the weight of the attention of his two masters while his body forced his rebellious mind to give in to instinct, to submit and have the little death he craved
.

“
Raise your head.” The command came from the man currently running his tongue over Evan’s back, down over the sensitive salty skin, tasting the lust that poured off of his submissive, feeling the helplessness that permeated the air around him, the desperation that ruled his mind. “You are our gamma. You will never lower your head! Tilt it, arch it, and throw it back when I am fucking that tight little ass I own, but never lower your head in shame
!”

“
You hurt his pride,” the female admonished her partner as Evan’s head jerked upwards, tears welling in his stormy gray eyes as she nibbled on his lower lip
.

“
He has no pride of his own,” the male gritted out. “Only what he receives from us. And none of our people will ever lower their heads
.”

* * *

“You have anything on werewolves?”

The frazzled-looking man leaned against the counter of Insane Realities. It was the only bookstore of its kind, reported to have anything and everything from hard-core porn to scientific journals on esoteric subjects that most people outside of NASA had never heard of.

He inhaled deeply, gray eyes widening as if in pain, and tried to calm himself down. “I… I really need some information.”

Hatori Fujita arched a black eyebrow and rolled his eyes at the somewhat disturbed appearing human who awaited his response.

The man wasn’t bad looking as far as humans went, Hatori decided as he watched him nervously nibble at his bottom lip. He had shoulder length, silver-streaked onyx curls and a nice set of steel gray eyes -- almost silver actually. His body was built up, muscular and hard, refined and symmetrical. But not overdone in that competitive body builder fashion. This man was built along the lines of a professional athlete or soldier.

Hatori inhaled deeply, discreetly sticking the tip of his tongue out between his thin rosy lips, quietly tasting the air around this human who was doing strange things to his libido. Yes, he was extremely attracted and he needed to know more about this male.

Softly he licked his lips as the gray-eyed man’s agitation grew, tasting the atmosphere around him as he attempted to scent him and pick up more information. Well, more information besides “nervous” and “wary.”

There was the taste of fresh air and sunshine, a woodsy, musky smell. There was also the tinge of gun oil and hot metal, and a chemical bite. The man was either carrying a gun or had recently fired one. The chemicals, that didn’t fit. Perhaps he’d been around someone who used them.

He was clean -- Hatori could taste the brand of natural soap the man used, and the hint of an herbal shampoo. Curious.

There was the tinge of salt as the man began to perspire, something musky… Was that a hint of fear?

“Can you help me or not?” The man’s tone was growing desperate and impatient. He glared at Hatori.

Hatori’s smile turned into a smirk. Scenting the changes around the man, he uncrossed his arms and moved from his lazy pose to lean close. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what kind of information you want.”

Hatori’s voice was low and mellow, not particularly deep, but it fit his short, slender frame. Long, waist-length, stick-straight hair flowed around his shoulders as he leaned forward, pooling on the counter beside him like spilled oil. His black eyes held amusement and dark secrets as he awaited the other man’s next move.

Evan blinked and leaned back, realizing he hadn’t disclosed his full reason for being here. Like he’d do that anyway.

But Evan was at his wit’s end. And that crazy photographer who shared the same problem was going this route, getting information out of books. Lord knows he had exhausted all his resources looking for the intel he needed… This bookstore was his last hope.

“Werewolves,” Evan snapped, just daring the Asian guy who manned the counter to say anything smart.

“What type of werewolves are you referring to?” Hatori asked as he licked his lips, reading more anxiety and a hint of desperation.

“You mean there’s more than one?” the man nearly wailed, his eyes widening in confusion.

“Listen,” Hatori explained patiently, holding in a smirk and lifting one hand, counting down his choices on his fingers. The almost innocent expression on such an uber-masculine face was amusing… hell, it was outright cute.