Belle Fury: Manhatten Ten, Book 3 (13 page)

Good thing. It took all three of us to wedge me into the gown with my bum arm. But the dress fit perfectly. Angel did my makeup and Ivory gathered my hair into an elaborate up-do with strands of ice diamonds. Apparently they’d stay there until my next shower. Not too shabby for a gunshot victim.

I wasn’t sure if I was grateful to be included or totally overwhelmed. My toes wouldn’t stop tapping.

I wanted to see Ryan.

“We’re ready.” Angel did a last sweep of the room, making sure we took everything we needed. “Need help with the dress, Ivory?”

“Help Belle.” She twisted the skirts up so she could grab them and somehow jammed herself through the doorway.

Angel supported me downstairs. I’d gone from total alpha bitch to bridesmaid in a few days. Who would have thought? I’d even join the book club if the offer were still on the table.

A limo waited in the garage. No Ryan yet. I’d really wanted to talk to him before the wedding.

“Don’t worry.” Angel helped me in. “The boys are meeting us there.”

“What form do you think Panther will take for the ceremony?” Ivory flashed a grin at Angel.

“God help him if he’s sitting at the end of that aisle as a cat.” Angel straightened her skirt. “I’ll kill him.”

“No matter.” Ivory waved a hand, but she shot me a wink. “Panther is panther.”

“There will be no meowed vows at this ceremony.”

I cracked a smile. I could get used to this.

We pulled up to the massive church, and camera flashes pierced the tinted windows. That wasn’t going to be as easy to deal with.

“Chins up, ladies.” Angel slid out of the limo first. With her pulling and me giving a one-armed push from behind, we got Ivory and her skirt out whole.

Cheers erupted. I took a deep breath. How was I going to do this? It wasn’t like it was my wedding day, with Ryan waiting for me at the altar. Did he even want to speak to me after all this?

“Your escort’s here.” Angel peered into the limo and smiled. “Try not to hold up the ceremony.”

My…?

Ryan filled the doorway. Sweet Jesus. Tuxedos were made for him. His eyes popped with hazel in the flashing light from the thousand photographers trying to get a shot of us. “They wouldn’t let me see you sooner.”

“I know.” I held out my arms.

He climbed into the limo, closing us in our own world, and folded me in his arms. Careful with my bandages, I sank into him. This was too good to stay away from.

“What were you thinking?” His fingers pressed harder into my good arm.

“I wasn’t.” Not at all. Having super powers had ruined my sense of danger.

Ryan laid his head on my shoulder. “One hundred and thirty dollars.”

“What?”

“That’s how much the guy would’ve gotten away with.”

“Oops.”

“Guess you’re a hero after all.”

“He pushed me. And his beard was ridiculous.”
 

Ryan sighed. “Those aren’t good reasons to get yourself shot.”

“I know.” I didn’t plan on being in the line of fire again until I figured out if my powers could deflect bullets. Maybe if I spun fast enough.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Ryan pulled back but didn’t let go of me. I hoped he wouldn’t. “I’d rather you were resting.”

“I’ll be fine. I want to go.” And Angel had found me padded flats instead of stilettos like hers. Even then I might be wobbly, but I could do it. “Just don’t let me fall?”

“No problem there.” Ryan twined our fingers together. “Ready?”

I couldn’t see the flash bulbs as we walked toward the church. Just Ryan. My world had shrunk to him, but as far as I could tell, that was no sacrifice.

The photographers weren’t allowed inside. The M-Ten and their dates took up the first row of pews, and the rest of the church was an ice palace. Icicles hung from the rafters, ice roses scattered over the floor and altar and frost spun a crazy beautiful pattern over the stained glass. Now I got why the bridesmaids dresses came with heavy shawls.

The cutest little woman with whiskers I’d ever seen had to be Panther’s mother, but she wasn’t the only out-of-towner. The priest was a seven-foot tribesman, who sealed Ivory and Panther’s hands together in a block of ice.
That
was a wedding vow.

Ryan and I locked eyes through the ceremony. I wasn’t sure how I’d walked away from him before. I wouldn’t be able to again. I was at my limit just standing across the aisle from him. Like the scrap of snowy carpet was too far away.

The whole crew retreated to a fancy restaurant for the reception. On the way back to the limo, a crowd of photographers broke the line and got hit with a blast of snow. Ivory beamed.

Ryan hugged me to his side.

This was real.

In time, the rest would fall together.

Six months later

The ritual Devil Dog did nothing for my nerves.
 

“Five minutes!” the stage tech called. He didn’t need to yell. This show was solo.

Just me and a packed Madison Square Garden. With the whole floor, and a specially designed stage, I could take the spotlight again.

Probably.

Six months was a long time between shows, and this was no classical ballet. The music, costumes and choreography were brand new. It was so revolutionary it was getting broadcast worldwide.

No pressure.

I peeked through the curtain. The M-Ten packed the VIP box. The crowd tittered at the sight of them all together as much as it did for the show.

Tank caught me looking and pointed the heroes’ attention my way. They whooped and cheered. I smiled. My family cared after all. Maybe not the one I’d been born into, but it was a good trade.

“Too early for flowers?” Ryan sported a massive bouquet of red roses. They fell as I jumped into his arms.

“It’s never too early for flowers.” I squeezed him tight.

“Go get ’em.” He kissed me hard.

The curtain lifted and the spotlight came down.

I was ready.

Oohs and aahhs were the only sounds I heard as I flew. Almost literally. I jumped to the rafters and twirled my way down.

This was what I was meant for and I was only touching the surface.

I heard my friends’ voices over the arena’s cheers. When I bowed out after a second encore, they waited backstage.

I fell into Ryan’s arms again.
 

He hugged me tight. “Finally found a stage to do you justice.”

“Anyone up for a bank robbery?” Tank hung up his cell.
 

“Teambuilding exercise?” Thunder cracked his knuckles.

“And clubs after.” Steel handed me another huge bouquet. “We’ve got to celebrate.”

“In this outfit?” Jenny pointed a toe, demonstrating a stiletto.

“Why not?” It would too much fun seeing the bad guys’ faces when I started kicking their asses in a tutu.

About the Author

Lola Dodge was forged in the suburbs, tested in the retail wastelands and reborn as a romance writer after several strong cocktails. Armed with her M.F.A. in Writing Popular Fiction, she travels the world in search of story fodder and men with accents.

Website:
www.loladodge.com

Twitter:
www.twitter.com/#!/Lola_Dodge

Look for these titles by Lola Dodge

Now Available:

Manhattan Ten

Temptress

Ivory

Coming Soon:

Manhattan Ten

Junglecat Honeymoon

That cold day in hell? It’s here…

Ivory

© 2013 Lola Dodge

Manhattan Ten, Book 2

If Ivory’s fellow flight attendants whisper that she has ice in her veins, they’d be right. She’s spent years ruthlessly suppressing her dangerous ice powers, pretending she didn’t grow up wild on the tundra.

Her legendary coolness has held solid—until a crazed attacker snaps her composure, unleashing her ice beast and blowing her cover. And she’s not sure if the man who defuses the situation is any less dangerous.

When Panther’s trans-Atlantic catnap is interrupted by Ivory’s ice spear through his mark’s gut, he doesn’t hesitate to claim her as one of the Manhattan Ten. It’s the only way to shield her from prosecution. It doesn’t hurt that the Nordic beauty puts his inner cat on the prowl.

Panther tempts Ivory in every smoldering way, but to let him melt her resistance is a risk she can’t afford. But when her past rises up to claim her, Pan is caught in the crossfire…and the only way to save him is to let the beast claim her, body and soul.

Warning: Contains one smoldering ice vixen and the sexy beast man who wants to get his claws all over her. Make sure your icemaker is in tip-top shape before reading. Mukluks optional.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Ivory:

Eight hours out of Auckland, the plane’s temperature controls fizzled. Instant passenger meltdown followed and call buttons lit the aisles like stars on the tundra.

In the oppressive heat and recycled air, my coworkers wilted. Red-cheeked and dripping sweat, they fetched non-stop drinks for the passengers, filling their plastic cups with sorry, melted ice cubes.

I handed my passenger a frosty cold can of Heineken. “Anything else, sir?”

“No. Thanks.” The man pressed the iced-over can to his neck, and his head lolled back in bliss.

Rewa scowled at me from the opposite side of the drink cart. Her hair lay plastered to her face, and she muttered about switching sides on the next run. Trading positions wouldn’t make her cans any colder.
 

I wouldn’t use my powers on a routine flight, but chilled drinks were harmless, and I was enjoying myself. When I pressed my hand to my cheek, it felt almost lukewarm. The cold lived in my family’s blood, and such warmth was a rare treat.

We docked the drink cart in the galley, and I left Rewa to commiserate with the others. When I checked my reflection, I didn’t blame them for the dirty looks. My tight bun hadn’t shifted all flight, and my fair skin was the same smooth porcelain as always.
Should I mist myself to hide the difference?

No. If the droplets froze against my forehead, I’d hardly blend with the regular humans and no one who noticed my lack of sweat would realize what they were really seeing.

“Val?” I snapped my mirror shut as one of the first-class attendants approached, looking as harassed as the ladies in coach. “Can you pop up to first? Janna might have heat stroke.”

“Of course.” First-class passengers were fussy, and on this flight, I was the best equipped to handle their complaints.

For what they paid, I’d be fussy too.

The first-class cabin was tucked upstairs, away from the gaze of the commoners. It wasn’t as crowded as coach, but the heat still rose. A few more degrees and I might have broken a sweat.

Despite the plush lounge chairs and carcasses of tiny alcohol bottles—or maybe because of the alcohol bottles—misery hung in the heat-choked air. The worst off was the screaming infant in the first row. The mother’s hugging and rocking were all in good faith but weren’t helping matters, and her designer makeup looked like a melted mask.

Babies could be forgiven in most situations, but with no air-conditioning, the other passengers might mutiny.

“May I, ma’am?” I opened my arms to the child.

She probably wasn’t in the habit of handing her child to strangers, but she took a long look at me. The wheels turned as she noted my cool skin and untouched complexion. Maybe she caught the chill off my hands. She handed the baby girl over.

“What’s her name?” I patted the baby’s downy head, taking care not to cool too fast.

The woman pulled a cleansing cloth from her Birkin bag. “Madeline.” She wiped down her face and shuddered when she checked her mirror.

I rocked Madeline, and as her temperature fell, her cries silenced. “That’s a good girl.” By the time I handed her back, she was drooling with sleep.

“Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it if you ever want to nanny.” The woman shifted the girl into the crook of her arm.

I smiled. Money was a poor substitute for traveling the world, and I’d plenty left to see. But I was glad to have helped the baby. “Can I get you anything?”

“All set.” She flicked off her light.

Quieting the child had leveled down the tension, but it was far too hot for real comfort. Janna wasn’t the only one dealing with heat stroke. The passengers looked a dangerous combination of limp and furious.

I knew I shouldn’t use my ice so obviously, but this was past the point that I could look away. As I strode down the aisle, I released the cold inside me.