Breaking Ties (28 page)

If you stop running, you fall.

Jackdaw

© 2015 KJ Charles

A
Charm of Magpies
Linked Story

Jonah Pastern is a magician, a liar, a windwalker, a professional thief…and for six months, he was the love of police constable Ben Spenser's life. Until his betrayal left Ben jailed, ruined, alone, and looking for revenge.

Ben is determined to make Jonah pay. But he can't seem to forget what they once shared, and Jonah refuses to let him. Soon Ben is entangled in Jonah's chaotic existence all over again, and they're running together—from the police, the justiciary, and some dangerous people with a lethal grudge against them.

Threatened on all sides by betrayals, secrets, and the laws of the land, can they find a way to live and love before the past catches up with them?

Warning: Contains a policeman who should know better, a thief who may never learn, Victorian morals, heated encounters, and a very annoyed Stephen Day.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Jackdaw:

“Thank God, water.” Jonah locked the door. “I am desperate to be clean.”

So was Ben, after days in the same clothes. He stripped without thought, using the thin towels provided to rub himself all over, until he felt the fug of long travel and fear-sweat lift from his skin. Beside him, Jonah was doing the same, so much more gracefully, his darkly furred chest glistening with damp, nipples hard in the chill air.

Ben couldn't stop watching.

Jonah didn't seem to notice. He ran the wet cloth under his arms, over his chest, and lower, over his muscular thighs, the nest of black curls. He was half-hard as he rinsed the cloth, wiped it over himself, rinsed it again. His skin shone with damp in the candlelight.

He wasn't looking at Ben. If he had, if he just looked…

Ben stood, helpless, staring. Jonah's body was as compact and muscular as ever. He looked so quick and sleek clothed, so powerful naked. Ben had wrapped his legs over those strong shoulders so often…

No. That was madness.

Ben moved to the big bed. It was a four-poster, evidently once equipped with curtains to pull round and keep the heat in. They had doubtless long rotted away. There was just a pile of quilts and blankets now, sheets warmed by a pan of coals, a bolster, and enough room for two.

Ben crawled in and lay in the bed, facing out.

Jonah blew out the candles and moved round to the other side of the bed, which dipped as he got in. The bed was very cold, except for the almost painfully hot, slightly crispy feel of the linen where the warming pan had rested. Neither of them had a nightshirt—he had a dim recollection of Jonah making some casual remark about lost bags to the landlady. Ben could feel the heat of Jonah's body from here.

It was very dark, and very quiet.

“Ben?”

He could pretend to be asleep. God knew he was tired.

“Ben,” Jonah repeated.

“Mmm.”

Pause.

“I know it's all gone wrong.” Jonah's voice was very quiet. “And I know you probably still hate me—”

“I don't hate you.” Ben stared into the dark. “I did, before. When I thought you left me because you didn't love me, or didn't love me enough. I hated you then, but I was wrong, and I am so sorry.” His voice shook on the words but it was time and past to say them. “What I did in that bloody place—”

“Don't. It doesn't matter.”

“It does.” Ben forced the words out. “I wanted to—to hurt you. Me. That's what happened to me, that's what this has done to me. I've become the kind of man who—”

“Who doesn't do bad things, even if he wants to,” Jonah came in swift and sharp. “Have you forgotten that? You never had a reason to want to do something horrible to me before. And when you did, it was a good reason, but you
didn't do it
. Look, I know we've done things to each other and, even if you don't hate me…well, it's not like it was any more.”

“No.” Because what they'd had, that golden idyll, had been a fantasy. Reality lay beside him, flawed and irresponsible and very warm.

“I just wondered,” Jonah said. “Could we pretend?”

Ben stilled. He could hear his own deepening breathing. Jonah's tension was palpable. “Pretend?”

“Or forget. Or ignore even, but could we not be a thief and a copper, or two people who did bad things to each other? Just for tonight? Could we just be Ben and Jonah, in the dark? It wouldn't change anything, or mean anything tomorrow. I promise I wouldn't think that it did. But I miss you.” Jonah swallowed audibly. “I missed you when you weren't there, and now you are here and I can't touch you and I miss you even more.”

“I miss you too,” Ben whispered.

Jonah's body was quivering with readiness, Ben could feel it, but he didn't reach out, and Ben realised he was waiting. Letting Ben make the choice. Letting him decide if he wanted to be sucked back into the maelstrom that tore his existence apart, over and over.

Naturally Jonah would think this was a good idea. He lived in the moment, never looking ahead. Ben could see consequences looming on every side, and most of them were terrible.

They should split up, that was obvious. It would have been obvious days ago, if Ben had been able to think properly. His mind was clear now, and he could see it all. Jonah would never change, would never be responsible, quite blatantly intended to steal again should it become necessary. Ben couldn't live like that, waiting for the next disaster, not after Jonah's love had already plunged him into hell. He'd say goodbye tomorrow, and go, before they hurt each other more. It was the only sane thing to do, for both their sakes.

But if this was to be the last night…

He rolled over, under the heavy bedcovers, and reached out, and felt Jonah's whole body twitch as his hand closed on Jonah's shoulder.

“Ben,” Jonah whispered, and then he was in Ben's arms, and they were kissing.

Jonah's lips were soft, his beard unfamiliar and prickly, scratching against Ben's own stubble. His tongue met Ben's, sweeping round, tasting of ale and himself. His hands came up, running through Ben's hair, sending shuddering sensation across his skin, and Ben lost himself in being kissed and held and loved.

It was utterly dark in the small room, with its shutters closing out the night. No sight of each other. No sight of the white streak marring Jonah's hair, or the brutal ridge of scarring on Ben's face. No evidence visible of what they'd done to each other and to themselves. It could have been five months ago, when everything was innocent, and Ben let himself believe that it was.

Some secrets are dangerous. This Secret is deadly.

Something Secret This Way Comes

© 2011 Sierra Dean

Secret McQueen, Book 1

For Secret McQueen, her life feels like the punch line for a terrible joke. Abandoned at birth by her werewolf mother, hired as a teen by the vampire council of New York City to kill rogues, Secret is a part of both worlds, but belongs to neither. At twenty-two, she has carved out as close to a normal life as a bounty hunter can.

When an enemy from her past returns with her death on his mind, she is forced to call on every ounce of her mixed heritage to save herself—and everyone else in the city she calls home. As if the fate of the world wasn't enough to deal with, there's Lucas Rain, King of the East Coast werewolves, who seems to believe he and Secret are fated to be together. Too bad Secret also feels a connection with Desmond, Lucas's second-in-command…

Warning: This book contains a sarcastic, kick-ass bounty hunter; a metaphysical love triangle with two sexy werewolves; a demanding vampire council; and a spicy seasoning of sex and violence.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Something Secret This Way Comes:

I recapped the events of the evening as best I could over the limitations of voicemail. “Hey, Holden, it's Secret. I killed an unsanctioned rogue in the park tonight. He had it coming. Send the Tribunal my love.”

I was in an all-night café near Keaty's, waiting for my nonfat no-foam latte while I left the message. The barista behind the counter, who appeared to be about fourteen, gave me a concerned look.

I flashed him my well-practiced innocent smile and said, “My dungeon master.” A spark of revelation lit upon his zitty face. “I just needed him to know the outcome of a campaign he missed.” I winked and took my drink out of his hand while he muttered something about rolling twenties.

It was late spring, and there was still a chill in the air, but the café had seen fit to set up its sidewalk patio a week or so after the snow melted. I pulled my jacket around me, though the cold didn't really bother me, and sat on one of the wrought-iron chairs. My cell phone was securely in my pocket in case Holden called, but I expected I wouldn't hear from him right away. I was also in no hurry to go back to the office and talk to Keaty about the state of affairs I now found myself in. I'd told him I was getting a coffee and then calling it a night.

Dawn was only an hour or two away, and there was nothing I could do to change what I'd done tonight. I would have to face the consequences when they came.

I tried to enjoy the hot, bitter sweetness of the latte, in sharp contrast to the coolness of the night, but my mind was reeling from what had happened. It took a lot to scare me, mostly because almost anything that went bump in the night I had killed at some point, but my encounter with Henry Davies had really shaken me.

The unshakeable, calm and centered Secret McQueen had been knocked on her proverbial ass by the impression of a bite mark. Maybe I had been mistaken. There was a chance part of the bite had healed faster or maybe I had been anticipating it so much I had imagined the missing tooth mark.

I prayed that I was wrong. In the six years I had been doing this, the closest anyone had ever come to truly killing me was Alexandre Peyton, and he had promised me that next time we met he wouldn't fail. If I was right about it being his mark, I was going to need to be on my guard more than usual until things either came to a head or blew over.

As I sipped my coffee I was overcome by an unexpected warmth which had nothing to do with the drink. It was like a humid summer breeze was blowing down 81st Street, only it crawled over my body and into my pores. My mouth felt thick with musky, dense flavor. The sensation was invasive and overwhelming, and what scared me the most was how comfortable I felt with it. I licked my lips and tasted cinnamon.

My latte was vanilla.

It was then, with a ripple of electric pinpricks up my spine, I felt a man pass. He approached from behind me and seemed to be wholly unaware of my presence until he turned towards the café door. He paused before entering, his close-cropped ash-colored hair tousled by the cool night air, and fixed his radiant azure eyes on me. There were two men with him, one on either side—a brunet who was the same height, just over six feet, and another who was my height and blond. The one who was watching me looked as puzzled as I felt, but he snapped out of it after a brief period of stunned silence and took a step in my direction.

“Hello?” he said, the way people do when they believe they already know you and simply cannot place the who and how.

If I'd been on my game, I'd have a snappy shoot-down or roll my eyes and tell him to get lost. I might have ignored him under any
normal
circumstances, because as a general rule I try to avoid men who might try to flirt with me. I did not date, although I had tried once or twice in the past. I had no time or patience for it, not to mention there were certain aspects of my life I could never explain to a human boyfriend.

But I could not look away, and nothing about this felt normal.

Not only could I not tear my eyes from him, something inside me pulled closer, dragging me nearer like a leash being tugged. There was a piece of me that wanted nothing more than to go to him. He was beautiful, I couldn't deny that, but he was a stranger, and this reaction was strange to say the least. This was more than magnetism; it was practically a law of attraction. The pull knotted inside me, fluttering in my stomach with the feeling of a thousand desperate moths crowding together to seek the light of a single bare bulb. My body demanded I go to him, and I realized I was now standing. My chair was several inches behind me, and I held my drink in trembling hands. When had I stood?

His friends were watching me too, like they knew what was happening between us. They were both interested and unconcerned by my reaction. I bet none of them had to make much of an effort to attract the ladies, considering all three were picture-perfect male specimens. The man in the middle smiled, a flash of white canines, and it dawned on me what I was smelling below the cinnamon and electricity. It stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Wolf,” I said. It was almost a hiss, the sound an animal makes when threatened.

My stupid werewolf half was being lured by him, and I wasn't about to have any part of it. I had no intention of letting some animal dupe me with werewolf lust. I'd heard about this, weres using their powers to overwhelm newer or lesser wolves. I'd been dealing with my lycanthrope half since birth, which was a lot longer than most adults with the affliction. Just because I'd never shifted as an adult didn't mean some twenty-something who'd probably been turned last week was going to get the best of me.

I tended to shut out my werewolf half far more than my vampire half. Vampires, for all their flaws, were still primarily human in their behavior. I could accept that and relate to it. Their society had laws, structure and regulation. They were very political in their hierarchical organization.

Werewolves left me feeling more unsettled. They were animals. Primal beings. They were willing to abandon the human aspects of themselves to embrace something wild and reckless. I'd never tried to learn about their world because I didn't want to be a part of something that catered to such careless freedom. I did not have the luxury to let myself lose control in that way. If I did, I risked releasing much more than my inner wolf.

I turned away from him, and his face fogged with confusion again. I was not going to play his games. Heading towards the back entrance of the patio, I made a break for it. I was almost at the corner of the block before I hazarded a glance back. They were gone.

I stopped walking, still clutching my latte. Maybe he'd been willing to let it go when he saw I clearly wasn't interested. I breathed a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about for the night. My plate was already overburdened as it was. The last thing I needed was to fend off some pushy frat boy's puppy love.

Turning back to the corner, I walked smack into the tall brunet who had been with the man. A small sound of surprise escaped my lips.

“What the—?”

“I'd like you to come with me, miss.”

“Like hell.” I dropped my drink and was reaching for the gun at the small of my back, but he grabbed my arm first.

“That won't be necessary. We only want to have a quick word with you about what just happened at the café.”

Before I could find the proper string of profanities to explain I had no intention of going anywhere with him, he was dragging me none too gently towards a waiting car. He pushed me into the backseat as the door opened, pulling the gun from the back of my belt as he did.

And I thought my night couldn't get any worse.