The Farthest Shore (Eden Series Book 3) (35 page)

The Secret’s out, and heads will roll.

Cold Hard Secret

© 2014 Sierra Dean

Secret McQueen, Book 7

Ever since her near-death experience at the hands of the villainous Dr. Kesteral, Secret McQueen hasn’t been the same. As in damaged almost beyond repair. But as usual, Secret has no time to lick her wounds.

Armed to the fangs, she and Desmond embark on a whirlwind quest for revenge that takes them to the sewers of Paris to put an end to Alexandre Peyton. Instead, it’s almost the end of them, and before she can stop him, Peyton rips the veil off her deepest secret.

The devil’s not through muddling up the details, either. An eye-opening confab with Sig in the Big Apple leaves her wondering if she’s ever been in control of her own life at all. Plus, a cryptic postcard sends her racing back to her Manitoba hometown, fearing for her grandmere.

With the Council holding the power of life and death over her head, Secret’s circle of friends is shrinking, while the pool of enemies looking for payback is widening like a pool of her own blood.

Warning:
Contains the least romantic Paris getaway in history and an unstoppable hybrid with an impossible choice to make between two men who’ve been to hell and back for her.

E
njoy the following excerpt for
Cold Hard Secret:

Desmond and I moved towards the end of the platform, away from most of the bustling crowd, and waited for the train to arrive. We determined the quietest time to go would be right after passengers had boarded. As the train exited the station, most people would be on it or making their way to the exits, and we wouldn’t be noticed edging our way towards the employee door.

If I’d been willing to take more time planning, I might have considered getting fake uniforms so we could head to the door at any moment without anyone questioning us. But I was impatient for the kill, and there was no time for elaborate
Ocean’s Eleven
-style plans.

I was more of a kick-down-the-door kind of gal anyway.

Once the train started, Desmond and I rose from our blue plastic seats and moved towards the exit. Across from us a few people were milling about on the opposite platform waiting for the other train, but none seemed too interested in paying attention to us.

Sometimes I got bummed out about living in a world so devoted to technology. I had a smartphone I didn’t know how to use, and only dusted off my laptop when my running playlist needed updating. I was odd for a twenty-three-year-old, and I knew it. But seeing everyone across from us more focused on their phones or tablets than anything going on around them, for once I was grateful. The only way they’d pay attention to us was if someone else were to film it and post it on YouTube.

Which was fast becoming an entirely different kind of problem in the supernatural community.

But for the time being it was working in my favor, and I’d take whatever luck I could get.

We continued to walk past the steps and along a narrow ledge leading into the dark mouth of the tunnel. Once we were at the end of the platform, the only light available was a few small lamps mounted along the entrance to the bowels of the metro. Their dim yellow light was enough to show us where to go, but not to illuminate us to potential prying eyes.

I disengaged the safeties on both my guns, and Desmond played with the strap on the duffel bag. I’d have felt better if he were already armed, but he told me back at the hotel he had no intention of pulling out a weapon until we were inside the sewers. He wasn’t able to hide guns because we hadn’t brought a holster big enough for him, and I think he was angling to use the shotgun in the bag, which would stand out a lot more than two handguns.

I’d once seen Desmond carry a medieval broadsword into the fray, and while he didn’t get much of a chance to use it, the sight of him holding the massive, ancient blade had stuck in my mind. Up until then I’d relegated him to the sidelines. Sure, he was a big, strong man, but I had somehow believed he couldn’t hold his own in my rough-and-tumble reality. But seeing him pick up a sword that weighed almost as much as I did had totally shifted my perception of him as a warrior.

The dude could kick ass.

Not to mention it was a pretty hot thing to see your boyfriend wielding a weapon right out of Arthurian legend. I’d be lying if I claimed that hadn’t been added to the spank bank.

I put aside thoughts of Desmond as a white knight and hopped off the platform onto the gritty dirt path running alongside the train tracks.

“Watch the outside rail,” he warned.

“I am.” I hadn’t considered if they were electrified, but I was generally of the opinion it wasn’t smart to jump on subway tracks, regardless.

He set the bag down in front of the metal door, and I found a few of the basic tools we’d stashed inside. I wasn’t a skilled cat burglar, so picking locks wasn’t something I did with any style or finesse, but when I couldn’t kick down a door, I had to find a way in somehow. Plus, my human mentor Keaty had found an interesting way to teach me to pick locks by keeping me trapped until I managed to get out.

Too bad those skills had failed me when The Doctor had me caged.

My gaze cut to the dark tunnel, and an itchy discomfort crept up my spine. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stave off the threat of a flashback and counted from ten repeatedly in my head.

“Des, can you…?” I hesitated, not sure I wanted to depend on him for something as tenuous as my sanity. What if I learned to need him too much and he left? How would I cope? Oh, fuck it, I needed all my wits about me for what we were about to do. “Can you touch me?”

The werewolves—more Lucas than Desmond—had this habit of putting me into a calm state by touching me. It was nothing like the power Sig, leader of the Tribunal, had, but I didn’t have Sig right then.

“Touch you?”

It had been a good long time since I’d
asked
for his hands on me, so I could understand his uncertainty, especially given our current location.

“I’m wigging out a little. I need the soul bond. It calms me down.”

“God, Secret, why haven’t you ever asked for it before? All those times—”

“I’m asking now.”

He placed his hand on the exposed skin at the back of my neck and squeezed. It wasn’t a perfect calm—I could still feel my pulse tripping, and the bleak edges of panic were threatening me even as the taste of lime filled my mouth. But it was better than the hysteria I’d sensed, and the flashback crawled away, leaving me my normal, mostly functional self. At least now I could focus on the lock instead of my mental state.

It took a few attempts, and some choice curse words, but when the tumbler finally clicked, I couldn’t help but let out a little
whoop
of triumph. Desmond let his hand drop away, and as I stashed the tools back in the bag, I handed him the shotgun.

“You ready for this?” I asked.

“Am I ready to hunt down the guy who has tried to kill you on a dozen occasions? Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I was born ready for that.” He opened the door, but I grabbed his wrist to still him.

“I don’t want you going after Peyton.” A dreadful image of the redheaded vampire ripping out Desmond’s throat filled my mind. It wasn’t a flashback, but it was grim enough to set my heart rate going again. “There will be plenty for us to deal with in there, and I’ll need you to watch my back when I finish him. But this is
my
fight, Desmond. I don’t mean to be all vigilante about it, but I need to be the one who kills him.” I stared at him, hoping my eyes were dire but not crazy. Either way he had to understand. “I
have
to kill him.”

Desmond stared at me for a long moment, his violet-gray eyes dark with worry or fear, but after a pause he nodded. “Don’t you go taking any stupid risks in there, woman.”

“You either…man.”

When I let go of him, he set down the gun and grabbed hold of me, hauling me into his arms so I had to look up at him lest my face be crushed against his chest. He was warm, and breathing in his scent washed away the nasty reek of the tunnels.

“We’re both coming out of this alive.” His voice was all promise, bordering on a threat. As if I had no choice but to comply.

“We are,” I agreed.

He dipped down and kissed me, cradling the back of my head with both his big hands. His lips were hot, and when his tongue brushed mine, a sizzle of electricity shot through me, radiating from my hair right down into the arches of my feet. I gave a little shudder, sighing against his mouth. For the first time in a long time I didn’t want him to stop.

When he broke away, he whispered, “I love you.”

Bracing my hands against his chest, I gazed up at him and gave a weak, watery smile. “And you think I’m the crazy one.”

For a chance at love, he may have to offer up his last drop of blood.

Warrior’s Dawn

© 2014 Isabo Kelly

Fire and Tears, Book 3

Branded a traitor, Althir of Glengowyn has resigned himself to life as outcast from his own people—until he’s offered a chance at redemption. A suicide mission to retrieve a vessel bearing the ultimate weapon: the Sorcerers’ true names.

His companion on the journey is a human woman unlike any he’s ever encountered. Beautiful. Brave. Fascinating. And before he knows it, keeping her safe is more important than his own salvation.

Mina Dawnswealth’s talent for spycraft has kept her alive even as her dreams—and her family—have fallen victim to the war, one by one. Much as she hates the idea of helping the traitor elf, at least she gets the pleasure of burying a knife in his back should he decide to betray her people again. A much easier task if she didn’t find him so compelling.

Only when they’re beyond the point of no return do they discover just how much blood their mission will cost. And how much love it will take to overcome their pasts—if they survive.

Warning: Contains an arrogant ass of an elf hero and a human heroine with a bitter past who would like nothing better than to kill him. Danger, fighting, hard language, magical. mayhem, deadly Sorcerers and hot sex fueled by an addictive pheromone. Can we get a “Hell, yeah”?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Warrior’s Dawn:

Althir stepped over the body, took her hand and hurried toward their exit. He paused before rushing out into the night, listening for signs of ambush from outside or that the alert had been raised inside. When he was sure their exit was safe, he pulled her into the streets. They raced back toward the road Mina needed to get them to their second hiding spot.

Once well clear of the storage hold, though, Mina jerked him to a stop and pulled him into an empty building. He was about to protest, but she put her fingers over his mouth to silence him. The contact was more of a shock than any real impediment to speaking, and he couldn’t manage to form a coherent sentence even if he’d remembered what he wanted to say.

Instead, all he could think was that her fingers were warm and held that very faint but elusive scent that defined her. And that it would be very easy to pull one of her fingers into his mouth to taste her. He was surprised at how desperately he wanted that taste. He held her gaze for a long, charged few heartbeats before she finally dropped the touch.

Motioning him farther into the dark entryway, she stopped when they were well out of sight from any of the windows. He glanced around quickly, taking note that they’d ended up inside what seemed to be a house, then he focused on her again.

“There’s no one here,” she affirmed in a whisper. “I wanted to… With this detour for your weapons, we aren’t going to reach the next place I wanted us to hide before dawn. We took too long.”

When he would have commented, she raised a hand.

“I’m not complaining. We couldn’t have done that any faster with so little complication.”

He raised his brows at the “little complication” comment.

She ducked her head. “About that. Thank you. For…”

When she trailed off, he smirked. “For not letting him kill you? If I’d done that, who would watch me to make sure I didn’t turn traitor again?”

She kept her head down so he couldn’t see her expression clearly, but he did catch her slight flinch. His satisfaction with the reaction mingled with another emotion he didn’t entirely recognize in himself and so didn’t bother to analyze.

“Well. Anyway, I do thank you.” She held out a hand and finally looked up to meet his gaze. “My sword, please.”

He wanted to mock her for the “please” too but didn’t as he handed her blade back.

She sheathed it then gestured at his sword hung looped through his belt. “We’ll try to find you a scabbard in our travels. That will be too hard to get at if we find ourselves in a fight.”

He just stared.

Flicking her tongue out to wet her lips, she said, “Since we won’t make our original hiding spot, I have a backup we can head toward. It’s closer but a little out of the way given our ultimate destination.”

“Fine.”

The glint of moisture on her lips from that quick pass of her tongue captured his attention. How this woman managed to irritate and entice him all at once, he couldn’t begin to guess. But at the moment, he didn’t really care. He was too busy wondering what that full mouth of hers might taste like, and if she’d still stick her sword in his gut if he tried to kiss her. Maybe not, since he’d just saved her life. Though he suspected he’d still get a sound slap for his efforts. He smiled, just a little, certain the sting of that slap would be worth it.

She sucked in a sharp breath and his gaze dropped to her breasts. Ah, but this woman made him forget where they were, what they were doing, the fact that she hated him, that a part of him resented her. Everything that should have put a halt to his growing desire got swept away under the need to touch her. To fill his hands with her full breasts and taste the skin along her throat, searching out her sweet flavors.

He didn’t think he moved, not even to step toward her and act on his growing fantasies, but she made a sudden sound and jerked backward a few steps. He met her gaze without even an ounce of guilt for staring at her breasts or considering all the ways he’d like to taste her.

Her pulse was actually visible in her throat, and he could hear the increased speed of her breathing in the otherwise silent room. She was affected by him. That was obvious. Despite her own distrust and hate.

Maybe she wouldn’t slap him too quickly if he moved in for that kiss…

Before he could, though, she said, “We need to move. We won’t reach our new safe spot if we linger here too long.”

“Then why did we stop?”

Her expression shifted through a series of emotions he couldn’t follow before she settled her gaze on his shoulder. “I wanted to tell you about the change of plans.”

“You could have done that while we moved.”

“And I wanted to pause long enough to thank you. For…”

“Saving your life,” he finished for her, amused that she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

“Yes. Exactly.”

“You could have said that once we reached the safe spot.”

“It needed saying sooner rather than later.” She straightened her shoulders. “Let’s move.”

Without waiting for his response, she returned to the door she’d so recently dragged him through, studied the street beyond, then slipped out into the night, leaving him to follow.

He didn’t let her get too far away before joining her. He had no intention of letting her get too far away from him for the next several days. More often than he should, he caught himself watching her rounded ass as they skirted close to the buildings and down darkened streets. He might still get slapped, maybe even end up with one of her swords in his gut, but he would have the kiss he so desperately wanted.

Sooner rather than later.

And if she didn’t kill him, he had no intention of stopping at just a kiss.