Random Paranormal Tales of 2026
Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8
Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12
Twisted Tome by Vanora Lawless
Summary:Devastating Magic #2
A stubborn empath. A passionate dreamwalker. A love worth fighting for.
For empathic illusionist Warren 'Sully' Sullivan dreamwalking Captain Elliot Stone is more than the only thing keeping him sane and safe. He's the keeper of Sully's heart, even if he can't seem to admit it out loud.
When an ancient grimoire infused with catastrophic magic comes into play, they've got to do everything in their power to keep it from landing in enemy hands. Unfortunately, that means working closely with a man who once shattered Elliot's heart. Someone he would have done anything for.
As insecurity and fear threaten the fledgling relationship between Elliot and Sully, will the darkness closing in around them bring them closer or tear them apart forever?
Original Book of the Month Review November 2025:
Once again I find myself rushed to write the review I really want to. I will say, I was happy to return to this historical fantasy, or perhaps alternative timeline where certain paranormal behavior/elements exist is wordier but more accurate. I'm always on the lookout for WW1/post-war stories in the LGBTQ genre so even though this is fantasy set in historical setting, Twisted Tome still called to me.
As it was with the first entry, Imperfect Illusions, I found the way those paranormal "powers" were used in the time of war incredibly intriguing. Opening with their use of "cloaking" their presence when faced with the enemy was the perfect way to remind me just how useful those abilities could be in wartime. The way the author continues to blend the two genres together is highly talented and entertaining.
Watching Sully & Elliot's relationship further deepen was heartwarming and realistic but also heart-hurting when they find themselves having to work with the man who left Elliot heartbroken. Hard to think of "realistic" when dealing with a fantasy/paranormal historical timeline but the author has done such a wonderful job in the world building, you can't help but forget sometimes that it isn't real. Throw in supporting characters who possess their own "powers" and you have an attention-grabbing read on your hands. With the introduction of the man from Elliot's past, we also get a glimpse into some backstory which, for me, further heightens my connection to the characters with the added element of personal drama without it slowing the story down.
I believe there is suppose to be a third entry in the Devastating Magic series but as this was originally released 2 years ago, I'm unsure on the release date but I know I'll be checking it out when it arrives.
Summary:
Cold Case Psychic #5
Psychic, Tennyson Grimm, was kicked out of his house and disowned by his religious parents when he came out to them as gay and psychic. The last thing Tennyson’s father said before the teenager boarded a Greyhound bus to Boston was that his son was dead to him. Flash forward thirteen years later, Tennyson couldn’t have been more surprised when he woke to find the newly dead spirit of his father sitting on the end of his bed. David Grimm had one request of his estranged son. Go to Kansas and reunite with his mother.
Cold Case Detective, Ronan O’Mara, was all for this family reunion. Still recovering from injuries suffered during his last criminal investigation, he figures they’ll fly to Kansas, bury Tennyson’s father, and the hatchet with Kaye Grimm, then come back to Boston in time to plan their upcoming wedding.
When the Union Chapel Sheriff comes to Tennyson and Ronan with a years old cold case he’d like them to look into, the Boston-based duo can’t turn down taking a peek at the case file. Tennyson is easily able to figure out whodunit, but the sheriff is leery to believe in his gift, bringing old prejudices back to life, and leaving Ronan to hunt for physical evidence the killer left behind.
Will Ronan be able to solve the cold case and help Tennyson resolve the decade old feud with his mother? Or will the tornado, with its sights set on the tiny town of Union Chapel, Kansas, make the other questions moot?
Summary:
D'Vaire #42
Venerable Knight Roman Calixtus was once renowned for his conquests. But the fallen knight put those days behind him. A dream grew inside him thanks to his closest friends finding their mates, and now Roman impatiently waits for the other half of his soul. But nothing prepares him for the day he discovers he is paired with a human.
Fallen knights do not get along with humans. None of them have human mates. It shocks Roman, and even the goddesses themselves are surprised by the match. Roman wants to find love. Instead, he is confronted with a belligerent human who believes Roman is a zombie.
Grant’s life is a mess. His boyfriend is controlling. His job is crap, and so is Grant’s outlook. The last thing he needs is a fallen knight in his face, trying to convince him they are meant to be together. Grant no longer trusts tender emotions, nor does he want to speak to anyone who is undead.
The connection Roman wanted is fraught with issues. So is the future, and neither man is prepared for what comes next. In order to get the matebond of Roman’s dreams, he needs the help of a powerful sorcerer and the diligent work of the goddesses watching over their charges.
In the end, Grant and Roman discover that, despite everything, they are a perfect match.
Summary:
VRC: Vampire Related Crimes #3
Alexei
When Marcus Church brings his brother Claude in to help solve an unusual murder, I’m positive he did it just to disrupt my monotonous life. None of my coworkers in the Vampire Related Crimes unit seem to understand that I want to keep a wall between me and everyone else—especially Claude, who does everything he can to break through it with an annoying smile. After more vampires begin to die, Claude pinpoints the actions of the killers to a group of vampire hunters, leaving us in a race to stop them. When I discover that I have a target on my back, I’m surprised that Claude insists on staying by my side, even when things go from bad to worse. I’m determined to keep him out—I’ve lost enough people in my life—but I can’t stop feeling something every time he breaks through.
Claude
When I reunited with my brother, I never imagined it’d throw me right into Alexei Karsynov’s path. He’s short-tempered, stubborn, and dangerously adorable whenever he smiles—he just doesn’t realize it yet. When Marcus asks me to help with a case, it gives me the excuse I need to get closer to Alexei, but what I discover threatens to change everything. Suddenly, I find myself wanting to do anything to protect Alexei and to see him smile, despite his efforts to keep his distance from others. I’m determined to show him that he can’t live in the past when his future is so much brighter.
How to Lure a Hunter is a 107k word book that contains: Clothes so bright they could cause retina damage, a ridiculous amount of gifts showered on a reluctant recipient, a cranky Russian with a soft spot he tries to hide, a library full of books that need to be treated with the proper respect, some possibly unhealthy sibling teasing, and a sunshiny 300-year-old vampire with an unexpected protective streak.
Monsters Hollow #3
Sometimes the biggest heart belongs to the biggest monster.
Hal
Mystic Hollow is home, the place where I belong. I've found friends, purpose, and a community that embraces me exactly as I am.
The only thing missing is someone to build a happily ever after with.
Then Skylar Wright checks into my B&B.
He's beautiful, guarded, and carrying hurts so deep they make my heart ache. Every instinct I have tells me to shower him with care, make him smile, and help him build the fresh start he deserves.
With every moment we spend together, I'm falling head over heels. For the first time, my happily ever after doesn't feel like something that only happens in books.
Now all I can do is hope he'll let me be part of his happily ever after.
Skylar
Starting over in Mystic Hollow isn't an adventure—it's my last shot at building a life that finally feels safe.
I've spent too long surviving. Now I just want a quiet place where I can stop looking over my shoulder, heal, and chase my dream of running my own hair salon.
I think I’ve found that in this close-knit magical little town.
Then there's Hal, the gentle sasquatch who owns the B&B where I'm staying.
He's patient, thoughtful, and so genuinely kind that I can't help waiting for the catch. But the more time I spend with him, the more I believe this town—and this giant, soft-hearted sasquatch—really could be home.
The only question is whether I can convince myself I deserve it.
The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser is the third book in the Monsters Hollow series, a cozy MM monster romance featuring an asexual sasquatch, a demisexual human hairdresser, hurt/comfort, found family, gentle caretaking, old-fashioned courtship, and a small town where everyone believes love is worth rooting for. Low on spice but overflowing with tenderness, this heart-melting romance proves that sometimes the softest love stories can leave the biggest mark.
Twisted Tome by Vanora Lawless
CHAPTER ONE
May 4, 1918
Belgium
IN THE LAST BREATH of evening light, Elliot shoved Warren into a stable as the sound of boots in fast pursuit echoed outside. Startled horses snorted and stomped in their stalls. Elliot’s heart pounded loud in his ears alongside his heaving breaths. Hay crinkled underfoot, the musty scent of animal and decay heavy in the air.
Warren pressed close, his eyes dark and intent on Elliot’s. He guided Elliot back into a corner, his calloused hands rasping over Elliot’s cheeks, cupping his face. The door burst open, but Warren’s mouth only twitched into an irresistible smirk. Elliot’s gaze darted to it and he wet his own lips.
German soldiers flung open the doors, barking loud orders at each other. Elliot watched over Warren’s shoulder, his chest squeezing tight, fingers tensing over the pistol at his waist. He held his breath as a soldier approached, but the man’s gaze passed over the space they occupied without sign of alarm. Elliot exhaled slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible. Although he trusted Warren’s illusion to conceal sounds, there was no need to test it.
Around them, the noise of the search continued, but Elliot’s attention was recaptured by Warren’s shadowed gaze, full of adrenaline and edged with lust as he tipped his head up, lips parting in invitation.
A jolt of shocked arousal heated Elliot as Warren slid his hardening prick against Elliot’s thigh. He barely held back a groan as he ducked his head to kiss Warren, against his better judgement. The pressure and yield of Warren’s soft mouth was both pleasure and temptation; he couldn’t resist dipping his tongue inside, clutching Warren’s hips and dragging his body closer. This was the worst time, the worst place, and still Elliot couldn’t help himself. Need and desire had him in their implacable grasp, and Elliot had no intention of fighting when it was so much easier to give into the stroke of Warren’s tongue, the gentle pressure of his teeth against Elliot’s bottom lip.
Warren’s breathing hitched, and he rubbed slowly against Elliot’s own trapped, swollen cock. Molten pleasure consumed him. Elliot was half a second away from hauling Warren up to wrap his legs around Elliot’s waist when Warren tore his mouth free with a breathless chuckle.
Elliot’s pulse skyrocketed with delayed alarm, glancing past Warren to find the stable empty save the animals. “Christ,” he muttered.
Warren pressed his face into the curve of Elliot’s neck and shoulder, silent laughter wracking him. “Your face. Your eyes just—” He choked.
Served him right. “Yes, well, forgive me for a moment’s concern when I remembered what we were in the middle of and worried I’d distracted you,” Elliot said dryly. Which set Warren off once more. Elliot’s own amusement was difficult to conceal. “Whenever you’re finished.”
After a moment, Warren sobered and stepped back. “You are distracting, but I made you a promise. I’ll always keep you safe.”
Warmth flooded Elliot, and he had to look away.
“I showed them a quick illusion of us crawling out a window back there,” Warren said, gesturing to the back of the stable behind a big horse, made larger by the darkness. “They all took off around the building to give chase.”
“Come on,” Elliot said, taking Warren’s hand and leading him to the door. “We’d better get out of here while we have the opportunity.”
He didn’t have to ask Warren to conceal them as he cracked it open and checked the street. They’d been through this routine enough over the winter, rescuing key Belgian and French soldiers in occupied territory. They had it down pat.
By now his second in command, Lieutenant Bell—Bellona, as they called her—and the rest of their team would have Caporal Lucien D’aramitz stashed away at the safe house. LFB, a spy network they’d been working closely with, had provided it as a temporary gathering point before they made the return journey to their home base in Fienvillers. Hopefully the place would have hot water so they could finally get clean.
After a tense journey back to their well-concealed motorcycle, then an uneventful drive for which they were both grateful, Elliot and Warren arrived at the location they’d been directed to.
Climbing out of the sidecar, Warren grumbled under his breath, and Elliot tried not to look entertained. Warren still hated riding in one, but he didn’t particularly enjoy driving a motorcycle either. Elliot gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, and in the moonlight caught the roll of Warren’s eyes. He couldn’t keep a smile down.
“You’re lucky I like you,” Warren said, clearly trying for grumpy, but sounding much too fond.
Nodding, Elliot agreed. “I have been blessed.”
“Damn right.”
And because it was dark and no one was outside, Elliot stole a quick kiss before knocking on the door, inhaling the familiar enthralling scent of Warren. A warm surge of affection gathered in his chest, his lips tingling, as he forced a mild expression onto his face.
Bellona opened the door, her expression warm as she greeted them before settling into something serious. “We’ve got an issue we weren’t expecting, I’m afraid. I’m glad you’ve arrived. We only just found out about him ourselves.”
“Who, D’Aramitz? Was anyone injured?” Elliot asked quickly, stepping inside.
“No one was injured, come on. You’ll see.”
They found the team gathered around a man seated on a settee. His dark hair was long, stringy and unwashed, and his French army uniform had certainly seen better days. He looked as if he could use a hot shower, several meals, and a week’s sleep. His face was battered and bruised. Elliot suspected it wasn’t the only place he’d been hit considering how he cradled his ribs.
Kneeling before him was another French soldier Elliot didn’t recognize. His hair was a lighter shade of brown and he was much slimmer. Short too, with a young appearance and big eyes set over an upturned nose and thin mouth.
At their entrance, all heads had turned to Elliot and Warren. Caporal Remonet and Charbonneau, the two French army members of their team, had been talking with Lara Baudin, their LFB agent liaison. Hoffman was standing back from the group, and he nodded to Elliot and Warren.
“Thank goodness,” Lara said with genuine cheer. “We were starting to worry we might need to mount a second rescue. Bell was beside herself.”
Bellona narrowed her gaze at Lara from where she’d stopped beside Remonet. “I was no such thing.”
“Aw, you care about us,” Elliot said, relieved to see everyone in one piece.
“Obviously,” she said, her hands going to her hips.
Warren chuckled, and Bellona’s glare turned on him. He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t look at me. I know you’re not the panicking type. I’m sure Lara’s exaggerating.”
Bellona flushed and gestured as she made introductions. “Captain Stone, Corporal Sullivan, meet Caporal Lucien D’Aramitz, and Caporal Gabriel Auclair.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Elliot said. Warren’s gaze darted speculatively between the two men, D’Aramitz sitting and Auclair kneeling, which prompted Elliot to ask. “Weren’t we only expecting one?”
“We were,” Lara agreed, with a tinge of guilt in her expression. “Gabriel—Auclair,” she corrected, “is my cousin. He’s been searching for D’Aramitz for weeks. When your team took up his cause, I alerted him to get here as quickly as he could. I know what you’re going to say, I shouldn’t have compromised your mission, but there’s so much more happening here than your team was let in on.”
Hoffman crossed his arms, stance shifting from relaxed to suspicious. Beside him, Remonet’s eyebrows rose. Elliot couldn’t say he felt different, unease prickling the back of his neck.
“You could not have brought this to our attention before?” Charbonneau asked.
Auclair shot to his feet. “She was forced to make a judgement.” His French accent was strong, and his voice was painfully earnest. “It’s difficult when you have competing loyalty. We try to fight a war for our nations at the same time we fight to save the world from terrible evil.”
“What kind of evil?” Warren asked, sounding skeptical. He’d shifted closer to Elliot, nearly in front of him, as if planning to shield him if it all went sideways.
Auclair and D’Ararmitz shared a look that spoke of years of silent conversation. Auclair’s gaze seemed to linger on the half-healed gash that stretched along D’Aramitz’s right cheekbone. His mouth went tight, and his eyes widened, clearly pleading. D’Aramitz sighed.
“It is a very long story, but to make it less, my family has been guarding a dangerous artifact for centuries. As far as we know, it cannot be destroyed, only contained, and it is our duty to ensure that it is kept so. We have managed through kings and revolutions, and my brothers have done their best through this war, but six weeks ago I lost contact with all of them. Lara was able to get a friend to visit the vineyard to find out why, but her friend vanished.”
“I assume that’s what led you to leave your post?” Elliot asked, guessing, since they hadn’t been told any such thing.
Auclair stepped closer to him, glaring as D’Aramitz grimaced. “What should we have done? Let the world burn in exchange for two soldiers to remain in a never-ending battle?”
“Ça suffit, Gabriel,” D’Aramitz murmured, resting a gloved hand on his forearm. “We found the vineyard untouched, but my entire family gone, along with Gabriel’s. What we guard was gone as well and all that remained in its place was a coded message from one of my brothers. A hint at where to find him.”
“So how’d you get captured, but not him?” Warren asked, tilting his head from D’Aramitz to Auclair.
“I went to search the vineyard while D’Aramitz went to the hidden room only the guards can enter,” Auclair explained, his face pinching with pain. “I was looking for my sister. By the time I return to the main house, he was missing. There were signs of struggle. I didn’t know who had come for him, but he would not go willingly without me.”
D'Aramitz’s lips quirked in a lopsided little smile. “Of course not.”
Auclair nodded as if he’d been repeating the same thing to himself for ages, and hearing D’Aramitz confirm it was an immense relief. “It…” He seemed lost, staring into the middle distance. “It took some time for me to know what to do. Then I went to Lara for help, and she started her contacts working, put me to use on other tasks to occupy me so I didn’t go mad waiting. You cannot blame Lara for giving me this location.”
“What I don’t understand,” Elliot said, “is why on earth we were sent after a deserter in the first place. No offense. If you left your post without a trace, and this thing you guard is supposed to be a secret, I assume?”
“Yes,” D’Aramitz confirmed without hesitation.
“Then why are the French looking so hard for you?”
D’Aramitz scrubbed at his face with both hands, wincing when the movement reopened the scab on his cheek. Auclair dug in his pocket and handed him a clean handkerchief. “I’ve wondered as much since your soldiers took me out of confinement. They must know something, it is the only explanation. And my family’s secret in their hands would be just as damaging as in German ones. It cannot be allowed to…” He struggled with his words, and when he found them, generations of unbearable weight echoed in them. “To be used in this war or any other. Ever. Some magic is lost for good reason.”
Elliot glanced at Warren, who quickly answered his unspoken question. “He’s telling the truth. He’s terrified of it, whatever it is.”
“So should you all be. The Germans attempt for weeks to get information from me about the location, and I gave them only lies. Because no torture would be as horrifying as what the artifact can do in the wrong skilled hands.”
Auclair made a small sad sound as he looked at D’Aramitz, before returning his distressed gaze to Elliot. “Lara told me you have orders to return D’Aramitz to our government, and if you must, I will go as well. But…”
D’Aramitz took over the plea. “But we would do the world more good searching for my brother, to keep that insidious thing the secret it must remain.”
Elliot surveyed his team’s conflicted expressions. They all wanted this war to end, were sick of losing people, wanted to be home with their loved ones. But he knew each and every one of them. Not a single soul on his team would choose to give a government they understood to be often unscrupulous the kind of weapon that would endanger the world.
Except where did that leave them?
“Sullivan, you’re certain?” Elliot asked, thinking on his feet as he rolled out his tight shoulder muscles.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Neither of ’em show any sign of lying. And Auclair’s emotions are particularly loud and clear. I don’t think he could pull off a lie if he tried.” He was so attractive when he was confident and teasing. Even if the person he was teasing wasn’t Elliot.
D’Aramitz chuckled and Auclair huffed. Elliot rubbed the back of his neck, struggling with a course of action. His gut agreed with Warren, but how much could he safely risk to do the right thing?
“We cannot disobey direct orders,” he said, reluctantly. Auclair and D’Aramitz both tensed. Warren, Bellona, and Hoffman all started to protest, but Elliot continued to speak, only elevating his volume to be heard. “That said, we’ll all need rest to recuperate for the return journey. Are there enough rooms upstairs to go around, Lara?”
Confusion flitted across her face, joining disappointment. “Yes?”
“Excellent.” Elliot refocused on Auclair and D’Aramitz. “I trust the two of you will remain here for the night without any need for official supervision, and we’ll head out in the morning. In the meantime, perhaps we could find a first aid kit for D’Aramitz?”
“Unnecessary,” Auclair said, shifting to block anyone from coming close to D’Aramitz. Perhaps unwilling to believe they weren’t a threat. “I am a healer. Very low ability, but I can take care of his injuries.”
“Right, well, see you bright and early then.”
Dead to Me by Pandora Pine
PROLOGUE
September 2005…
Seventeen-year-old Tennyson Grimm’s palms were sweating. He wiped them against the thighs of his Sunday best pants and tried to take a deep breath. It didn’t help to calm his racing heart.
Today’s sermon at the Union Chapel Calvary Baptist Church had been about honoring thy mother and thy father, just like the fifth commandment bade. Tennyson had been keeping a secret from his parents. Two of them in fact. After listening to Pastor Greene preach about honoring your parents, Tennyson realized he had been breaking this commandment.
He’d been lying to his parents for some time now and that, for sure, was not honoring his mother or his father.
The problem with Tennyson’s secrets was that they were sins. According to Pastor Greene, sins were all the same in the eyes of the Lord, but he couldn’t help thinking they should be weighted differently.
He hadn’t killed anyone, which in his mind, was the big enchilada of all sins. Ditto for taking the name of the Lord in vain, having other gods, or worshipping false idols. He’d never understood those Catholics and their devotion to Mary or their pantheon of saints.
Tennyson kept the Sabbath, never stole anything, or committed adultery. Sure, he’d coveted things. Who hadn’t? He couldn’t imagine God sending him to the big bonfire down below for wishing he had Tim Miller’s killer ten-speed bike, but that was God’s call, not his own.
These sins of his weren’t listed in the commandments, but they were in the Bible. Technically, he hadn’t even committed one of them, but it would be a lifelong battle to keep it that way. The problem was, Tennyson didn’t want to fight that fight and wasn’t sure why he had to in this day and age.
The second secret, just like the first, wasn’t something he asked for or invited into his life. It was something he’d just gotten, like his dark eyes or his curly hair.
As he’d sat in the stifling hot church listening to the pastor rail against the evils of not honoring your mother and your father, Tennyson knew the time had come to tell his parents what he’d been keeping from them for so long.
The Grimms usual Sunday routine was the 10am service, the congregation picnic after church, where there was more witnessing and stories of how church members had come to find the Lord, Jesus Christ. Then there was Sunday School for the kids and Bible study for the adults, and then it was finally time to go home to do their weekly Bible reading. Cold sandwiches for supper followed, as even cooking a meal wasn’t allowed on the Lord’s day.
Tennyson was bouncing back and forth from foot to foot as he waited for his parents to come in the house. Their next-door neighbors, the Kearns family, had pulled into their driveway just as the Grimms had gotten home from church. He could hear them all chatting through the open kitchen window.
The teenager’s nerves were in shreds. Every second that went by without him being able to tell his parents his secrets felt like an eternity. The secrets, lies, really, got heavier to hold by the second, which was ironic, as they hadn’t weighed very much this morning. It was funny what a good dose of guilt could do for the soul. His inner Jiminy Cricket was screeching like the red alert siren from Star Trek.
Mercifully, the screen door opened and Tennyson’s parents came into the house. “Tennyson,” Kaye Grimm said, a frown on her face. “Why aren’t you reading your Bible? Today’s book is Romans.”
Tennyson should have known better. “Yes, mother. There’s something I wanted to talk to you and Dad about before we started our Bible study.”
Kaye raised an eyebrow. “You’re not ill, are you? That’s no excuse for skipping your Bible reading.”
It took all of Tennyson’s strength not to roll his eyes. “I’m not sick. I need to tell you two things. Pastor Greene’s sermon today inspired me to open up.”
David Grimm pulled out his usual chair at the head of the table. He loosened his plain blue tie and sat down. “Have a seat, son, and tell us what’s on your mind.”
Nodding, Tennyson walked around to his seat and sat down. He stared at his hands for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he looked up at his parents they were both staring at him with expectant looks on their faces. After all, he was keeping them both from the Book of Romans. He had a feeling the best way to do this was to just tell them both of his secrets and let the chips fall where they may from there. “Mom, Dad, I’m gay and psychic.”
The room was silent. No one spoke. No one breathed.
Tennyson wondered for a crazy moment if he’d said those words in his head and not out loud.
“What did you just say?” David Grimm asked. He was blinking so rapidly that it reminded Tennyson of a cheesy Rom-com and the moment just before the heroine dramatically fainted.
At least Tennyson knew now he’d said the words out loud. He wasn’t so sure he was brave enough to say them again. “I’m gay, Dad. I’ve known now for a couple of years. Same with being psychic. I know things about the future and I can also talk to spirits who’ve crossed over to the other side. I spoke to Mom’s Grammy last week. She told me that when Mom was little, she used to like to sit on the old porch swing and listen to crickets chirp after sundown. She thought they were singing to her.” Tennyson laughed nervously. Neither his mother nor his father laughed with him. Neither of them even smiled.
Tennyson expected to feel the weight of these secrets dropping from his shoulders like a one-ton barbell, but that didn’t happen. Instead, it felt like the weight had tripled. The burden of his parents’ wordless stares was crushing. He hoped one of them said something soon, otherwise, he might end up as flat as a pancake.
“You’ve known that you had the power of Satan in you for a few years now and you didn’t tell us?” Kaye asked. Her voice was soft, but filled with rage.
Tennyson opened his mouth to respond, but wasn’t given a chance.
“How many men have you lain with?” David’s voice wasn’t soft. It was harsh and filled with anger verging on fury.
“Dad, I’m seventeen years old. I haven’t lain with anyone! I’m following the Bible and saving myself for marriage.” Tennyson took a deep breath. This next bit was going to be harder to explain. “Mom, I don’t have the power of Satan in me. I have a gift. I can pass messages along to grieving families. Your grandmother died when you were only ten years old. You never got to say goodbye to her and you felt like she abandoned you. You carried that feeling around for years. How much better would you have felt if someone like me could have just told you that she was safe with God on the other side and that she would always be looking out for you. Every time you see a meadowlark, that’s her. She sends those birds to you as a sign of her love.”
Kaye Grimm pushed back out of her chair. She pointed a shaking finger at her son. “I cast you out, demon!” She rubbed her hands over her arms as if to warm herself. “There is no way you could know that my grandmother always told me those birds were little ‘I love yous’ from her to me.”
Tennyson did roll his eyes this time. It was obvious his mother was never going to understand his special gift. “I know because Grammy told me.”
Kaye looked shaken to her soul. She practically fell back into her chair. She looked to her husband, but did not say another word.
David’s dark eyes narrowed as he stared at his boy. He seemed to be considering his words very carefully. “You are my son, Tennyson. It is my job to raise you until you turn eighteen, which mercifully coincides with the day of your high school graduation.” His words were cold, without inflection or feeling, spoken as if to a stranger and not to his own flesh and blood. “I will continue to provide for your basic needs, food, shelter, and clothing, but nothing else. Once you have your diploma in hand, you will pack your things and leave my home forever. You will never again contact your mother or me. Lastly, you will not tell another living soul about the abominations you have confessed here today, nor will you speak to either of us about them again. As of this moment, you are dead to me.”
Tennyson felt frozen to the spot. If this were some corny After School Special, the dramatic music would have ramped up and the show would have cut to a commercial. This was no lesson-giving teen drama. This was his life and it just got real.
He stood up from the table, abandoning his well-worn Bible. Jesus had abandoned him in his greatest time of need. Why shouldn’t Tennyson abandon his Lord and Savior right back? From now on, the only person who could save him was himself.
Mystique of the Fallen by Jessamyn Kingley
Chapter 1
Venerable Knight Roman Calixtus pulled open the door to his favorite bar, Redmilla’s, and waved to the bear shifter who owned the place. Without prompting, Redmilla pulled a beer for him. Roman took the tall pilsner glass and thanked her. He didn’t need to taste it to know she’d filled it with his favored Centaurian Brew.
Drink in hand, Roman headed for the corner table where he sat several nights a week with his closest friends. Somehow, the six men—a mixture of fallen knights and sentinels—had beaten him to Redmilla’s. A pang of envy squeezed his heart as he approached them. His bosses, Reverent Knights Drystan and Conley Gylde-Kempe, had their chairs close enough that they could touch each other, and Roman would’ve bet his last paycheck they were holding hands beneath the table.
Next to them was the only man who had ever been permanently resurrected twice. Venerable Knight Arvandus Ruarc-Daray had been a sentinel, but he was murdered in front of his other half, Skeleton Lord Albrecht Ruarc-Daray. For centuries, Arvandus had had no memory of his previous life, and his past wasn’t restored until he’d bound his blood with Albrecht’s.
Arvandus and Roman were both in the Order of the Fallen Knights, and before their reunion, Arvandus had requested the name Vann from Arch Lich Chander Daray—the imp-necromancer hybrid who’d resurrected every soldier in the Order. It was a nickname Albrecht had used for him during his first resurrected life, and Arvandus remembered it after his second resurrection despite the resurrection spell written to cleanse their minds of everything.
As usual, Arvandus was smiling, and although it was impossible to see Albrecht’s face thanks to his preference of wearing a cloak that covered him from head to toe, Roman imagined his apple-green eyes were filled with the love he had for his mate. They usually were on the rare occasions when Albrecht left his cloak off.
Next to Albrecht was another sentinel and fellow Skeleton Lord, Brynnius Darayvipera. Like his other half, Brynnius was one of the few shifting undead. The wyvern shifter was grinning at Venerable Knight Samson Osdraconis-Daray. Roman and Arvandus had aided their rulers as Venerable Knights since the dawn of the fallen knights in 1369. The pair had rejoiced when Samson had graduated from the Ascension Center as a Venerable Knight over a decade ago.
Their workload had soon been redistributed to give Samson an equal share of duties. Despite the addition of Samson, they remained overworked. Roman hoped the future included additional Venerable Knights, but he loved his job, so he couldn’t complain much.
“Hey, we saved you a seat,” Arvandus called out as Roman approached the table.
Roman held in his sigh at the single chair waiting for him. Although for the first few centuries of his life he’d enjoyed sex with countless partners, he’d long ago embraced solitude. What Roman wanted was his mate. He wasn’t sure what Fate was waiting for unless the other half of his soul wasn’t ready. That was disappointing, and Roman hoped to hell they would get their act together; he was tired of being lonely.
“Thanks,” Roman said, dropping his butt onto the wooden chair and setting his full glass on the table.
“How did it go?” Conley asked.
Roman grinned. “Perfect. The condo is officially mine.”
“Took you long enough to buy something permanent,” Arvandus replied, humor twinkling in his blue eyes.
“Hey, you live somewhere nice because of Albie. You chose nothing but plain-ass places that were already decorated before you two were together,” Roman argued.
“It was the Daemon Lords who insisted on having the condo decorated for us. Larissa designed everything at their behest,” Albrecht refuted in his unique, smoky voice.
Sentinels were incapable of telling untruths, and Roman appreciated their strict adherence to fact. Many years ago, Daemon Lords Baxter and Benton Daray had happily coordinated the refurbishing of the current home of the Darays. They had enlisted the help of dragon shifter Larissa D’Vairedraconis, who constantly wowed everyone with her impressive talent in interior design. The Daray condo was completed during a dark time when Chander and his other half—the ruler of the Sentinel Brotherhood, Lich Sentinel Alaric Daray—were separated.
Thankfully, everything had eventually worked out. Roman wanted happiness for Chander. Not only was he the man who’d granted Roman life, but he was also a wonderful friend. Occasionally, Chander and Alaric joined them at Redmilla’s, but both men had plenty of other obligations, hobbies, and loved ones to visit.
“Do we need to call Bax and Ben to have your new place decorated?” Samson asked.
On his first visit to the condo, a beautiful vision of it gorgeously adorned in shades of green, blue, and silver had instantly appeared in his head. It was what had sold Roman on the purchase, and he couldn’t wait to add his favorite colors to his new home. He’d kissed nearly his entire savings goodbye that afternoon, but he now had an address in the same exclusive building as the Reverent Knights.
Roman didn’t give a shit about impressing people with that fact. What he liked was the convenience of being close to work and the full-service amenities like a kitchen where he could order his meals. Roman enjoyed tasty things, and although he didn’t mind cooking the occasional dinner, he’d put little effort into learning recipes. Plus, he was busy and didn’t always want to bother with dirty dishes or the mess of cooking for one.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it,” Roman told the fallen knight with the unique dragon made entirely of bones.
“For a second there, I thought Samson was going to volunteer his own services,” Drystan said.
“Please,” Arvandus scoffed. “Ask him how many things he changed after he met Brynn.”
“I didn’t change one damn thing,” Samson replied, pushing some of the caramel-colored tresses out of Brynn’s eyes. “B has perfect taste.”
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Conley said. “You’re getting settled now. Surely Fate is going to fucking notice. If you don’t meet your mate soon, I’m hunting this goddess down to have some words with her.”
Roman took a giant swallow of his beer. “I sure as fuck hope Fate is listening to you.”
Not one to allow the conversation to dwell on his issues, Roman quickly shifted the topic away from his personal woes. It was easy to distract the men dedicated to protecting and defending the Council of Sorcery and Shifters with politics and crime. Roman didn’t want the three happy couples to feel sorry for him.
That was nearly as embarrassing as being forgotten by the goddess responsible for matching up shifters, magickind, those created by sorcery like Roman, and every other unique race in their Council.
∞∞∞
After a quick knock, Grant Calisto walked into an apartment last decorated in the 1980s. It smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and the rose-scented perfume of the woman who lived there.
“Aunt Florrie?” Grant called out as he shut the door behind him while juggling the box in his arms. The fussy drapes Aunt Florrie preferred allowed in little light, so the lamps on the end tables were on despite it being barely four in the afternoon.
“Get in here, Grant,” Aunt Florrie said.
Before she came into view, he heard the creak of the fancy metal walker he’d bought for her. Setting the box onto the floor since he’d catch hell if he put it on her pristine couch, Grant bussed her cheek and moved out of the way so she could get in her favorite recliner.
“How was your day?” Aunt Florrie asked once she was settled on the peachy pink cushions.
Unwilling to discuss anything to do with his semi-legal private investigation business, Grant plastered a smile on his face. “Great. I brought another box over; do you mind if I put it in the spare bedroom?”
“Why do you insist on calling it that? That room has been yours since you were thirteen. How many years has it been since then?”
“Nearly twenty,” Grant said, wincing internally at how much of his life he’d been stuck in the same rut. It wasn’t anything he could discuss with Aunt Florrie. She’d be appalled at the choices Grant had made. He ensured she knew little of his past and kept her far from his current mistakes too. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until recently that Grant had gained any horror of his own at his decisions.
“Still can’t believe that mother of yours ran off. You ever hear from her again?”
“No,” Grant said flatly. His mother had barely bothered to raise him when she’d been around, and it had been up to people like Aunt Florrie—who wasn’t even biologically related to Grant—to pick up the slack. Grant had no father, and he was eternally grateful that caring people like Aunt Florrie existed. But as wonderful as she could be when he wasn’t driving her crazy, she had firm opinions about what she considered right or wrong.
Which was one of the many reasons Grant kept her in the dark about most of his life.
“She did the best she could,” Aunt Florrie insisted. “She was barely more than a girl herself when you came along. I remember the fear in her eyes the day she admitted the trouble she’d gotten herself into. I expected your birth to calm her down, but nothing did. She was into all sorts of nasty business.”
Grant’s mother liked to party hard with drugs and alcohol and refused to allow a child to get in the way. By the time he was in school, he was spending half his nights at Aunt Florrie’s. One day, when he was thirteen, his mother hadn’t bothered returning to the apartment Grant had grown up in.
The landlord had already slapped an eviction notice on the door, and he’d been terrified of being homeless. But Aunt Florrie had bustled in and helped him move his meager belongings into her place. Now, two decades later, Grant was trying to extricate himself from the complicated web of his life, and he planned to call Aunt Florrie’s apartment home again. Hopefully, it’d be a brief stay, but Grant didn’t know what the future held.
Every aspect of his existence revolved around Reginald Bradley—his best friend, lover, and the lone client of his private investigation business. Grant’s car, his apartment, and even his underwear had been purchased by Reginald. Unlike Grant, Reginald had grown up with wealth and prestige. He was used to getting his way and hated to be told no.
When Grant mustered the courage to tell him things were over between them, Reginald would not take it well. Grant needed to have his affairs settled and the things he wished to keep moved out of his place because he had a feeling he wouldn’t be allowed to step foot in there once Reginald learned they were finished.
“I take it from your silence you don’t want to discuss her, but you need to forgive her, Grant. Not for her, but for you. Hatred festers in you. I can see it,” Aunt Florrie said, her blue eyes pinning him to the spot through her thick glasses.
It was true. Grant was cynical. But everything was a fucking mess and had been since he was born. Some of it was his own doing in trusting Reginald and somehow convincing himself that the man loved him, but Grant had also been slapped with reality far too often. Long ago, he’d had ambitions and had graduated from the police academy. He could recall that day so vividly. Grant had been so proud of himself, and he’d thought things were finally getting better.
But he’d been fired in disgrace. It was Grant’s fault. He’d been trying to help Reginald, and his police department didn’t take kindly to lying or falsifying reports. Grant had known it was wrong, but Reginald needed to make a splash in his father’s law office. Reginald had thanked him by insisting he get his license as a private investigator.
As if thinking about him had summoned Reginald, Grant’s phone rang. While his instincts were screaming at him to ignore it, he wasn’t ready to make his stand yet. A small, insidious voice inside him wondered if he ever would be—his escape plan had already dragged on for many months.
“I have to take this call, Aunt Florrie,” Grant said as he scooped up his box and headed to the bedroom Aunt Florrie had kept for him for twenty years. She didn’t approve of Reginald. Nor did she like that Grant was involved with a man, but he’d accepted that despite her love for him, she was also inflexible. However, she’d proven to be an expert judge of character throughout the past thirty years, and why it’d taken Grant so long to trust her instincts was a mystery he’d probably never solve.
How to Lure a Hunter by Alice Winters
Chapter One
ALEXEI
If I keep my eyes forward, I can pretend he’s not here. If I don’t look at him—
“Alexei!” Claude shouts, loud enough that everyone in the department turns to look at me.
I have two options right now: 1) pretend that he is speaking to someone else and pray he goes away or 2) murder.
While I know it might be hard to get away with murder in the middle of the Vampire Related Crimes unit, I feel like I could do it. I could at least try. I’ve analyzed enough crime scenes that I know a thing or two.
Claude, dressed in a silver jacket that shimmers every time the light hits him, stops right next to me and reveals a vase filled with huge red and black flowers. “I got you flowers. I got red ones to symbolize my feelings for you and black ones because you seem to… really like the color black,” he says as he eyes my clothes like they’re the problem between us.
“I hate flowers.”
“That’s alright,” he says, sounding cheery as ever as he immediately drops the huge vase in the trashcan. “What do you like?”
And now I feel bad because I thought he’d just be stubborn and go on about how he loves flowers and I should love them too and plop them on my desk where I’ll have to pretend I hate them.
He’s an attractive man—it must run in the family because Marcus Church, his twin brother, is just as handsome. Although they’re similar in height, Claude isn’t as muscular as Marcus. And where Marcus looks badass, Claude looks extremely well put together, all the time. I rarely see him wear something other than a suit or at least a button-up. He’s watching me with his strange silver-gray eyes that always seem to draw me in. From far away, they look blue and almost ordinary, but up close, it’s clear how unique they are.
He seems to have grown attached to me after Finn pulled him in to help on a previous case. While he is overly nice most of the time, he seems to lack a filter. He also has issues understanding that I just can’t date anyone now. I don’t want or need a relationship in my life. Nevertheless, he’s persistent and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why I still let him get away with giving me flowers and other nonsense. It also doesn’t help when I threaten him and he just flashes his ridiculously charming smile at me.
I must stare at him too long because he says, “Ah! Excuse me for one tiny moment, I need to speak with Finn!” then hurries off, and I’m left staring at the flowers in the trash. I glance up just in time to see Marcus divert Claude to the front door.
Why do I feel a tinge of disappointment? It must be because I’m bored and Claude was at least minorly entertaining, or maybe I’d hoped Marcus would have thrown him instead or something. Yes, I feel like it was that one. Something a bit more physically abusive, perhaps.
I pull the flowers out of the trash and stare at them, unsure of what to do with them now. A couple are a little bent from being dropped in the trash, so I try to straighten them and push the petals back up.
“What do you have?” Finn asks, voice instantly annoying me.
I feel like I’ve been caught with something I shouldn’t have. Like I’m over here fussing with a baggie of drugs instead of flowers. “Trash.”
“I feel like you pulled them out of the trash.”
I narrow my eyes at the annoyingly observant human. “They filled up my entire trash can, and I need room for other trash.”
The human grins at me as he sits down in his chair at the desk across from mine before sliding on over to my side. I really feel like there should be a huge partition up between us so he can’t annoy me. He’s almost as annoying as Claude.
“Where’d you get the flowers? From Claude?” he asks, tone teasing.
I have zero idea of what to do with the flowers. Do I toss them back in the trash? I can’t set them on my table… I can’t do anything with them but hold them, unsure of what to do. “Take them,” I say as I try to push them at Finn.
Finn reaches for them, making me relieved that I at least found someone willing to take them, until I see he’s actually reaching for a tag wrapped around the vase. He pulls it out just enough to open it.
I had a lot of fun the other day. I hope you did too.
Claude
“Is he talking about the date?” Finn asks, but the look on his face tells me that he knows Claude’s talking about the date. The date I got conned into going on with Claude all because he saved Finn from a vampire who was trying to kill him. Why saving Finn became a good reason to force me on a date, I’ll never know.
I stuff the flowers under my desk where my legs go. “I will personally take them out to the dumpster on break,” I announce.
Finn wraps an arm around me, hugging me to him. “You’re so cute.”
I grab his hair and try to pry him off me with it. “Will you stop!”
Suddenly the area around me becomes suppressing as I feel a dark shadow looming over me. When I look up, I see Marcus glaring down at me, tips of his fangs showing like he’s pissed at me because Finn’s hugging me!
“What are you doing with my man?” Marcus asks.
“I don’t want him!” I say as I continue to try and pry him off me. “Dammit, Finn, you’re going to make Marcus murder me!”
Finn beams at Marcus and I can’t help but be amazed that Marcus lets this little human rule his life. The Marcus I met when I joined the VRC was callous, short-tempered, and annoying. Even so, I didn’t mind working with him because he didn’t insist on idle chat and gossip. He really didn’t like any chatting, so we could silently work with each other and communicate by glares and snips. It was my favorite type of communication. But then this human came along filled with joy and happiness and suddenly everyone around me started to fall head over heels for him one by one. Even though we should have been disgusted by him, seeing as he was a human joining a vampire unit, he used his annoyingness to sucker everyone into liking him.
And for some reason… he’s now my closest friend.
“Marcus is just jealous,” Finn explains. “And when Marcus is jealous he—”
“Slams people against walls, breaks bones, and tears out eyes,” I cut in. “I would like none of that to happen to me so please, if you care about my wellbeing, fuck off.”
Finn laughs as he pulls back but doesn’t wheel away yet. “Marcus, why’d you scare Claude off? He was in the process of wooing Alexei.”
“Because Claude does not work here. Let’s just be happy that he’s getting his own house and we’ll finally be free of him,” Marcus says.
“Claude’s moving?” I ask before remembering that I couldn’t give a shit if Claude was moving to the moon. I’d actually be relieved. That’s definitely it.
“He is. I don’t know where to yet, but he’s coming over tonight to take us to his new house,” Finn explains. “Why don’t you come with us? You were wanting to grab that book from my house anyway.”
So it must be in the area, which means he can still annoy me, which isn’t good.
DeGray swings by before pointing at the door. “We just got a call about a dead vampire. Can you guys head out?”
DeGray is a fellow detective who was one of the nicest ones to me when I started here. I think he’s nice to everyone, though, since that seems to be where he excels. Things have been a bit… strained between us lately since our last one-on-one talk. But he still gives me a small smile before turning to the others.
I wonder what they’d do if they knew.
But DeGray shouldn’t worry, I’m the master of keeping secrets. My whole life is built on lies and secrets.
“Ready?” Finn asks.
I glance up at him since he’s now standing. It’d be the only time I’d have to glance up at the human, even if I’m not as tall as the other vampires in our unit, besides Briar. “Yeah.”
“Good because you got this far-off look in your eyes like you couldn’t remember if you left the stove on or not.”
“What would I need a stove for?” I ask as I stand to gather my things and slide in my chair, careful not to smash the vase and flowers.
“Blood things. Maybe it’s where you boil your victims.”
“Maybe you’re not funny?” I say.
He beams at me like he knows it’s a lie. I glance back at Marcus who has his eyes narrowed. “If Finn makes a joke, you laugh.”
“Ha. Fucking. Ha,” I say dryly, which makes Finn laugh as we walk out the door to the cars. When I head for my own car to save myself from being near Finn and Marcus, I’m steered toward their vehicle by Finn.
And while Marcus bickers about how much nicer it would’ve been to leave me behind, I get into the back seat with DeGray.
“DeGray, you’ve been so quiet lately, is something wrong?” Finn asks as he turns around in his seat to face him.
DeGray glances over at me, clearly the worst liar around. “No, just thinking. A bit tired too.”
I pull out my phone, hopefully proving to DeGray that I’m not going to just start spouting shit he doesn’t want spouted. When I glance down at it, I see I have a message from Claude. After the only date I got conned into going on with him, I told him he could text me once a day. Which means he decides to write a book every time he sends one text to fit it all in.
The Annoying One: Sorry I didn’t get to say bye. I know, I know, I’m only allowed one text a day, so I’ll just make it a really long one. Ha ha! That’s what he said. Anyway, today I started moving into my new house, but I haven’t owned a house in years so it feels kind of strange. Because I love learning about new cultures, I just traveled all over the world, but it’s been nice here with my brother, so I think I’m going to hang around for a while. Will you come see the new house? I’m forcing Marcus and Finn to come see it tonight, and if you’d like, you could come with them, and I can give you a tour. What about you? How is your day going?
I stare at the text for a while before sighing loudly. I don’t want to get involved with anyone. I currently have a few acquaintances and a small handful of closer friends, which is more than I want. I can’t let myself have more, and if I did, it wouldn’t be someone like Claude. We clash far too much when he’s so outgoing and easy to be around and I’m… not. I’d need someone…
I glance down at the text.
Me: Depends. Will you be there?
The Annoying One: LOL You always make me laugh. Yes, I will, but that’s the best part! I can show you my library. It’s the only thing I currently have moved in. I can’t wait for you to come over!
Oh lord. What did I just agree to?
“It’s called a penis sling,” Finn says.
What the hell kind of conversation did I just come back to? Thankfully, we arrive before I have to find out.
The crime scene is at a suburban house just on the outskirts of town. There’s tape up to keep people from loitering around on the sidewalk. The human police must have been the first to respond, but as soon as they figured out it was a case involving a vampire, it must have been pushed over to the VRC, since all vampire-related cases are. It doesn’t matter whether the vampire is the victim or the killer, any case related to vampires gets sent to the VRC. The issue with that is the VRC is so understaffed that we end up having to do the jobs of multiple people and get pushed from job title to job title depending on what works and fits for the individual case.
Marcus, being the eldest and strongest of us, generally takes charge. This means that as soon as we get out of the vehicle, he glares at the neighbors loitering around—sending them quickly on their way—ducks under the tape, and hurries on toward the house without stopping for anyone.
And in his wake is Finn, smiling and thanking the officers and nicely telling the terrified people to move along.
They’re so different and weird together. Or maybe they’re just weird.
That’s probably what it is.
I follow after them as they head into the house. I can instantly smell blood, but it doesn’t seem to be coming from one area. A human officer walks up and gives us a nod.
“Where’s the body of the vampire?” Marcus asks, always right to the point.
“We haven’t found one yet, but the blood is thickest in the living room.”
“I thought you guys called in a body.”
“We did—”
“How do you know it’s a body if there’s just blood?” Marcus asks, cutting the man off.
The officer is clearly one who is used to dealing with Marcus because he doesn’t easily get intimidated; instead, he starts walking toward the kitchen to where I see why they’re sure there’s a body.
Sitting on the table is a head, no body in sight.
“Interesting,” Marcus says. “Let’s see where this body might be. DeGray and Karsyn, stay together. It smells like they went out the back door.”
Marcus starts walking as I follow after him while Finn surveys the area before hurrying after us.
“So we have a targeted kill,” Finn says.
“Not too many people have the stomach to sever a head then carry it back to the house,” I say as we walk into the backyard. DeGray is to my left as we fan out so we’re not all walking the exact same path. I can smell blood in the air and see areas where the killer had paused long enough for blood to accumulate on the ground. We follow it out back to a field that leads to the woods.
Marcus stops and turns to DeGray and me. “Stay within sight of me. The death might have happened hours ago, but it doesn’t mean the attacker is gone.”
He’s been much stricter after losing one of the detectives who’d gone off into the woods looking for evidence and was killed by his partner. I doubt any of my partners would be interested in my death… besides maybe Marcus, but he’d still rather be safe. While it is a requirement that we stay in pairs, vampires seem to always have their own ideas of rules. They think they’re strong enough to wander off alone, but that could also be caused by the lack of surplus people.
The wind is whipping around us, but instead of helping, it’s pushing the smells away from us, so we have to move slower than usual in case we miss something.
“You guys are so weird,” Finn says. “You’re all just walking around sniff-snorting the air like a pack of rabid dogs.”
“We’re not dogs,” Marcus says as Finn starts loudly sniffing as he walks.
“We could just leave him out here,” I suggest.
“You just want to keep me for yourself, don’t you, Alexei?” Finn asks. “You want to ravish my body!”
I snort because that’s not something I want to do. What I do want to do is focus on work.
“Karsyn, if you even look at my…” Marcus hesitates, which is rare when he gets onto this threatening thing. “I have something.” Of course it’s not surprising he caught the scent first since he’s over twice my age. We follow him as he speeds up and moves into the trees. And there, right under the undergrowth, is the body with no head.
The area around it seems to have been trodden down, like there was enough of a fight to flatten the brush.
“Do you have any other scents?” Finn asks.
“No, we’ll search the area, but the fight seems to be pretty one-sided,” Marcus says.
“But there was enough of a fight to mess up the area,” I note as I look around. A sapling has been snapped in half, telling me a body had been thrown against it at some point. There’s blood and dirt on the vampire’s jeans that don’t follow the same pattern as the blood from his throat.
So now we have a dead vampire who was attacked in his home and chased out into the woods where they must have caught him and beheaded him. That’s not an easy feat.
I take out my work phone and pull up the database that will get me the information I need as Marcus, Finn, and DeGray scan and assess the area.
I type in the address and see that a man by the name of Ronald Diver is the only current resident. The picture provided matches with the victim. Going off the appearance of his file, he was a pretty clean-cut citizen. It looks like he filed everything correctly, which is required for vampires who want access to blood. He worked a normal job with nothing that stands out or causes any red flags.
But of course that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there, it just means that on the surface, he seems like the ideal citizen. I trace his lineage down to when he moved here about fifty years ago; before then, he’d lived in England which is where he’d been turned.
I face the others. “His name’s Ronald Diver, nothing stands out on him. He works as a chef at a local restaurant. Nothing against him. No warnings, nothing. Ideal citizen as far as his records here go. We’ll have to look into his records from when he lived in Europe.”
“Probably a vampire attack with the precision of the wound,” Marcus says.
I stoop down to look at the cut. The original wound appears to have been in the heart, which made him flee, but was nearly healed by the time they removed the head.
“I wouldn’t write off the possibility of a human attacker,” I say.
Marcus raises an eyebrow. “How old is he?”
I glance down at my phone. “He’s… seventy-three. Nineteen at date of turning.”
“You think a vampire that age wouldn’t be able to fight off a human?” Marcus asks, clearly in disbelief. Marcus is an amazing detective, but his only downfall is the fact that he clearly believes vampires are superior. It’s shocking that he can handle being with a human who won’t put up with his shit.
“Marcus, don’t get your panties in a bunch. He’s just saying that we shouldn’t immediately write off humans just because you think a human couldn’t cut a head off,” Finn says.
Marcus grumbles something, but we both know he’ll listen to Finn. Finn could say the clouds are made of marshmallows, and while Marcus would probably complain, we all know he’d eventually agree with Finn. Love does stupid things to stupid people.
As the analyst team moves in and begins marking the site, I start working with them to document everything from the path he took to where his body fell when he died. The killer or killers hadn’t moved the body far, but it’d been turned over some time after death.
By the end, we’re left with more questions than answers on why a random vampire met such a gruesome fate.
The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser by Chloe Archer
CHAPTER ONE
Dear Journal (NOT a fucking diary!),
Not real sure how to start using this thing. I’ve never kept a journal before. Seems weird to me. Like, am I talking to myself or someone else? I don’t fucking know.
My life’s a mess right now, so I don’t have a lot of positive stuff to share. One bit of good news—Damien took the plea deal, so he’s in prison and I don’t have to testify in court. Thank fuck for that. I would’ve done it, but I was dreading it. Unfortunately, my d-bag ex won’t be in jail for long enough. Three years probably means eighteen months and then parole if he behaves himself. I’m glad the prosecutor told it to me straight. It helped me kick my Escape-from-New-York plan—not quite as cool as the movie—into action.
Right now, I’m on a bus heading upstate to some small town called Mystic Hollow. I can’t quite believe the place is real. Everything I’ve read about it sounds like something out of a fantasy book or a fairy tale. Real life isn’t like that. I’ve learned that the hard way. But I gotta see the town because if it’s the lifeline I desperately fucking need right now, I’m gonna grab it and hold on tight.
Is there really a place where I can be totally safe and happy in this fucked-up world?
—Skylar Wright’s Personal Journal
Late September…
Skylar
“Are you gettin’ off here or not, kid?”
I jolt out of my stupor and give the grizzled old driver a weak smile. “Yeah, man. Sorry.”
At thirty-two, I still look a lot younger than my age. It’s not something I love. So far in life, it’s brought more trouble than good.
I hastily exit the bus—just me and my beat-up duffle bag with all my worldly possessions crammed inside—and stand at the side of the road, inhaling a cloud of exhaust as my only form of transportation disappears from view.
It’s mid-September and the signs of fall are way more noticeable here than back in Brooklyn. All around me, tree leaves are starting to change colors, and I can tell it’ll be beautiful in a few more weeks.
I need some beauty in my life.
A cold wind whistles past me, and I shiver, grateful I have my thrift-store leather jacket to keep me warm. It should be good enough until winter hits and the snow starts. By then, I’ll hopefully have a roof over my head and be earning enough for me to buy a real winter coat.
That is, if I can make my dream of opening a salon happen.
I stare down at the wrinkled scrap of paper I’ve been carrying around and treating like it’s the holy fucking grail. To me, I suppose it kind of is. It’s what guided me on the weird journey here, after all.
All-Species Specialized Employment Services (A.S.S.E.S)—Business Opportunities Exclusive Bulletin
Want to start a small business? In need of a fresh start? Looking for a safe and welcoming place to call home? If you’re open-minded (and not a bigoted jerk), then we have just the town for you! Come to Mystic Hollow, the premier Sanctuary Haven of northeastern United States, where you can embark on a new path. One that can bring you greater harmony, health, happiness, and if you play your cards right, maybe even love! Mystic Hollow is seeking new residents to open small businesses that can provide valuable services to the town’s diverse population and its needs. Please call 555-892-1565 for more information.
I’d found the odd ad pinned to a corkboard on the wall of a coffee shop I hung out in a lot after Damien got arrested. When I ripped it off the board and held it in my hand, I swear I felt some kind of electric spark go all the way up my arm, leaving goose bumps along the way. It was fucking freaky, but part of me wanted to believe there was something special about it, like I was meant to find it.
Like it might be the answer to my desperate need to get the hell out of Brooklyn and as far away from Damien’s reach as possible.
Before I could think about it too long and talk myself out of it, I called the number. The receptionist on the other end confirmed that the offer was real. If I wanted to nab this almost too good to be true chance, all I needed to do was get myself to Mystic Hollow.
Until this very second, I’d been fifty-fifty on whether or not I’d find myself dumped in some kind of creepy cult in the middle of nowhere. While it is pretty damn rural out here, especially compared to what I’m used to, it’s not scary. Kind of peaceful even. Right ahead of me is the main road that’s supposed to lead into the town.
I gulp. “Get your ass moving, Skylar. Standing here isn’t gonna make your dream happen. You gotta take charge of your own destiny.”
With that pep talk done, I haul my duffle over my shoulder and make my way toward the road, where I walk along the shoulder. My boots have seen better days but they should last me another winter if I’m lucky. Striding forward, I keep my gaze focused ahead. Looking back is so not fucking worth it, in my experience. I follow the tree-lined road as it curves around a bend, and within ten minutes, the town comes into view.
It looks like something out of one of those cheesy Hallmark romance movies my grandma used to watch. Main Street is lined with cutesy little shops and cheerful storefronts, and it’s cleaner than anything I’ve ever seen before.
When I spot Cumar’s Coffee, the place I’m supposed to meet my mysterious contact, I hurry inside. I’d caught the ass-crack-of-dawn bus out of the Port Authority a few hours ago, so I’m in desperate need of a caffeine fix. I also want a cigarette so fucking bad I can taste it.
But I’m trying to ignore that self-destructive impulse, as Dr. Patel—or Dr. P as she has most of her patients address her—calls it. Quitting has been harder than I ever expected.
Since it’s late morning on a weekday, the coffee shop is pretty mellow, with not that many customers in line or at the tables. A handsome satyr with dark skin and dreadlocks half-wrapped in a colorful ombre scarf smiles at me from behind the front counter.
“Good morning. What can I get you?”
I huddle self-consciously in my coat, hoping I don’t look as rough as I feel. “Just a cup of coffee, please. Black.”
He nods and fills a generously sized mug for me.
I pay the two bucks, internally wincing when I notice I’m down to my last twenty now. I’ve got no idea where I’ll stay tonight or how I’ll pay for it, but that’s a problem for later.
“First time in Mystic Hollow?” he asks as I take the steaming mug.
“Uh… yeah.”
He smiles. “Welcome. I’m Cumar.”
“Uh… thanks. I’m Skylar.”
He studies me for a long moment, and his expression softens. “I hope you enjoy your time here. Mystic Hollow is a special place. Many come here looking for something or just needing a place to feel safe for a while, then end up staying.” He grins. “I’m one of them.”
I take a sip of my coffee, rich and woodsy, and shift from foot to foot. “Is it… uh… true that the town is protected by magic?”
“It is. In fact, you would never have been able to enter if the magic sensed any ill intent from you. Mystic Hollow only welcomes those it deems worthy.”
I gape at him. “What, like some kind of invisible magical fence keeping assholes out?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “That’s a good way to describe it. In essence, yes, anyone harboring violent or dangerous intentions is kept out. The magic repels them so they cannot cross the town’s borders. Same goes for town residents. Should they start harboring such impulses, the magic will boot them out. How that works, I’m not quite sure. Fortunately, we haven’t had that happen, not since I’ve been living here anyway.”
I don’t have a fucking clue how magic works, but what Cumar’s told me makes me relax in a way I haven’t in months. Damien will never be able to get to me here, which is a massive point in this town’s favor. Now, if I can just figure out my employment situation…
After thanking Cumar for the coffee, I settle into a seat at an empty booth in the far corner of the shop. No one bothers me even though I’m the only human in the place and probably stick out like a sore thumb. Instead, I get warm smiles but I’m left alone.
I’d already known Sanctuary Havens were created to shelter and protect Otherkind, mostly from douchebag humans. We learned about that in elementary school. However, my reading before I decided to move here told me that these special towns are basically open to anyone so long as they aren’t speciesist asshats.
And apparently so long as the magic accepts them.
But stigma is still everyfuckingwhere, and few humans choose to live in places where they’re in the minority. Me, I’m happy to get the fuck away from most of my species.
Living in the city, I’d come across my fair share of Otherkind. They don’t call NYC a melting pot for nothing. But in my whole time living there, I never had any trouble from Otherkind I met. It was always my fellow humans I had to watch out for.
Yet another reason why moving to a place like Mystic Hollow has its advantages. I’m kind of done with most of humanity.
Taking out my phone, I plug it into the wall socket, relieved to see my battery charging after being almost out of juice. I pop in my earbuds and pull up the patient portal site for me to check in for my virtual therapy appointment. This isn’t the ideal time and place, but I didn’t want to miss my session. Therapy has been a guiding light in the darkness since everything that happened with Damien.
I only have to wait about five minutes before I’m admitted to the virtual room and see Dr. P’s familiar, friendly face. She’s one of the few humans I trust.
“Hiya, Doc,” I say quietly. “Sorry I have to do this while I’m in a public location, but I didn’t want to cancel. We’ll just keep things light today if that’s cool.”
She smiles, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. “Of course. It’s good to see you, Skylar. How are you doing?”
I wrap my free hand around my coffee cup, chasing the warmth it offers and trying to keep myself grounded. “Surviving,” I say with a shrug.
“And that’s something to be proud of. Don’t forget that.”
“I know.”
“How are you sleeping?”
I wince and run a hand through my hair, jonesing for a cigarette. “Not great. I’m not having nightmares about what happened so much anymore. But my sleep’s been restless. It’s like my body’s on edge all the time, like I’m waiting for another attack at any moment.”
Dr. P studies me with sympathetic brown eyes. “It takes time for your body and mind to recover from the kind of trauma you experienced. What you’re describing is frustrating, I know, but it’s normal. Have you been using the sleep aid medication I prescribed?”
I shrug again. “The pills make me groggy the next day, and I need to be alert or my anxiety spikes. So I stopped.”
“Once you get settled somewhere new and establish a daily routine, some of these issues may resolve on their own. Or at the very least, you’ll feel more comfortable taking the medication.” She tilts her head. “Have you made it to the place you were telling me about?”
I nod. “Just arrived a bit before I called you.”
She smiles brightly. “What do you think? First impressions?”
I consider that. “It’s pretty. Lots of trees. I’ve never seen so much nature outside of Central Park. And it’s super quiet compared to the city. So far, I kinda like that. Makes me think I can work on figuring my shit out in peace.”
“I think you made the right call going there. You deserve to experience the safety of a Sanctuary Haven. They’re truly special places. You haven’t known much safety in your life, but you’ll be able to find it there.”
“That’s pretty much the reason I hopped on a bus. Now I just need to figure out how to stay here. I’m broke as hell and jobless.”
She frowns. “Are you still meeting with someone to discuss options?”
I fiddle with my mug. “The agency that put out the ad arranged an appointment with a local contact. They’re meeting me here in the coffee shop in a little while.”
Am I super fucking anxious about that?
Yep.
Cue the damn nicotine craving once again.
We spend another fifteen minutes going through some of the grounding techniques she’s shown me and then Dr. P signs off, reminding me to keep writing in that damn journal.
After we hang up, Cumar appears at my table with a coffee pot in hand. “Free refill?”
I blink. “For real?”
He chuckles. “Drip coffee refills are on the house.”
“Thanks, man.”
Once he refills my mug and heads back to the front counter, I sip the steaming brew and try to ignore the growling noises my stomach has decided to start making. I haven’t eaten anything since last night, but I need to conserve the last bit of cash I have until I know what’s what.
Glancing at my phone screen, I see it’s almost time for the meeting that A.S.S.E.S. set up for me here in town. My leg jiggles nervously under the table. The receptionist had been super vague about who I was meeting, let alone what this meeting would involve.
I look up as a mysterious woman approaches my booth and do a double take.
She’s gorgeous and also intimidating as hell, with long black hair tied up in a slick, high ponytail and electric blue eyes almost the same shade as the nail polish on her long, deadly-looking nails. Her outfit consists of a pair of skintight jeans, thigh-high black leather boots, and an off-the-shoulder red sweater.
When she stops at my booth and grins at me, sharp teeth on display, I can’t hold back a shiver. I’ve gotten good at sensing who’s got the kind of aura I don’t wanna mess with. And this woman’s power is rolling off her in waves. I’m pretty sure she’s not human.
I’m also absolutely certain she could kick my sorry ass.
Shit.
“You must be Skylar,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m Astraea. Welcome to Mystic Hollow.”
I shake her hand with my own damp one and she takes the seat across from me.
Although I can sense her power, her body language is nonthreatening for now, and I relax a little.
Her eyes gleam. “Just so you know, you’re the very first person to respond to the ad I had A.S.S.E.S. put out. I’d call that destiny, wouldn’t you?”
I stare at her in surprise. “Really? That ad was pretty tempting. I’d think more people would’ve jumped on the opportunity to move somewhere safe that’s looking for business start-ups.”
Maybe other people aren’t as desperate as I am?
She tosses her ponytail over her shoulder and winks. “I confess, that advertisement was just a tiny bit bewitched. Only the right kind of people can find it.”
My brain is about ready to explode. “You mean magic?”
She chuckles. “Of course. Someone needed to take action to bring new residents to this town. I decided to step in when no one else did.”
I frown. “This place doesn’t seem like it’s in an economic downturn or in desperate need of new people.”
She crosses her arms and leans back in her seat. “You’re right. The town is doing well, but it does need some new businesses, especially ones like yours, that fill gaps in the infrastructure. And there are other reasons we need fresh blood coming in here too.” She waves a hand dismissively. “But no need to get into that right now. Maybe after you decide whether you want to stay here.”
I smile and hold a hand over my stomach when it growls again.
Astraea favors me with a warm look that’s almost motherly, and the last of my earlier wariness fades away. “So, Skylar, tell me more about what brings you to Mystic Hollow. My ad must have resonated with you. Why?”
I gulp. Time to get real. Well, without dumping my fucking trauma tale on her.
“Well, the last year’s been real rough for me for a lot of reasons. Let’s just say a fresh start sounded too good to ignore, especially if it meant I might be able to open my own hair salon.”
She looks me up and down with a shrewd gaze. “And why Mystic Hollow versus somewhere else?”
I ponder that for a second and go with my gut instinct. “The safety this place offers. I’ve spent too much of my life not feeling safe, and I’m f—real tired of it.”
That’s definitely what spoke to me the most when I read that ad.
Leaning her elbows on the table, she steeples her fingers under her chin, eyes alight with interest. “I helped create Sanctuary Havens for precisely that reason. Everyone deserves a place where they can be safe. It’s especially important for many Otherkind in this realm, but humans can also benefit from the security of these special towns.”
I stare at her wide-eyed. “You helped create Sanctuary Havens?” That must have been hundreds of years ago. “Who the hell are you?” I whisper.
Her eyes shift from electric blue to an opalescent color as smoke drifts out of her mouth. “I’m the dragon goddess of the Celestial Realm.”
Not gonna lie, I pinch myself. After I can move, that is.
Ow. Yep, this is real.
“Whoa.” I swallow hard. “Why are you here in Mystic Hollow?”
She smirks with amusement. “It’s a long story. When I came back here for the first time in centuries, I didn’t plan to stay long, but I fell in love with the town and its residents, so I’ve extended my stay.” She clears her throat. “But enough about me. Tell me more about your business proposal.”
The moment of truth has finally arrived.
You can do this, Skylar.
With shaking hands, I open my duffle and pull out the plastic folder holding the business proposal I typed up and printed out at the public library.
I hand it to her. “Look, I know this is probably a long shot. I don’t have a business degree or any fancy schooling. My credit’s for shit because my ex took out fraudulent loans in my name, and I’m still dealing with the fallout from all that.” I straighten my back and my resolve. “But I’m a hard worker and opening my own hair salon is my life’s dream. I’ll give it everything I have if you give me a chance.”
We’re momentarily interrupted when Cumar appears, setting down a steaming cappuccino with a leaf drawn in the foam. “Your usual,” he tells her.
She reaches out her hand and pats his arm. “Bless you, darling. One can never have too many cappuccinos if you ask me. Just put it on my tab.”
He smiles at us both and returns to the counter again.
Astraea sips her drink and flips through the pages of my proposal while I sit there sweating bullets. I put a lot of work into my pitch, and I didn’t try to bullshit her with anything in there either. My approach is to start small but classy and scale up over time. Everything I’ve mapped out should be sustainable for the first few years until I get established. I just need the start-up capital to get the ball rolling.
Eventually, she sets the folder down and grins. “This looks solid to me. Mystic Hollow has needed a hair salon for ages. They used to have a barbershop back in the day, but it closed when the owner retired.” She taps one pointed nail on the closed folder and cocks her head at me. “Do you think you could work with the diverse range of clientele this town has? There are more Otherkind here than there are humans, and their needs are vastly different than what you may have encountered before.”
My heart hammers in my chest, and I clasp my hands tightly under the table. “My experience is mostly working with human hair, yes, but I’ve taken a few workshops on styling hair and fur for some Otherkind species. I plan to continue learning and training so I can make every client of mine feel gorgeous when they leave my salon. I’m confident I will pick things up fast.”
That’s one trait of mine that’s served me well over the years.
“How well do you think you’d fit in here as a new resident?” she asks, studying me carefully.
I shift in my seat. “Well, I can’t say for sure. I’ve lived in the city all my life, so a small town will be an adjustment, but I like the peaceful vibe I’ve felt here so far.” I give her a lopsided grin. “To be honest, I’ve found dealing with Otherkind preferable to dealing with humans most of the time. I’ll be super dedicated to my clients, and I’ll work on building ties in the community with other business owners. After all, in a small town like this, helping each other out means we’re all more likely to succeed.”
Something flickers in Astraea’s eyes, as if she can somehow sense what I haven’t told her about.
“You show wisdom beyond your years, which is refreshing.” Her eyes go distant. “Many come to Sanctuary Havens looking for safety and peace but often find so much more. No matter what brought you here, please trust me when I say that Mystic Hollow can heal your heart and soul, Skylar. It’s one of the fundamental reasons Sanctuary Havens were created. Everyone here has a story, and many have painful experiences from their pasts, but Mystic Hollow has become their safe haven. It could become yours as well.”
Her words echo Cumar’s from earlier and suddenly my heart squeezes with an intense and desperate kind of longing.
“What I want more than anything is a place I can call home. Somewhere I can be me and don’t have to be looking over my shoulder all the time, you know?”
She tilts her head. “Since you mentioned starting over, am I correct in assuming nobody will be joining you here?”
I grimace. “Fuck no. I’ve pretty much decided to never date again. Giving up men, just like cigarettes.”
I hadn’t planned on outing myself so quickly, but Astraea doesn’t give off homophobic vibes. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s queer too. I’ve always had good gaydar.
She nods and gives me a mysterious smile. “Ah, I understand. You have other priorities. For now.”
I ignore that last bit and run a hand through my hair, wondering when and where I’ll get my next shower. “I’m one hundred percent focused on getting a job so I can save money to start my business,” I say firmly.
She suddenly stands, cocking her hip and resting a hand on it. “Then you’re in luck Skylar Wright. Consider me your miracle worker goddess.”
My mouth drops open. “What?”
She chuckles. “Come along. Bring your proposal and let’s head to Mystic Hollow Bank. They have several small business loans for people in precisely your situation. I’m sure we can convince them to give you and your salon a chance.”
I blink and continue to gape at her. “Really?”
It can’t possibly be this easy. Can it?
She brushes some nonexistent lint off her sleeve and smirks. “Darling, I’m a goddess. Let me show you how divine intervention works!”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m hot on her heels as she strides out of the coffee shop with full-on diva vibes.
Vanora LawlessVanora Lawless is a bisexual genderfluid Canadian with ADHD and a passion for telling love stories set in magical or niche historical worlds. A graduate of Saint Mary’s University, Vanora has a B.A, majoring in psychology. As a Nova Scotian, loving long walks on the beach is practically a law, so Vanora takes every possible opportunity to explore the best sandy shores. In spare time between crafting new worlds and stories, Vanora can be found behind the lens of a camera or in a blanket burrito with a good book.
Sick of the slogging rat-race of her 9-5 job, Pandora Pine put pen to paper (literally!) to make her ambition of becoming a romance novelist a reality. She cut her teeth in the dog-eat-dog world of fan fiction, still dreaming of the day when she would be a published author.
In her spare time, Pandora fancies herself an amateur nature photographer. She enjoys mucking around in swamps, hiking through the woods and crawling around on her hands and knees in her backyard seeking out the perfect shot. Pandora is a fan of roadside seafood shacks and always thinks Mexican food is a good idea at the time.
Some of Pandora's favorite things are chocolate, writing longhand with purple pens, and handsome men falling in love with each other.
Jessamyn Kingley has published over thirty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, Jessamyn eagerly adds new tales to her D’Vaire series and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. Jessamyn shares a home in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her thick stack of beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends.
Alice WintersAlice Winters started writing stories as soon as she was old enough to turn her ideas into written words. She loves writing a variety of things from romance and comedy to action. She also enjoys reading, horseback riding, and spending time with her pets.
Chloe Archer writes queer sci-fi and paranormal rom coms with laugh out loud humor because she’s all about bringing the funny-sexy back. Oh, yeah!
She currently call Minnesota home, but has lived abroad in places like Montreal, Edinburgh, and Tokyo. She’s hoping to relocate to Scotland permanently in the next few years if the stars align.
Chloe is a fur mama to two adorable Yorkies, Jasper and Teddy, and she loves them in a crazy dog mama kind of way. When she isn’t busy writing, she enjoys visiting friends and family, traveling, reading, binge watching movies and TV shows, and practicing her karaoke skills. She does a mean cover of Pat Benatar and Cher, or so she’s been told.
Vanora Lawless
KOBO / iTUNES / AUDIBLE / GOOGLE PLAY
EMAIL: vanoralawless@gmail.com
Pandora Pine
Jessamyn Kingley
Alice Winters
EMAIL: alicewintersauthor@gmail.com
Chloe Archer
Twisted Tome by Vanora Lawless
B&N / GOOGLE PLAY / BOOKBUB
KOBO / iTUNES / GOODREADS TBR
Dead to Me by Pandora Pine
Mystique of the Fallen by Jessamyn Kingley
How to Lure a Hunter by Alice Winters
The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser by Chloe Archer
