Deep Dark Secret (31 page)

“I thought it might be my funeral trying to get off the damned Empire State Building that night,” he said with a laugh, trying to push away the seriousness of the moment.

I wiped the corners of my eyes with the pad of my thumb. “You never did tell me how you got home.”

“And I’ll never tell you.” He kissed my forehead. “Let’s just say I owe a security guard named Butch a very big reward and leave it at that.”

I cozied into his side as he picked up the Xbox controller again. When I pointed to the newspaper under his feet, he paused the game a second time.

“Did you read it?” I asked.

“I glanced.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I issued his own question back to him.

He shook his head. The official engagement announcement for my wedding to Lucas had been a full-page story in the
Times
wedding section. They said it was going to be the social event of the decade, or something along those lines. Apparently Sarah Jessica Parker was on the guest list, along with Barbara Walters, Jay-Z and Beyonce. News to me. My guest list was about ten people long.

Desmond ran his fingers through my hair and pulled my legs onto his lap. “Does it change how you feel about me?”

“No,” I replied, without hesitation.

“And we both know it’s good for the pack and will keep your uncle at a distance a little longer.”

“Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” His voice sounded strained.

“Des…”

“Who are you with right now?” He dipped his head back so he could look me in the eyes. “Who do you come home to every night? It isn’t him. It’s never been him.”

I gave him a weak smile.

“I don’t care what the paper says.” He kicked it off the table for emphasis. “I know how you feel. All that matters is you’re alive. And I’ve got you a little longer.”

I draped my arm over his stomach and rested my head on his chest. “You’ve got me forever.”

I could feel his smile against the crown of my head. “Good.”

After a pause, I couldn’t resist my next question any longer. “What did Calliope tell you that night?”

His hand twitched, and the reaction surprised me enough I pulled back and looked at his face, bracing my hand on the arm of the loveseat. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to say,” he admitted.

“She didn’t say you couldn’t.” Now curiosity was overwhelming my more rational characteristics. I
had
to know.

“She said I’d be the one standing with you in the end.”

My blood ran cold. What was it Calliope had said to me?

One day you will die standing by someone you love.

About the Author

Sierra Dean is a reformed historian. She was born and raised in the Canadian prairies and is allowed annual exit visas in order to continue her quest of steadily conquering the world one city at a time. Making the best of the cold Canadian winters, Sierra indulges in her less global interests: drinking too much tea and writing urban fantasy.

Ever since she was a young girl she has loved the idea of the supernatural coexisting with the mundane. As an adult, however, the idea evolved from the notion of fairies in flower beds, to imagining that the rugged-looking guy at the garage might secretly be a werewolf. She has used her overactive imagination to create her own version of the world, where vampire, werewolves, fairies, gods and monsters all walk among us, and she’ll continue to travel as much as possible until she finds it for real.

Sierra can be reached all over the place, as she’s a little addicted to social networking. Find her on:

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/sierradeanbooks

Website:
www.sierradean.com

E-mail:
[email protected]

Twitter:
@sierradean

Look for these titles by Sierra Dean

Now Available:

Secret McQueen

Something Secret This Way Comes

The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters

A Bloody Good Secret

Secret Santa

‘Tis the season for ho-ho-homicide.

Secret Santa

(c) 2011 Sierra Dean

Secret McQueen, Book 2.5

It’s the most wonderful time of the year. The season for mistletoe, Christmas lights…and a killing spree. When Secret’s friend, Detective Mercedes Castilla, asks for help to solve a series of murders longer than a string of lights, Secret resigns herself to the fact her holidays will be anything but peaceful.

It seems someone is killing New Yorkers in an unusually gruesome way, and as the bodies pile up faster than presents under the tree, the police are no closer to finding the killer than Secret is to finding the perfect present for one of her boyfriends, Lucas.

Tracking down a monster in Manhattan the week before Christmas is almost as difficult as shopping for her ever-expanding collection of loved ones. When tragedy strikes close to home, Secret must do everything in her power to put an end to the horror in time for Santa to come down the chimney.

Warning: Contains a less than merry McQueen with a sword and a reason to use it; a festive new use for mistletoe; and a promise that will haunt Secret like the Ghost of Christmas Future.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Secret Santa:

Desmond lifted me as though I weighed nothing—which was probably what I felt like to a buff werewolf—and slung me over his shoulder. I wanted to fight, but this angle gave me a fabulous view of his wonderful, toned butt, and I was hard-pressed to find anything wrong with that.

He kicked the door closed behind us, and I watched the apartment slide by as I dangled upside down, a curtain of my blonde curls obscuring most of the view.

“Aren’t you at all curious about the knocking?” I wheezed, the question directed at his tush.

He didn’t stop walking until we were in the bedroom, where he heaved me onto the unmade bed.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, lifting his head and looking around the room.

“Hear what?” I listened closely but heard nothing.

“Nada. Not a damned thing. No knocking.” With his coat on the chair and his tie already loosened, I could tell strange noises were the last thing on Desmond’s mind. Getting to my knees, I fixed him with a serious look.

“What if it was a monster?” My tone was playful, but just saying the word reawakened my guilt. He must have seen the shift in my eyes because he climbed onto the bed and knelt in front of me, cupping my face between his warm, rough hands.

The touch of his wide, familiar palms made a sensational heat bloom inside me. If there was one thing Desmond could be counted on for, it was making me forget my problems.

“The monsters will always be there, Secret. Let’s just pretend for a little while we don’t know anything about them. Deal?”

I ran my hand through the thick, dark waves of his hair. It had gotten longer in our time together, and wilder. Sometimes it reminded me of the carefree waves Holden had always favored, but I bit my tongue whenever the comparison sprang to mind. Desmond’s extraordinary violet-gray eyes were searching my face, trying to judge my reaction to his request.

I smiled and traced a path from his hair, down his cheek, my fingernails grazing the five o’clock shadow that made him look both mature and dangerous.

“Stand up,” I whispered.

A befuddled look overcame him, but he edged backwards off the bed and complied with my instructions. I crawled towards him, my gaze fixed on his face, and the new expression there was worth every slow, painstaking inch I traveled.

When I stopped I was on all fours at the end of the bed, eye level with his Gucci belt buckle. I breathed out a hot, openmouthed sigh, and Desmond groaned. He reached out to touch my hair, but the instant I felt the brush of fingers, I pulled back and shook my head.

“That’s not how this is going to work.”

He raised a single brow and couldn’t hide the smirk threatening to overtake his lips. As patient as he was, his resolve wouldn’t last forever. Werewolves, especially those with Alpha leanings like Desmond, were used to being in control at all times. It had never bothered me that his dominant nature exhibited itself in our bedroom, because I knew it was hard for him to keep it buried in the pack.

As Lucas’s second, Desmond couldn’t flaunt his power since he didn’t want to upset the balance. If he wasn’t the king’s lieutenant, he’d be Alpha of another pack, and I wondered if he ever regretted not being given the opportunity.

But I had dominant urges too. And with all the stress and pressure that had been mounded on me, I didn’t want that to be one more thing I needed to bury.

Tonight I needed to let my freak flag fly.

I rose on my knees, the front of my body rubbing against him as I did. His breath came out sharp and raspy. “Secret.”

“Shh.” I twisted my fingers in the Windsor knot of his tie and noticed for the first time that it had festive silver snowflakes embroidered in the silk.

The knot came undone without any resistance, and I tugged the tie off him with a precise yank. I pressed into him, licking the bow at the bottom of his lower lip, but when he tried to kiss me I turned my face away.

He growled, and the rumble of it made goose bumps rise on my arms, while inside the primal part of my inner wolf awoke with a lazy stretch. Only when I was with Desmond could I feel the wolf as her own entity. Usually it made me uneasy, but tonight it fed the fire.

I snaked my arms behind his back, and with my face pressed against his shirt, I bit one of his nipples through the soft material. He was distracted enough he didn’t seem to notice his hands were bound behind his back with his tie. Only when I pulled away did he realize it.

There was a defiant flash in his eyes, but he must have been willing because he was strong enough to easily get his hands free if he wanted to.

He let them stay tied.

I smirked at him. “Are you sure you want to give me all this power? Could be dangerous.”

He gritted his teeth and spoke slowly. “If you just leave me standing here fully clothed…” I undid his top button and then a second as he spoke, “…it could be dangerous for
you
.”

With his shirt unbuttoned and pushed off his shoulders, I trailed kisses down his exposed abdomen.

“Promise?” I asked, casting a coy glance upwards. I bit the leather of his belt and pulled the end tab loose with only my teeth.

“You devilish—”

I undid the rest of the belt with my fingers, and he lost track of his insult when I unzipped his slacks and placed a delicate, teasing kiss on the strained cotton covering his rock-hard erection.

I tugged his pants and underwear down. With him exposed, it was all I could do to not unbind him and make him take me then and there. But that would defeat the purpose of the experiment.

“Hold that thought,” I said, and licked the full length of his shaft. “Or should I say, wait here and don’t hold anything.”

I leaped off the bed before he could argue, and when I came back I was dangling something from my finger that made Desmond bark with laughter.

Dropping onto my knees in front of him, I held the cluster of mistletoe over my head.

“Now where should I kiss you first?”

He can be a slave to his past…or allow her love to free him.

Evermine

(c) 2012 Hailey Edwards

Daughters of Askara, Book 2

There’s such a thing as too much change. Emma’s sister is mated. Revolution is brewing in her home realm. The last straw: her would-be mate is back from the dead and back under her skin—yet when it comes to the last five years, he’s not talking.

Desperate for a chance to start her own life, she answers the queen’s call to ensure equality for all of Askara’s newly freed slaves. It’s the perfect opportunity to escape a heartbreak in the making named Harper.

Harper loses a piece of his fractured soul when Emma walks away. His lies were meant to protect her from torturous years that drove him to the point of madness. Instead, when he comes to her a year later to help avert a crisis in a freed-slave community, the wedge those lies drove between them is firmly in place.

As their new lives collide with old wounds, they race to stop a threat that could not only destroy the queen, but send Harper back to the hell he escaped. Emma must decide if the man she still loves deserves equal rights to her heart.

Warning this title contains torn pants, ripped gowns, and sand in uncomfortable places. It also includes one overcompensating villain, one gnarly priest, and two battered hearts willing to give this thing called love one last chance.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Evermine:

Harper walked a circuit of the guest bedroom. Night sounds poured through the open window, carried on an arid breeze. He paused when the curtains rustled and the soap-clean scent of Emma teased him to lift the fabric, inhale her fragrance and wish for things best forgotten.

Dillon lay on a cot, staring at the ceiling. “You’ll wear tracks in the floor.”

“I have a lot on my mind.” He stepped away from temptation.

“I don’t supposed this ‘a lot’ has blonde curls and a temper?” He sat upright. “She could have at least been born with red hair.” He scowled. “A warning label would be appreciated.”

“She wasn’t feeling well.” The excuse came easy. It was one he’d made often after finding out about Emma’s caffeine addiction the hard way. Seeing her doubled over and gagging on her bedroom floor brought his first night in the earthen colony rushing back in perfect detail.

His bittersweet homecoming had served as a wakeup call when he snuck from Clayton and Maddie’s guestroom to find Emma and made a chilling discovery. He’d found her, all right, crawling on her hands and knees on the floor of her diner. Shattered coffeepots had driven glass into her palms. Mud-brown sludge had smeared her mouth, her chin. Her eyes had gone glassy.