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Bound By The Night: Dark Heat / Dark Dreams / Dark Fantasy
Megan Hart
Dark Heat, Dark Dreams & Dark FantasyMonica Blackship hunts down creatures that shouldn’t exist. Stephanie Adams has the power to shape nocturnal visions. And if it’s weird, Jase Davis is on it. They’re all members of the Crew, an international consortium devoted to explaining the unexplainable.In this enthralling trilogy of novellas, three intrepid investigators face a daunting array of paranormal dangers, from deadly cryptids to dream thieves. They’re ready for ghosts, monsters and other strange phenomena. But is their greatest challenge distinguishing reality from fantasy, or separating work from pleasure?


Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Megan Hart (#ulink_51305f45-7c39-52dc-a8df-1b4c9b59da05)
“Hart excels at creating female leads who know exactly what they want and don’t make excuses for their lifestyle. Following this heroine’s journey is exciting.”
—RT Book Reviews on Vanilla
“Meticulously sensual details and steamy interludes make this an achingly erotic read.”
—RT Book Reviews on Flying
“Naked is a great story, steeped in emotion. Hart has a wonderful way with her characters … She conveys their thoughts and actions in a manner that brings them to life. And the erotic scenes provide a sizzling read.”
—RT Book Reviews
“You won’t ever be disappointed with Megan Hart!”
— Under the Covers on Out of the Dark
MEGAN HART is an award-winning and New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty novels, novellas and short stories. Her work has been published in almost every genre, including contemporary women’s fiction, historical romance, romantic suspense and erotica. Megan lives in the deep, dark woods of Pennsylvania with her husband and children.
You can contact Megan through her website at www.MeganHart.com (http://www.MeganHart.com).
Bound By The Night
Dark Heat
Dark Dreams
Dark Fantasy
Megan Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
These stories are for everyone who knows to keep their toes under the blankets so the Bogeyman can’t tickle them.
Table of Contents
Cover (#ud5812dd6-44f6-5ce3-99d7-320b7eaa2eb2)
Praise (#ulink_38bc168c-8cec-5b4c-9af9-7a5942f1e601)
About the Author (#u3b9d8c9a-2b53-574d-9002-2c2ccd3298e8)
Title Page (#u89247195-5716-520c-9346-fc2338f73f27)
Dedication (#ufeee32a4-6961-56b5-9fc1-f681890fb3ba)
Dark Heat (#ulink_49bb6574-8245-569d-a139-fe537323aec8)
Prologue (#ulink_631ef6d8-cdb4-5d22-8240-69127a57e11d)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_7fa536e9-21c4-56ff-b2b0-d229f07a2bb1)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_23706734-3e75-59a1-8f5c-93d52871ecec)
Chapter 3 (#ulink_73e073d8-d370-5330-8534-4b8b4cada572)
Chapter 4 (#ulink_816f2252-6194-5d11-bab0-c3cc3ff11ee4)
Chapter 5 (#ulink_7959330b-23a5-5e63-80ea-31c8c848a978)
Chapter 6 (#ulink_57b58ffb-55a4-55a9-9cb3-46507b59967a)
Chapter 7 (#ulink_a7efb2c2-23aa-5051-8a8d-531cde041361)
Chapter 8 (#ulink_5fd978a2-8947-533e-a652-a4532ec39ced)
Chapter 9 (#ulink_b28c8094-175f-5a83-a0b4-002277496691)
Chapter 10 (#ulink_1a956708-823f-503e-8a4c-1ad9631ea7fa)
Chapter 11 (#ulink_e191fea6-882f-54ad-9b03-e0eeb9579877)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Dark Dreams (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 2 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Dark Fantasy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 2 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Dark Heat (#ulink_bc9ae003-8af4-5a14-a9db-abc49848efcb)
Megan Hart
Prologue (#ulink_3d6a9524-f318-5030-8ee6-2a3589f4c264)
Everything had gone dark.
And oh, there was pain, great slashing waves of it washing over her as though she’d fallen into an ocean of agony and was being swept away to drown. Blindly, Monica raked the air in front of her and found nothing but emptiness. Hot and stinking breath assaulted her. Then the ground came up to slam into the back of her head and the darkness became sprinkled with the sharp white points of painstars behind her eyes.
She rolled onto her hands and knees, already pushing upward. She had to get to her feet or it would open her throat with teeth and claws like razors. And this rancid cave, this pit, was not the place where Monica intended to die.
She’d lost her knife but swept the ground to look for it and found it with her fingertips. The slice of pain was brief but would ache and burn later. If she was lucky enough to survive being mauled, she’d take those scars gratefully. She found the hilt and grabbed it up as she got to her feet. She turned, slashing outward, nothing but blackness in front of her.
She hit something solid, the blade sinking deep, and Monica didn’t wait but pulled it out and stabbed again. Sticky heat flooded her hands. She kept going. Something shoved her again, at the same time grabbing with thick, scaly fingers so she couldn’t fall. Couldn’t get away.
Teeth on her throat.
Her own voice, screaming.
Then, the blood.
Chapter 1 (#ulink_31e7c372-bd48-5b8c-a7d1-5b4819ab178f)
Monica Blackship woke with a gasp, her hands slashing at the air in front of her before she realized she wasn’t in the cave but in her own bed. Alone, thank God. Though in the next moment as the sob wrenched out of her throat, she desperately wished she had someone to cling to.
Brad was gone. A whole month, by now. She didn’t blame him, not really. He’d stayed longer than she would have if the situation were reversed. But that was the kind of man he was. The good guy, the hero. He’d tried to save her, but she was past saving. It had been too much for him, in the end.
Still, the bed was vast and empty without him, and though she wasn’t afraid of darkness, it was so much easier to bear with someone else beside her. She gave in to tears. They leaked from the corners of her eyes and slid down to fill her ears, which was annoying as hell and effectively stopped her from totally surrendering to the indulgence of her misery.
She wouldn’t be able to sleep again. The dream always meant the end of the night for her, no matter what time it occurred. Monica rolled to look at the clock, relieved to see that at least it would be morning soon. She wouldn’t have chosen to be awake at this hour, but at least she could get up without feeling as though the entire night had been wasted. She could maybe even be a little productive—she’d pay for it later in the day when she couldn’t keep her eyes open, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, unable to stop herself, as always, from hesitating just that little bit as her feet hit the floor. Monsters were real, though she’d never encountered one that lived under the bed. It never stopped her from imagining the bite of talons severing her Achilles tendon, of writhing tentacles dragging her under the bed. She settled her feet firmly onto the hardwood planks and used her toes to find the soft edges of the braided rag rug her grandmother had given her.
She didn’t turn on the lamp. She knew her way to the bathroom without it, and she’d learned long ago that anything that was afraid of the light was small enough to be dealt with in the dark. Monica shucked off her pajamas and turned on the shower, giving it a few minutes to get hot while she brushed her teeth to clear away the final sour taste of her nightmare. Once under the scalding spray, she pressed her hands to the tile wall. Willing away the bad dreams. Willing away the loneliness.
Monica had already learned there was only one surefire way to push the thoughts away. A good, hard old-fashioned hair-pulling, ass-slapping fuckfest. Brad had not quite been the man to give it to her—even after nearly four months of steady dating, he’d often been too timid with her. Afraid of hurting her. He’d wanted candlelight dinners, stuff like that. Monica had been honest with him from the start—she wasn’t looking for that. At first he’d been happy to fuck her in the middle of the night when she woke up, sweating and gasping, reaching for him, but then things had changed.
“There’s more to me than being your cock on command,” Brad had complained.
Monica hadn’t tried to dissuade him from the notion that was how she thought of him. Yes, Brad made a stellar cup of coffee and remembered to put the toilet-seat lid down, and yes, he knew how to match his belt to his shoes. For a lot of women he’d have been a perfect boyfriend, but she was so far from being any kind of perfect anything it would’ve been unfair of her to try to convince him to stay. Even if it did mean now she stood in a steaming-hot shower with her own fingers sliding between her thighs so she could find some sort of release. Some way to wipe away the horror that crept so regularly into her dreams.
Her fingertips stroked, moving faster. There was nothing of romance in this. Nothing of love. She knew her body well enough to push it into pleasure fast and hard and sharp, just the way she wanted it. Ecstasy spiraled upward, urging her to cry out. Shuddering, Monica climaxed. The pleasure didn’t linger. In another few seconds she was simply shivering under the spatter of water, feeling empty inside.
At least the dream had been pushed away.
Dripping, Monica wrapped her hair in a towel and then grabbed another to use on her body. She caught a flash of her reflection in the mirror. You couldn’t miss the scars, several long slashes sweeping over her belly. She could look at them impassively now. She put her hand over them, aligning her fingers with the marks. The official report had been a bear attack. The wounds didn’t match anything familiar or animal; she’d spent a few nights in the psych ward before giving up her insistence that she hadn’t been hurt by a bear. A beast had torn her open, but Monica had done her own work on her wrists and that sort of thing had a tendency to make people give you the side eye about everything else.
She touched those marks, too. The one on the right was precise. The one on the left, ragged. Four inches long, lengthwise, not across. She’d been serious about wanting to die.
“But not anymore,” she whispered to herself, just to be sure the face in the mirror was really hers.
She would put on some comfy clothes and make herself some coffee and eggs and toast, she decided firmly. She would not text Brad to see if they could get together—he’d made noises about the two of them staying “friends,” but she knew well enough how that would work. As in, it wouldn’t.
She’d barely started the eggs frying when her phone rang. At this hour it could only be Vadim, which could only mean one thing. Monica thumbed the screen of her phone, not bothering with a hello.
“This is the job,” Vadim said without a greeting of his own, and suddenly Monica wasn’t sleepy any longer.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_52fb394c-7ed5-5fb9-9b54-17af8411b095)
Jordan Leone had no patience for rich fucks who thought a hefty bank account equaled free rein to buy and sell any other creature’s life. Paul DiNero wasn’t usually that sort. The guy genuinely cared for his animals, though his hard-on for the exotics meant he had quite a number of pets that weren’t the cuddly kind. It was how the guy acquired the animals that lit a slow fire under Jordan’s skin.
DiNero wanted what he wanted and he had the money to get it, even when legal channels failed him. Maybe especially when that happened, since that was often the only way he could procure the pets he wanted. He had contacts all over the world, from legitimate and licensed breeders to poachers to other collectors who were looking to sell off their animals or their offspring. Sure, the guy had a bunch of documentation proving his backyard menagerie was a private zoo used for “educational” purposes, but the fact was, DiNero’s collection was for his own private pleasure and nothing else, and when he wanted something, that meant he was willing to put up with the sort of arrogant douche bags Jordan hated.
Today it was some guy with a weird accent that sounded French but wasn’t. His greasy black mustache glistened from the bison burger he’d scarfed down while sitting on DiNero’s terrace. His beady eyes narrowed while his mouth stretched into a grin Jordan wouldn’t have trusted on a great white. He waved a languid hand.
“The price,” he said, “is nonnegotiable.”
“You understand I’ll need to have my man here give the animal a full health check,” DiNero warned, though he didn’t look concerned. He’d dealt with this dickblister before.
Jordan hadn’t eaten a burger, even though the smell of it had flooded his mouth with greedy, ravenous saliva. His stomach clenched, not so much in physical hunger as in simple longing. He’d restricted his meat eating for over fifteen years, and though his vegetarian diet was self-imposed, he’d never quite managed to convince his body he wasn’t missing out. He took a long drink of his beer instead, savoring the hoppy flavor.
“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not for one of my best customers.” The guy, whose name was something like Algiers or Algernon or maybe it was Addison, flicked his gaze at Jordan and gave him another smarmy smile.
DiNero nodded at Jordan and bit into his own burger. Juice squirted. Jordan had to look away.
“Go make sure my new girl is healthy, Jordan, while Mr. Efforteson and I chat about some things,” DiNero said.
It was a dismissal, but Jordan didn’t mind. With barely a nod at Efforteson, he headed for the stone stairs off the terrace, toward the driveway and the truck parked there. Unmarked, without even ventilation, the inside would be pitch-black and stinking of frightened animals, but Jordan had seen worse conditions. Sometimes when he’d had to travel to pick up a new pet, the sights he’d witnessed were so horrible they’d left him shaking and furious. Violent.
With a nod at the armed bodyguard, Jordan yanked on the truck’s rolling door in the back and hopped into the bed. Inside were rows of cages, all empty but for the one at the back. In it, a cowering female silver Russian fox yipped and rolled her eyes as he approached. He soothed her with a low murmur and put out a hand for her to sniff, his fingers against the bars of the cage. The foxes had been bred for generations in Russia as an experiment at domestication, and now the animals were more like dogs than their ancestors had been. They’d gained in popularity as exotic pets, expensive and limited in where they could be legally kept, rare only because of how difficult it could be to acquire one. This pretty girl was a replacement for one DiNero had lost.
“Hey there, pretty girl. Sweet girl,” Jordan soothed, settling close to the cage so the fox could get used to him. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Not like the other one, he thought with a hard swallow of anger. He’d fucking warned DiNero about fixing the barriers between the zoo and the bayou, but the man had been more concerned about keeping away nosy neighbors or thieves than anything else. Gators couldn’t climb brick walls or smash them, either, but something had scaled the ten-foot wall. The barbed wire on the top had been torn and tossed aside like candy floss. This last time, the intruder had left behind a pen full of dead foxes.
Jordan opened the cage and the fox crept closer with a small yip. She’d clearly been socialized thoroughly, something DiNero wouldn’t bother to do once he had her ensconced in the zoo. The fox had been bred as a house pet, but to DiNero she was an ornament.
“C’mere, little girl.” Jordan stroked the soft fur, feeling for any obvious lumps or bumps. He gave her some cuddling time before scooping her up to take her outside. The bodyguard looked surprised, but Jordan ignored him to take the fox across the long expanse of soft green grass to the small bungalow he used as an office.
The fox yipped and buried her face against him when they went inside, but Jordan continued to soothe her with murmured words and gentle touches as he examined her. Her paws scrabbled on the steel tabletop, but she quieted when he gave a warning noise under his breath. She still trembled, but she wasn’t trying to get away.
She looked good, at least as much as an animal could when it had been kept caged in the dark and improperly fed and watered for the past few days. But she was healthy, without any signs of abuse or genetic flaws as the result of inbreeding. Jordan finished the exam and slipped a treat from his pocket that the fox took eagerly. She butted her head against him, and he took her narrow face in his hands.
“Pretty girl,” he said quietly. The fox licked his face.
Once she’d been put away in her own habitat, separated for now from the three surviving foxes for a quarantine period before he introduced them, Jordan made the rounds of the other habitats in this section. He’d spent long hours building most of them, re-creating different terrains or climates to provide the best possible housing for their inhabitants. The animals were under his care, and that meant their living conditions, too.
Veterinarian, handyman, lion tamer. That was his job here at DiNero’s, and it was the best one he’d ever had. The man gave him a good salary and free room and board on the property in a tiny but cozy bungalow with full catering privileges from the main-house kitchen. Most important, DiNero usually left Jordan alone.
Until today, apparently. Jordan rounded the corner of a low stone wall meant to keep the prairie dogs from getting out—DiNero loved prairie dogs and would often spend hours feeding them peanuts and watching them pop in and out of their holes. Today, though, he stood with his back to Jordan. Efforteson wasn’t with him. DiNero’s companion was a woman, her long dark hair the color of black cherries. It fell in soft waves to the middle of her back, and when she turned, eyes like a summer sky opened wide beneath dark arched brows.
“Jordan, come say hello to Ms. Blackship.”
Reluctantly, Jordan came closer. DiNero had been married four times, no children unless you counted the third wife, who’d thrown tantrums like a three-year-old. Now the man claimed he would never get married again, which only meant that he brought around his one-night stands to impress them with his menagerie, and Jordan had to make nice and pretend to give a damn.
“Monica,” the woman said as she gave him a firm, brief handshake.
“She’s the... Whattaya call it, honey?”
If the endearment raised her hackles, Monica Blackship didn’t show it. She gave DiNero a flicking glance but then put her focus back on Jordan. “I’m a cryptozoologist.”
For one awful moment, Jordan thought maybe DiNero was trying to replace him. But then he understood, having heard the term somewhere. “A crypto...”
“I research unusual or what some might consider legendary creatures,” Monica replied calmly. “Bigfoot. That sort of thing.”
“You think Bigfoot jumped our wall and killed our animals?” Jordan didn’t even care what DiNero might think of him taking any small part of ownership. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Of course it is. By all accounts, the Sasquatch is a vegetarian,” Monica said without so much as a quirk of her smile.
DiNero chuckled. “Just like you, Jordan.”
Jordan scowled, crossing his arms. “Sasquatch also doesn’t exist.”
“That remains to be disproven, actually.” Again, that calm, almost blank look without a hint of any expression. It made him want to do something to see if he could shake her up.
“Hasn’t been proven,” Jordan added.
DiNero gave him a look. “Something came over our walls, Jordan. And you said yourself it wasn’t human.”
“I didn’t say it was Bigfoot, either!”
“That’s what Ms. Blackship is here to help us figure out. She works with an organization that studies this sort of thing.” DiNero, who could be a pain-in-the-ass wisecracker most of the time, looked serious. “You know animals, dude. You know this is some kind of animal that keeps doing this.”
Jordan involuntarily thought of the first slaughter he’d found three months ago. The scent of blood, the patches of fur. It was more than the loss of the animals, or even the money they’d cost. It was how they must’ve suffered that made his stomach tense and churn. He wasn’t convinced whatever had killed the zoo animals didn’t wear boots and kill with knives.
“Something didn’t just kill them,” DiNero continued, now facing the woman. “It ate them, we’re pretty sure.”
Jordan shook his head. “You don’t know that.”
Monica nodded. “I’ve seen similar cases. I’m thinking it might be something like a chupacabra...”
“The hell...?” Jordan snorted derisive laughter. “What the hell is that?”
“They’re usually found in Puerto Rico and Mexico,” Monica went on as though he hadn’t spoken, and damn, if there was one thing Jordan couldn’t stand, it was being dismissed as if he were nothing. “But there have been cases of them moving north, more and more often now. They typically prey on smaller animals, but several of the cases my colleagues have worked on dealt with what looks to be a different breed of chupacabra, maybe...”
“Hold on. There’s more than one breed?” Jordan shook his head. “Please.”
“Like dogs,” Monica said. “Or wolves.”
DiNero had watched the interchange with rapidly rising brows, but now he held up a hand. “Jordan, listen. Monica was sent here by a friend I trust. He’s dealt with things like this before, and I want to know what’s going on. What’s breaking in here, what’s eating my pets.”
“So you can kill it,” Monica said softly.
“Hell no,” DiNero said. “So I can put it in my collection.”
Chapter 3 (#ulink_6690573f-90e7-5dc0-af60-3342721fa086)
It was better than a sleeping bag on the ground or a bedbug-ridden hotel room, that was for sure. DiNero had put her up in one of the guest bungalows scattered throughout the private zoo. Kind of a safari experience for his guests, she supposed and curled her lip. Monica had never liked zoos, seeing the animals in cages. Lions pacing and miserable. DiNero’s menagerie was housed in better habitats than any she’d ever seen, but they were still kept captive. Not free.
In her lifetime before, when she’d been attending veterinary school, Monica had dreamed of getting a job at a big zoo. Maybe a circus. She wanted to work with exotic animals, not just dogs and cats. She hadn’t finished school, because the attack had screwed that up for her, big-time. Yet she’d ended up working with exotic animals just the same, hadn’t she? The deadliest ones, too, nothing soft or fluffy, because people never called for help when they came across a mewling, fuzzy bundle of fur with big eyes. Nope, the Crew got the calls only for the things that chewed your head off and spit down your neck.
Damn, she was tired.
She’d been up for most of the night because of the dream. Then she’d been on a plane from her place in Pennsylvania with a layover in North Carolina and this final stop in Louisiana. Then another four hours or so driving through the bayous to get here. Where here was, she didn’t exactly know. Vadim had told her that DiNero demanded secrecy so he could avoid getting caught with his illegal collection. Personally, Monica had no interest in fucking with his animals, so long as they were cared for.
Which made her think of Jordan Leone. That long, tall drink of water was in charge here, and he’d made sure to let her know it. Not that it mattered, really. She was here to figure out what had killed a silver fox, four prairie dogs, a couple chimps and, more frighteningly, a tiger. The tiger had been, by Jordan’s account, old and blind in one eye. Raised in captivity, it had come from another collection, where it had been treated like a house cat and overfed, allowed to live with its owner in a tiny two-bedroom cottage until it had pissed one too many times on the couch. It hadn’t been full of much fight, Jordan had told her. But still. What could attack and kill a tiger and also drag it half a mile and through or over a ten-foot-high brick wall topped with barbed wire?
After pouring herself a glass of what turned out to be very good whiskey, Monica turned out the lights in the small kitchenette and then the equally compact living room. On bare feet, she crossed the bamboo floors with her glass in her hand and made her way out onto the small terrace. She’d brought a book but didn’t feel like reading. The mosquitoes were going to eat her alive out here, she thought, but settled into one of the comfortable chairs and put her feet up anyway.
From here she had a good look directly across into Jordan’s bungalow. She hadn’t been given her choice of places to stay, and if she had, she wouldn’t have picked one so close to his. He was a man who cherished privacy, she could tell that right off. He wasn’t going to be popping over asking to borrow some sugar, that was for sure. And there were other guesthouses—she’d seen them when DiNero gave her the tour of the estate. So why this one, then?
It had something to do with Jordan protecting her, she thought with a low chuckle and a shake of her head. DiNero hadn’t said as much, but he might as well have patted her on the head when he called her honey. She’d figured it out. He didn’t seem to have a problem believing in her credentials or ability to find out what was stalking and killing his pets, but he didn’t think she could defend herself. Monica gave an internal shrug. She hoped she wouldn’t have to, but if she did, she doubted she’d need Jordan Leone’s help.
Never mind those long, strong arms and legs. Those big hands. Never mind the muscles cording in his back and shoulders, clearly visible even through his shirt when he bent or lifted anything. Never mind that mouth...
Monica stopped herself. She wasn’t here for that. Sure, he pushed just about every one of her buttons, aside from the fact he didn’t seem to have a sense of humor. Oh, and that he obviously didn’t like her at all, was suspicious of her being here and had no faith in anything she’d already proven to herself as truth. She could get over him not believing in Sasquatch, but Jordan had been blunt and up-front about his utter lack of even an inkling of belief in anything other than what he could read about in a textbook. A man like that wasn’t for her. No way.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to admire the shape of him through the sliding glass doors at the front of his bungalow as he moved around inside. Cooking dinner, judging by the good smells of onions and garlic in olive oil. She’d eaten at the main house with DiNero, slabs of steak as thick as her fist and wine she bet cost more than her rent. He’d have someone stock her fridge for her tomorrow, he’d promised. Until then, if she wanted a late-night snack, she was out of luck.
At least if she wanted food, Monica thought, watching Jordan’s silhouette, and then she reined in her hormones and went inside.
* * *
Jordan woke early, as he always did, though this morning he’d actually needed his alarm to rouse him. He’d been dreaming, jumbled images that made no sense. Nothing he could remember, really, but for the first time in forever, he couldn’t seem to shake away the sleep.
Breakfast didn’t satisfy him, either. Granola and soy milk. Healthy, yes. Satisfying? Not when he really wanted a platter of fried eggs, a rasher of bacon, a fistful of sausages... Shit. His stomach rumbled angrily as he made himself some sourdough toast spread thickly with strawberry jam. Strong coffee eased the cravings a little bit, but not entirely.
It definitely didn’t help that when he headed up to the main house to see if that woman DiNero had hired was ready to join him on the daily rounds, Jordan discovered Magnus had laid out a spread. DiNero’s personal chef believed in hearty, down-home cooking. Gumbo, jambalaya, but also breakfasts that could feed an army. Jordan nodded at Karen and Bill, two of his assistants, who were helping themselves to the buffet on the sideboard, but he didn’t dare get any closer to the food. He’d fall on it like...well...like a starving man.
He spotted Monica and DiNero on the terrace overlooking the yard. She looked fresh faced and ready to take on anything, her dark red hair pulled into a neat ponytail at the base of her skull. He gave her a grudging nod, noting her work pants and boots. At least she’d dressed appropriately.
“Morning, Leone. How the hell are you? I was just telling Ms. Blackship here about the elephant.” DiNero gave Jordan a gator grin.
“We don’t have an elephant,” Jordan said.
DiNero waggled his brows. “Not yet.”
Jordan sighed. He’d told his boss an elephant was too much to handle. The sheer size of it would mean a habitat that would require far too much upkeep, unless the man wanted the poor thing to be hemmed in. Not to mention that elephants were smart and could be vengeful if mistreated—not that Jordan would ever mistreat an animal, but you never knew how they’d been treated before. Elephants did not belong in a private zoo. Then again, he thought with a bland smile as DiNero kept blabbing away, no animals really did, even if it meant Jordan would be out of a job.
“Grab a plate,” DiNero said.
“Already ate. Thanks.” To Monica, Jordan said, “You want to come on my rounds with me today?”
She tucked a final bite of toast into her mouth and nodded, wiping her hands on a napkin. She swigged some coffee and stood. The way DiNero ogled her ass when she turned made Jordan want to punch the other man in the face.
“He’s kind of a douche bag, huh?” she murmured as they left the dining room.
Jordan gave her a glance. “He’s my boss.”
“He’s totally looking at my butt, isn’t he? I can tell.” She slanted Jordan a sideways smirk.
Jordan didn’t answer her, but Monica laughed softly anyway. They’d just started heading for the golf carts when Jordan’s third assistant, a white-faced and shaking Peter, ran toward them. Jordan knew before the other guy had even said a word what had happened.
“Where?” he asked.
Peter shook his head and pointed toward the mountain-lion habitat. Jordan took off running, Monica on his heels. In minutes they made it to the habitat, where Jordan skidded to a halt. The entire interior of the habitat had become an abattoir. There was no sign of either of the mountain lions.
“It took both of them.” Peter sounded as if he was going to be sick.
Jordan knew how he felt. He ran his hands through his hair, stalking, pacing. He became aware of Monica next to him.
“Can you let me inside?” she asked.
Jordan nodded. “Yeah. We need to check everything out.”
They spent the next hour doing that. Monica took notes on the drag patterns in the dirt and blood spatter while Jordan had Peter, Karen and Bill ready for the cleanup. All of them were silent as they worked.
“No signs of damage to the habitat walls. The lock on the gate looks picked,” Jordan said.
“Scratched.” Monica looked at him. “All around it.”
Jordan shook his head. “An animal didn’t do this. You can’t tell me that something came and picked the fucking lock.”
She tucked her notebook into her pocket and then pushed her hair behind her ears. “There have been instances of tool use in some—”
“I need to check the outer wall. See where it got in.” Jordan wasn’t interested in her lame theories about tool-using monsters.
Monica followed him. “Jordan, wait.”
He stopped but didn’t turn. He could tell that Karen, Bill and Peter were watching, though none of them said a word. Jordan waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. After another minute, he stalked off.
There was nothing. No breaks in the wall. No holes. No bent barbed wire this time. The lock on the gate nearest the mountain-lion habitat had similar markings to the one on the habitat gate. Scratches.
“It’s something smart,” Monica said from behind him.
Jordan frowned and shook his head. “Smart enough to pick a lock? I’m telling you, poachers are doing this. Someone with a grudge against DiNero, maybe...”
“Poachers would take the animals. They wouldn’t kill them. Would they?”
He looked at her. “About seven years ago, DiNero got into a fight with some Japanese billionaire over a rare breed of panda they both wanted. Neither of them had the right habitats for it, but they were going head-to-head over it anyway. DiNero won the auction. The billionaire had someone come in and kill the panda before DiNero could take delivery. Some people don’t want anyone else to have what they want.”
She gave him a long, steady look, then reached to touch his shoulder. Just briefly. Just once. “Jordan, I know this is killing you. Believe me, I want to find out what’s going on.”
He put a hand on the wall and leaned, shoulders hunched. “This is fucked up, Monica. I know DiNero brought you in here because he thinks you can help figure out what’s happening. But I just can’t...”
“You don’t have to believe me,” she said. “Honestly, if it’s a chupacabra or a poacher, does it matter, so long as we find out and stop it?”
Grudgingly, he looked at her. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”
“We’re going to find out what...or who...is doing this.” She looked grim.
Though he hadn’t known her long at all, Jordan had no doubts that woman meant what she said.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_ac110d8c-a61b-5a03-bd5f-860c754b9656)
Vadim’s face was a little blurry for a moment on the computer screen before the picture cleared. He was sitting, as he almost always was when they video-chatted, behind his oversize mahogany desk. Behind him, bookshelves overflowed with textbooks and papers. He adjusted his glasses and leaned forward to look at her.
“Strong enough to drag a tiger over a wall but now picking a lock instead?” he asked.
Monica sipped some more of DiNero’s excellent whiskey and nodded. “Yes. Maybe whatever it was got tired of the heavy lifting. It looks like it figured out how to get through one of the gates along the perimeter wall, then let itself into the mountain-lion cage. Both were missing. Some blood, some hair, but nothing else. No bones, even. If it’s actually eating the animals, it’s consuming them entirely.”
“DiNero’s man thinks it’s human, eh? An inside job? Does he have a grudge against his boss?” Vadim sat back in his chair.
Monica shrugged. “It’s possible. DiNero is kind of a dick. But Jordan seems to really care about the animals. If he was somehow working with an outside source to steal the animals away from DiNero, he couldn’t hurt them.”
“He could be making it look as though they’re hurt,” Vadim pointed out.
“He could, I guess. Seems pretty elaborate to me. And he seems genuinely upset by what’s going on. He runs a clean house here. The habitats are expensive and well maintained, not just cages. There’s a wide variety of animals, but they’re all really taken care of.” She paused, sipping. “He’s a little odd. The zookeeper.”
Vadim grinned. “Handsome?”
“Ugh, stop.” She made a face. Vadim was always trying to set her up with some Crew member or other. Then she laughed a little. “Very.”
“I have Ted ready to head down to you once you think you might know what’s going on. I’d send someone sooner, but...”
“I know. Too many investigations, not enough Crew. I got it. I’ll be careful,” she put in before Vadim could lecture her.
Crew rules stated that no investigator try to hunt something alone. They worked at the minimum in pairs. Her role here was to assess the situation and try to get a handle on what they were looking for. No use coming loaded for bear, as Vadim said, if they were really hunting rabbit.
Something told Monica this was no bunny.
“Have they added any security measures?” Vadim asked. “I warned DiNero that your safety was my priority. Not that of his collection. You’re not to go off on your own, do you understand?”
He was nowhere near old enough to be her father, though he tried to act as much as a patriarch to the Crew as a leader. Sometimes Vadim’s protective nature warmed her. Other times, like now, it left her with the urge to roll her eyes and stamp her feet like a teenager reminded over and over again to “drive carefully.” Monica kept her expression bland.
“Don’t give me that look,” he said.
She raised both brows, innocence personified. Vadim sighed. Monica raised her whiskey glass. After a moment, he shook his head.
“Something that can haul away a tiger could certainly do a lot of damage to you, Monica.”
She had, for a period after losing Carl, done many reckless things. But time had passed and her life had gone on, whether she liked it or not, because that was what life did. “I know. And believe me, I’m not... I’m not trying to get myself killed. I’m here to study and assess, and then the team will come in and we’ll catch this thing.”
“If we’re lucky,” Vadim said.
They both knew how infrequently the Crew got lucky. There was a reason why people kept repeating that monsters weren’t real, after all, and it mostly had to do with how hard it was to find proof. Monica raised her glass again, draining it, and this time, Vadim signed off.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_8be4cffa-8f3c-5824-9674-f491d53a9ff8)
Ten guesthouses, and DiNero put the woman in the one closest to his. Jordan fumed, though it was pointless. DiNero would do whatever he wanted. And, Jordan grudgingly admitted, it made sense to have Monica closer to him, if only because she’d be walking the zoo with him for the next few days.
He’d seen her out on the terrace earlier. Sipping a glass of whiskey he could smell across the lawn and through his open windows. He could smell her, too. The soap she’d used, the laundry detergent seeping from her clothes. Those were good, clean scents. So was the lingering scent of wine she’d had with dinner. She’d be mortified to know he could smell the meat she’d eaten still on her breath, though she’d covered it with toothpaste.
She made him hungry.
Damn it.
Dinner for him had been some pasta with olive oil and some fresh-baked bread. A salad. The food filled him up but didn’t sate him. That was why, he told himself, he was up at nearly two in the morning to rustle around in his fridge for some scrambled tofu and cheese when he really wanted to gorge himself to bursting on a thick slab of beef still dripping with blood... Jordan shook himself. He shoveled the food in his mouth, barely tasting it, trying to fill the emptiness. When he’d finished, he rinsed his plate and looked out the kitchen window to the guest bungalow where Monica was staying.
Her lights were off, which made sense at this time of night. The bedroom window was open, though, like his own. He could hear her inside. The slide of limbs on the bedsheets, the whisper of her hair on the pillow. She murmured something sleepy.
He needed to stop being a freaking creep about it. Jordan shook himself and put the plate in the drainer, then froze, head going up, ears straining at the change in her voice. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone had changed.
Carefully, slowly, he put the knife and fork he’d been using in the drainer, too. Still listening. He closed his eyes, opening his senses.
Her scent had changed, becoming bitter. The low mutter of her voice rose, edging toward hysteria. Not quite screaming, but definitely in distress.
Jordan didn’t think twice. He was out the back door and heading for the guest bungalow in seconds. He leaped the low brick wall of his back patio and landed hard on the other side, bare feet slapping at the grass DiNero paid so much to keep looking nice. He hit the guesthouse’s back patio in three strides after that. She’d locked the door. One hit with his shoulder and the door frame splintered.
She was in the bedroom, and Jordan barreled through the door ready to battle whatever was attacking her. He’d been unable to save the animals, but there was no way he was going to let something hurt anyone or anything else. He skidded on the hard floor, moving too fast to stop himself when he saw the woman was alone.
She sat up in bed at the sound of him coming into the room. Her hands punched at the air. Her low cry changed as her eyes opened and she focused on him.
He’d been moving so fast that he’d ended up next to the bed. Breathing hard, he stared down at her. He looked everywhere, trying to make sure nothing was there ready to pounce on them both.
“Am I still dreaming?” she asked in a totally clear, absolutely calm voice that sounded nothing like the terrified cries he’d been hearing earlier. “Because if I am, goddamn, please get over here and fuck me.”
She wasn’t still dreaming. Monica hadn’t ever been able to control what happened while she was—she had friends who could lucid-dream, and there was a whole squad of people in the Crew who dealt with the monsters that lurked in the realm of the subconscious. The words had tumbled out of her before she was fully awake, though, and she wasn’t going to take them back.
The man in front of her had grumbled his way through their earlier introductions. He wasn’t someone she’d ever have considered in a romantic way. She was here on a job, not to get laid. Yet of course right now, after the nightmare, which had been even more intense than ever, all she could think about was getting fucked right through the mattress. It didn’t matter much who did it.
“Shit,” Jordan said.
Shirtless, jeans hanging low on lean hips, bare feet. If she’d ordered him from a catalog, he couldn’t have arrived in more perfect condition or with better timing. And, she realized as she took in the heave of his chest and the way his fists were clenched, he’d burst in here to...save her?
She was naked. The covers had come down. He could see her completely, and was he looking? Oh, yeah. He definitely was.
The dream was fading but her hands were still shaking. Now not just from terror. Her nipples had gone hard, and without thinking, Monica cupped her breasts. Not necessarily to hide herself from his gaze. More to draw his attention.
“Jordan,” she whispered. “Come here.”
He did, two hesitant steps until his knees brushed the edge of the blankets. He licked his lower lip, looking her over. His breathing had slowed, but only a little.
“Did you come here to save me?” Monica asked in a low, rough voice.
He nodded. “I thought whatever killed the animals was in here with you.”
“Do you still want to save me?” She shuddered, closing her eyes for a moment to push away the memories. Without opening them, she added, “I need you.”
The bed dipped beneath his weight. When his rough hands skimmed up her bare sides, Monica let out a small gasp and allowed herself to arch back onto the pillows. His breath gusted over her cheek and she turned her face, lips parting, waiting for him to kiss her. She thought he wouldn’t.
But he did, oh, he did. Hard and fierce and sharp, the way she liked it. The way she needed it. His tongue stabbed into her mouth as his hand slipped to cradle the back of her head. Then his mouth was moving down her throat to nip and nibble and then, yes, oh God, yes, to scrape along her flesh in that beautiful burst of pleasure-pain she craved.
When his lips closed over one nipple, Monica threaded her hands through his thick dark hair, fingers tangling. “There. Yes.”
She still hadn’t opened her eyes again. She wanted to be lost in this, all the sensations sweeping over her. She gave up to him.
When Jordan’s mouth moved lower, though, she tensed. His lips tickled the scars on her ribs and belly. She waited for the questions, but all he did was kiss her softly and then move lower to nip at her hip bone. When he parted her thighs, again she tensed, though this time not out of trepidation.
At his first slow, long lick, she cried out. She lifted herself to his mouth, but Jordan had moved to slide his hands under her ass and his grip stilled her. When she tried to move again, his fingers tightened on her skin hard enough to bruise. She didn’t quiet at the sting. She writhed.
His tongue flickered along her clit, then switched to flat, smooth strokes that had her bucking beneath him in a few minutes. Desire was already building, surging. She always woke from the dreams desperate for sex, but this, oh, shit, this was amazing. Brad had been a competent, considerate lover. Jordan, on the other hand, was eating her pussy as if he meant to destroy her with his mouth.
Monica’s orgasm tore through her, leaving her gasping. Her fingers tightened in Jordan’s hair again, involuntarily yanking. He made a noise, something like a low...growl?
Startled, Monica opened her eyes at last. With her climax still washing over her, all she could do was ride it as, seemingly without effort, Jordan pulled away just enough to flip her over. Hard. Reckless. Not at all gentle—in fact, her head butted the headboard for a second before she managed to look over her shoulder.
He was on his knees behind her, already tearing open his jeans. His cock, thick and gorgeous, sprang free into his fist. His other hand slapped her ass as he gave himself a few strokes. He looked at her, eyes gleaming.
A flash of red.
In the next moment, he was inside her, thrusting so hard she again moved forward and only her hands pressed to the headboard kept her from hitting it. He fucked so deep inside her that she cried out, expecting pain but feeling only the hot, slick engulfing of his cock by her still-clenching pussy. Again Jordan thrust inside her. Again.
When his nails raked down her back, she screamed, breathless and gasping. His body covered hers in the next moment as he leaned to find her clit with his fingers. No soft strokes now. He pinched, jacking it as he fucked into her, and it was too much, too much—she was going over again. Spiraling. Exploding.
Jordan’s growl this time sounded like her name, which sent one last wave of ecstasy pulsing through her. He shuddered against her and...oh, fuck, he bit down on her shoulder as his fingers gave her one last pinching stroke and he came inside her. Monica couldn’t come again, not after that, but it was close.
Spent, she collapsed onto her face in the pillows. His weight pressed her for a few seconds before he moved off her to flop onto the bed beside her. Boneless, sated, exhausted, Monica couldn’t move.
She ought to say something, she thought blearily but couldn’t make her mouth form any words. The dream had always made her crave sex exactly how she’d just had it, but this was the first time she’d ever had it exactly how she needed it. She tried to roll over onto her back to at least see if she could get up and go to the bathroom, but her body refused to do anything but sink back into dark and dreamless sleep.
When she woke up to golden streams of late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, Jordan was gone.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_c7f1981f-efcf-535d-b175-ae439c19dc92)
As much as Jordan might have loved to take care of everything all by himself simply so he didn’t have to deal with other people, there was no way he could possibly manage to feed and clean the habitats of every animal in DiNero’s menagerie. Not even if he worked twenty-four hours a day. That was why he had a small rotating staff of three workers who took care of the daily care under his charge, while he spent his days visiting each habitat to be sure the animals were safe, healthy and as happy as they could be in captivity.
The woman was supposed to be with him again today on his rounds. He didn’t need her advice on how to keep his animals safe, he thought sourly, just some thoughts on what the hell was continuing to break through and attack them. So far, all she’d done was toss a lot of stupid theories at him. Nothing he could actually work with. Besides that, she hadn’t shown up this morning, not a call, not a note, nothing.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the taste of her.
He was hard now, thinking of it, and that pissed him off, too. For Jordan, sex over the past few years had been relegated to an occasional one-night stand when he traveled into New Orleans. He favored tourists, women in sundresses and wedge sandals, drunk on hurricanes. The ones who were shy or claimed to be, at least until he cut them from the pack of their squealy girlfriends and took them back to the small, barely furnished flat he kept just off Bourbon Street. Anonymous, brief, nothing but two bodies—or three, and once four—writhing and grinding until there was nothing but pure mindless pleasure. It was something he did with strangers, some who never even thought to ask his name. It was not something he did with women he ever expected to see again.
But he’d had sex with Monica last night, and he wanted to see her again.
By the time lunch had come and gone, Jordan had made his rounds. He checked in on the staff congregating in the small common room outside his office but didn’t linger, even though today was Peter’s birthday and Karen had brought a cake. Instead, Jordan headed for the perimeter wall, intending to walk the entire length of it to look for any breaks or to repair any damage. Also to check for any signs that the thing attacking the animals had returned. He’d made it all the way beyond the empty tiger habitat when the light scent of feminine soap lilted to him along the breeze. His nostrils flared, but he didn’t turn. He could hear her and smell her. That didn’t mean he needed to acknowledge her.
“Hey,” Monica said from behind him. “Sorry I missed you this morning. I totally overslept. I never do that.”
Jordan had been looking carefully over one of the spots that had been damaged to make sure the repairs were holding. He glanced over his shoulder. “No problem.”
She stepped up closer, moving beside him. She pointed. “It came through here originally?”
“We found two holes in the outside wall after the first attack. Both broke all the way through, but this was the biggest, and neither one was big enough to get anything through. Even if it could squeeze, you can’t squeeze a tiger. The barbed wire—” he gestured along the top of the wall “—had been completely torn away. Whatever it was tried to make it through, and when it couldn’t, it went over the top.”
“Any signs of blood here? Like something had cut itself?”
He gave her a flat look. “There was blood everywhere. Whatever it was came in and dragged away a full-grown tiger.”
“There are a few things that could do that.” Without looking at him, Monica moved closer to the wall to run her fingers along the patched section, then took a step back to look upward. “The other hole was smaller than this one?”
“Yeah. I can show you.”
Wasn’t she going to mention anything about the night before? Was she not going to say a word? She’d come on to him like a freight train, and now she was going to pretend it had never happened?
Fine.
He took her there and watched as she studied the repaired spot. She pulled out her phone, took a few photos. Tapped some notes.
“So,” he said, unable to stop himself. “What do you think it is?”
Monica looked up. “I’m still not sure. I came here convinced I was looking for a new breed of chupacabra or something similar, but now I’m thinking this is something else entirely.”
Jordan snorted. Monica’s brows rose. He shrugged.
“Is it really so hard for you to believe in the unknown?” She put a hand on her hip and gave him a hard look he thought was meant to shame him.
It didn’t, though it did stir another, baser emotion in his lower gut. Jordan shrugged again. Monica sighed.
“Do you know there are thousands of new species of animals and insects discovered every year? The rain forest—”
“This isn’t the rain forest,” Jordan pointed out. “This is Louisiana.”
“And every inch of it’s been explored, huh?” she challenged, moving a step closer. “There are thousands of acres of land, all charted. Nothing could possibly be hiding away from the rest of the world, could it?”
“Nothing like what you’re talking about. Something big and predatory would’ve been discovered before now, that’s all I’m saying.”
Monica frowned. “My grandparents live in New Jersey. Not Jersey Shore, but up north, close to New York. They have a postage-stamp lot backed up to another postage-stamp lot, with neighbors all around them. You could spit and hit two different highways. And guess what they have in their backyard every night.”
“A lot of noise?”
“Smart-ass,” she said but didn’t seem angry. If anything, he’d made her smile. She shook her head. “Deer. They eat my grandma’s garden and make her crazy. It’s not a place where you’d think you’d see deer, but there they are, and why? Because they’ve been driven there. They don’t have another place to go.”
“You’re saying whatever’s attacking the menagerie has been driven here?”
“Could be. Land development, taking away territory. Chemicals in the water, changing the food supply. Something we don’t even know about, like down in Florida, where those people are dropping off their ball pythons and anacondas that got too big to be pets, and now they’re breeding and fighting with the alligators for dominance on the food chain.”
“That’s not happening here,” Jordan said.
Monica gave him a solemn look. “Could be something else, then. Too many gators being taken, maybe this thing normally eats them, and now it’s hungry. Whatever it is, it’s discovered the menagerie, and it’s not going to stop coming back unless we stop it.” She paused. “Why is it so hard for you to believe?”
“I don’t believe in monsters,” he said flatly.
Monica laughed. “You’re lucky, then. Because trust me, they exist. Or they did and have gone extinct. Or, like in this case, haven’t been discovered.”
“Maybe it’s zombies,” he said, deadpan. Scoffing.
She narrowed her eyes. “You mean like voodoo?”
“I mean like ‘They’re coming to get you, Barbara,’” Jordan said. “Voodoo is a religion.”
She frowned again. “I wasn’t trying to be offensive. Zombies like in Night of the Living Dead definitely are not real, I can tell you that much.”
“No? But Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster are, huh?”
She turned on him, finally, with a scowl. “I’m a cryptozoologist, Jordan. That means I search for the existence of animals whose existence has not been proven. Or things outside their natural realm. Do you know that just last year a half-sized cougar was discovered rummaging in the Dumpsters of restaurants in Hell’s Kitchen? A cougar in New York City.”
“That’s not surprising, I bet there are lots of cougars in the city,” Jordan said.
Monica laughed, and he discovered how much he liked the sound of it. “Not that kind of cougar. My point is, it might’ve been someone’s pet that got too big or some kind of inbred cougar that managed to thrive in the urban environment. People had been reporting sightings of it for months before the Crew came in and was able to trap it. But first we had to prove it existed.”
“A cougar is still a real animal.”
“Yes. But there are things in the world we don’t know or understand, whether you want to believe it or not. And they’re animals, too. People can’t turn into something else. No vampires, no zombies, no werewolves. There are monsters, but they’re not human.”
Not human.
Monica drew herself up and visibly shook herself. “Look, I’m here to do a job, so let me get on with it, okay? What’s on the other side of this wall?”
“Bayou.”
“I guess that goes without saying,” she said. “Dumb question, sorry.”
“DiNero put a lot of money into draining his land. Lots of money into landscaping. You wouldn’t know there’s anything out there besides more grass, I guess.” Jordan tried to shrug off her words, but they clung to him, making his skin itch.
“I’ve never been to Louisiana before, if you can believe it.” She gave him a small smile and another of those neutral but somehow assessing looks. She turned back to the wall, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “Can you take me over the wall? I want to see the other side.”
Jordan paused. “Yeah. I guess so.”
They spent the rest of the day that way. He took her outside the gates and showed her the places that had been compromised. She collected scrapings of the bricks. The soil. The water. She didn’t tell him what she was looking for, and Jordan didn’t ask. When finally she was satisfied, he brought her back inside. They’d shared scarcely more than a few words, which normally would’ve been perfect, except that the longer she went without paying attention to him, the more disconcerting he found it. They’d been driving in one of the estate’s golf carts, so he pulled up into the small space between their bungalows and waited for her to get out.
What the hell kind of woman seduced a man and then proceeded to ignore him as if they’d never been naked and sweating and...
“Thanks,” Monica said.
Jordan shrugged, stone-faced. “It’s my job.”
“Not everything you did was part of your job,” she said. When he didn’t answer her, she gave him another enigmatic smile and got out of the golf cart. “See you later.”
He watched her go, waiting to see if she’d turn back. She didn’t. But he was suddenly so damned hard it hurt to move. It made his hands shake, so he clenched them into fists on his thighs, but the hunger didn’t abate. It rose within him, something fierce and unyielding, until all he could think about, all he could do, was get out of the golf cart and force himself to put on a pair of running shorts and go for a run.
Run. And run. And run.
By the time he got back, night had fallen. Golden light welcomed him from the windows of her bungalow, while his were cold and dark. Breathing hard, the coiled snake of hunger still hissing in his belly but low and quieter, Jordan paused to bend over and spit into the grass.
Her door opened. Her silhouette made him groan. She took a step onto the patio and was followed by the waft of something warm and delicious. His stomach growled.
Not human, he thought.
“I made dinner,” Monica said. “Come inside.”
Chapter 7 (#ulink_4bc0d952-2357-51ea-8c94-71e8a2f31ccb)
She’d begged supplies from the main house, despite the cook’s assurances she didn’t need to make her own dinner. But Monica liked to cook. It helped her think. While chopping and slicing and sautéing, she could let her mind wander over all the possibilities.
Too bad most of the possibilities had involved going another round with the taciturn and delicious Jordan Leone instead of figuring out what exactly was attacking the menagerie.
There was a science to what she did, though you couldn’t get most people to believe it. Tracking prints in the dirt or analyzing blood samples or simply calculating what sort of musculature would be needed for something to be able to jump over a wall. What sort of claws could dig through brick, what kind of hide was thick enough to fend off the bite of barbed wire. The Crew kept files. Made reports. She and her peers compared notes. But still, so much of what they did had to be based on speculation. When you couldn’t prove something, that was all you could go on.
Vadim had sent her down here thinking she might be looking for a chupacabra. Never mind it wasn’t killing goats and it was out of the normal territory associated with that beast—there weren’t many things that could do whatever this thing was doing. Yet after looking over the pictures of the slaughter and having Jordan take her around the estate, Monica wasn’t convinced. She’d been on a couple cases hunting chupacabras before, and while they could certainly cause a lot of damage, there’d never been one she’d seen or heard of that could drag away a full-grown tiger or even a half-sized mountain lion, for that matter.
Which meant this was probably something different. Something they didn’t know about, hadn’t ever seen. The tingle of anticipation had been with her all day long, and being so close to Jordan all afternoon hadn’t helped much.
So, she cooked.
She’d never had jambalaya and wouldn’t have dared to try it here in the land where it was considered comfort food, so she’d settled on something she knew without a doubt she could pull off. Nothing fancy, just pasta with a fresh tomato sauce and lots of onions, peppers and garlic. Fresh-grated parmesan. The cook had given her a loaf of sourdough bread, which she’d cut into splits and baked with some more parmesan and olive oil. Adding a salad of mixed greens and lots of extra veggies, she had a complete meal. Enough for two, as a matter of fact, which had been her plan all along.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Jordan said from her doorway.
“I wanted to.” She waved him into the small dining area. A table set for two. The plates were white ceramic, heavy and serviceable and far from romantic...but romance wasn’t what she really wanted. Was it?
For a half a minute, she was sure he was going to refuse her, but then he shook his head and moved toward the table. He took a seat. Then he looked at her.
“I should... I was running.”
“I saw you.” She’d watched him head off and return hours later. Sweating. Panting.
“I should shower first.”
“Sure,” she said. “If you want to.”
He didn’t move. Monica smiled and set the bowl of pasta in front of him. Jordan fell on it like a starving beast, scooping a huge portion and digging in without so much as a second look. She served herself, eyeing him casually, though in reality she was taking in his every move.
“Good,” he grunted around a mouthful of bread.
“You were hungry, huh?”
Jordan paused. Chewed. Swallowed. He reached for the glass of red wine she’d set out and drained half the glass before answering her. “Yes.”
“Good,” Monica echoed him and set to eating her own portion. She hadn’t been exercising as he had, but she managed to put away a decent amount of pasta before she sat back in her chair to rub her belly.
Jordan had cleared his plate, plus the salad and most of the bread, and was looking hopefully toward the kitchen. “Is there more?”
“Yes. Plenty. Help yourself.” Monica watched him get up. The view from the back was as nice as the one from the front.
He caught her looking when he came back. She didn’t pretend to be embarrassed. He frowned, settling into his chair.
“I’m not on the menu,” he said. “In case you were hoping for dessert.”
Monica burst into laughter. “Oh. Was I that obvious?”
“No, actually, you’re not obvious at all.” He sat back in his chair and gave her a look so stern it made her sit back, too.
“Erm,” she said finally when it was clear that was all he was going to say. “Sorry?”
Jordan swiped at his mouth with a paper napkin and flung it down, then got up to pace a little bit. “I mean, what the hell was last night?”
Before she could answer, not that she had any clue what to say, he’d turned on his heel and stalked over to her. He should’ve been intimidating—and he was, or he would be if she hadn’t faced actual monsters, not just some guy with his boxers in a twist. When he leaned to get in her face, though, she did pull back a little.
“I thought you were in trouble,” he snapped.
“So you figured you’d save me?” Monica snapped back. “Well, that’s noble and all, but I promise you, I can take care of myself.”
“I’ve seen what that thing can do. You haven’t, not firsthand.”
She put a hand on his bare chest, no longer sweaty. He’d taste like salt, she thought. And fuck, that made her want to lick him.
“I’ve seen other things, Jordan. I’m not a shrinking flower—”
His hands gripped her upper arms, tight. She was up and out of the chair before she knew it. She thought he meant to kiss her, and she was already opening her mouth for it, but instead, he shook his head. His dark hair had fallen over his eyes.
“The next thing I know, you’ve got me fucking you,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. “And that’s it. Nothing after that. Not a damned word about it, all day long.”
“I made you dinner,” Monica whispered, torn between being flattered he was so upset and apologetic for so unexpectedly hurting his feelings.
Jordan let her go and stepped back. He was still breathing hard. Light flashed in his eyes. He turned away from her, shoulders hunched. Fists clenched.
“Why are you even here?” he muttered. “It’s ridiculous. DiNero has too much fucking money.”
That stung. Monica rubbed at her arms where his fingers had left marks. “Look, I know what I do must seem crazy. But really, there are things out there that people refuse to see.”
He swung around to look at her, brows furrowed, mouth curled into a sneer. “Sure. Like a goat sucker?”
“Among others. Yes. You work with animals—is it so hard for you to imagine that there are creatures we don’t know about?” She put her hands on her hips. “Something came through that wall. Multiple times. Something killed those animals. And something, if we don’t figure out what the hell it is, will come back again and again and continue until everything in this zoo is dead, probably including the people. Because it can, Jordan. It simply fucking can.”
“Keeping the animals safe is my job. Not yours.”
“Yeah, well, DiNero hired me to figure out what it is, okay? So once I do that, I can tell you what to do to keep them safe. My crew can come in and hunt it down, and if DiNero wants it alive, maybe we can even figure out how to tell you to take care of it. I’m sorry I stepped on your toes, if I did. And I’m sorry about last night... No, fuck that,” she amended. “I’m not sorry about last night. I needed you, and you were there. I’m glad you were. Believe it or not, I appreciated it.”
“Great. So I did you a favor?” Jordan’s scowl twisted further.
She stepped closer to him. He backed up. She took another. This time, he stayed. She’d seen a look like that before. It turned out she’d been developing a habit of wounding men’s pride, and that broke her more than anything else had.
Monica closed her eyes for a second. Thinking of Carl. How much she’d loved him and how long it had been since she’d felt that way about anyone. Maybe she never would again.
“I had a nightmare. I was attacked some time ago, and sometimes I dream about it,” she said in a low voice.
“Okay.” He eyed her warily. “And that’s my problem?”
Oh, he was going to make this difficult. “In the dreams, I relive the attack. When I wake up, I can’t get out from under it. The only thing that really helps me is to...fuck.”
“What kind of attack?”
“I was hiking with my husband,” Monica said flatly. “We’d gone into some unknown trails, stupid, I guess, but we thought it would be fun. Isn’t that how horror stories always start? We thought it would be fun at the time?”
“I don’t like horror stories.”
Monica laughed bitterly, then shrugged. “Something came out of the woods. Slashed at him. Knocked me out next, so I didn’t see what happened. It dragged him into a cave, where it killed him. It took me next. I woke up next to his body. When it came back, I fought it and killed it.”
She said it matter-of-factly, not because the story didn’t move her emotionally, but because it was the story she’d told the police and the wildlife officers and everyone else, the same story so many times the words themselves came by rote. It was the only way she could tell that story without breaking down.
Monica rubbed her arms again, this time against the chill of gooseflesh that had risen there. The food in her belly shifted uncomfortably. She couldn’t look at him anymore.
“What was it?” Jordan asked.
She shook her head. “They said it was a bear.”
“Bullshit,” he said.
She did look at him then. Her chin went up. “I don’t know what it was. I never figured it out. But I knew it was something, not a bear. It had scales. It could see in the dark. It had claws...”
She shuddered and went silent.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Jordan said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“I’d been studying to become a vet. I decided to focus on figuring out exactly what sorts of thing could have done that to my husband. I’m going to figure out what did this to your animals, too.”
“But you still dream about it at night.”
She nodded.
Jordan took a step closer. He pulled her into his arms again, this time more gently. Her face pressed against his hot bare skin, and though he might’ve grumbled about needing a shower earlier, all Monica breathed in was warm male. She closed her eyes. His hand stroked over her back.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Jordan, typically, didn’t say anything. The steady thump of his heart beneath her cheek skipped a beat or so, though. His arms tightened around her.
After a minute, Monica pushed away. She cleared her throat. Jordan stepped back. They stared at each other.
“I need a shower,” he said finally. “But after that, if you want to come over so we can talk about what you think this thing out there is...”
She nodded, hiding a smile. Stiffly, he backed away from her. She waited until he’d gone out the front door before she went after him to watch him cross the small piece of lawn between their bungalows. She could not figure him out. Not at all.
Chapter 8 (#ulink_ace8d726-b7aa-5eae-8bfe-a1b1fb099b7e)
The glass of red wine he’d downed had lit a fire in him that wasn’t going to go out. The whiskey wasn’t a good idea, not after last night and the wine and the conversation he’d had with Monica earlier, but then again, Jordan didn’t always make the best decisions. He downed one shot before getting in the shower, where his cock got hard as soon as he tried to soap up. He took another when he got out. His hair was still wet and he’d barely put on a fresh pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt before she was knocking on his front door.
“I brought dessert.” She held up one of the cook’s chocolate cakes. Jordan knew it by the scent of the icing. “I got it from the main house.”
“Looks good. C’mon in.” He stepped aside to let her pass. He’d managed to tame his dick, but barely. When she brushed his belly with her arm, he felt it stirring again.
They sat at his dining table. He’d put out a box of cheap chocolate doughnuts and made coffee, though the caffeine was going to do a number on him, as well. All of this was. Shit, he was going to need another run.
She’d brought along her tablet to show him some of the things she’d been working on, and before he knew it, they were side by side on his couch while she ran through lists of what she was putting together. She smelled so good. It had been a mistake to invite her here, Jordan thought. He was too hungry.
“But I don’t know.” Monica shook her head, then tucked a dark cherry curl behind her ear. She flicked her finger along a line of photos she’d pulled up. There was no denying the edge of excitement in her voice. “None of these things match the patterns. I’ve run through all the databases, and really, just...nothing.”
“You love this, don’t you? The unknown.”
She looked at him. “Love it? I’m not sure. I’ve always thought of love as something that makes you happy.”
“Me, I’ve always thought it was something that made you miserable,” Jordan answered.
Monica laughed. “How many times have you been in love, Jordan?”
He didn’t have an answer. He’d been homeschooled since the age of fourteen, when his parents had yanked him out of public school at the first signs of what they both had prayed would never come true. He hadn’t gone to the prom, basketball games. Hadn’t played in the band. He’d gone to college too wary of other people to trust anyone enough to fall in love.
“I thought so,” she said when he didn’t answer. “Sure, love can make you miserable. But it also makes you happy. So happy.”
For a second, her gaze went faraway. Unexpectedly, Jordan envied the man who’d married her, the one who’d made her look that way. The one who’d died, he reminded himself.
Monica shrugged off her expression. “Anyway. I have some calls and messages out to some of my colleagues, but at this point, I’m looking at something big. Something strong. Something that lives in the bayou.”
“Anaconda? Python? Something like that?” He shook his head. “I know there’s a huge problem with that in Florida, but I told you, not so much here.”
“Snakes don’t have claws.”
“Gator?” He laughed at the idea, but Monica looked thoughtful.
“Something like that,” she said. “You can laugh all you want, Jordan, but I’m good at what I do, and based on what I’ve seen and what you told me, I wouldn’t put something like a gator off the list.”
“Gators can’t climb walls.”
She smiled. “I said something like an alligator. But it’s definitely smart enough to figure out how to get through that wall and get what it wants.”
He was silent for a moment, thinking. “You really believe all this stuff about things that go bump in the night.”
“I believe in things that go bump in the sunlight, too.”
He glanced at her to see if she was making a sexy innuendo, but all she gave him was that same blank, assessing look that was starting to make him crazy enough to want to do something to wipe it off her face. He frowned and scooped up another of the chocolate mini doughnuts from the box he’d put out. They were fat coated in fat with another layer of fat on them, but he needed the calories, or else he was definitely going to give Ms. Blackship a surprise she was not going to like.
Her gaze followed the movement of his hand to the box, then to his mouth. Heat filtered through him at the way her eyes lit up, just the barest hint, and the way the tip of her tongue crept out to dimple her top lip.
She caught him looking. “You don’t believe in any of this stuff. I know.”
Jordan shook his head. “I work with real animals. Real things. You’re asking me to believe that some kind of monster is coming out of the bayou and slaughtering them? I’d be more likely to believe some kind of poachers—”
“Except poachers would take the animals alive. If they were going to steal and resell the animals, they’d want them alive. Even if they only wanted the pelts,” she added, “they wouldn’t slaughter them on-site.”
“No,” he admitted grudgingly. “I’ve been thinking about it, and you’re right.”
She leaned forward a little. “DiNero believes it. That’s why he called the Crew.”
“Then I guess that’s all it matters, huh?” He leaned back.
Monica smiled a little. “Yeah. I guess it does.”
They sat in silence for a minute or so that should’ve been awkward but was only quiet. It had been a long time since he’d sat with a woman this way, without idle chatter and inane small talk, stupid words to cover up the fact both of them were thinking only of how to get in each other’s pants with the least amount of effort. He couldn’t stop thinking about her flavor.
“Look,” Monica said abruptly. “About last night.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“No. We do. I don’t want you to think—”
“I don’t think anything,” Jordan interrupted. “We’re both adults. It happened.”
Monica shook her head. “But you didn’t like it.”
“I didn’t—” Jordan cut himself off. “What the hell?”
She laughed gently, tipping her face up. “I mean you didn’t like that it happened. Not that you didn’t like...it.”
Jordan scowled. “It was unexpected. That’s all.”
“It won’t happen again.”
That did not actually make him feel any better. If anything, the thought that he would never again be inside her tightened a knot in his lower gut. He didn’t have words for her, though, just a low grunt.
“I am sorry,” Monica said. “You were there, and I needed someone.”
Jordan gave her a long, steady look. “Gee, way to make a fella feel special.”
Monica ducked her head, looking embarrassed for a second, before popping up with the first genuine, full-fledged grin he’d seen on her. It lit her entire face. She was pretty, but that smile, that fucking smile... She was beautiful.
He kissed her.
He could have stopped himself. Years of therapy, of learning self-control, of discipline, of fighting the hunger—he could’ve done anything but kiss her. She was in his arms the second after that. She opened for him immediately. Her arms went around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair.
He picked her up as easily as he would a bag of feathers. She moaned softly into his mouth. The hum of it sent an arc of electric desire straight to his already rock-hard cock. He settled her on the table and pushed himself between her legs. She moaned again when he pressed his erection against her. She wore a flowing pair of thin batik-printed pants that provided little barrier, but his denim jeans were majorly cock-blocking him.
In seconds, without breaking away from her mouth, he’d yanked open his fly and pressed himself against her again. For a moment, they were at an impasse, but then Monica lifted herself up, fiddled with something at her hip and released a tie he hadn’t noticed before. The pants opened somehow in that magic way of women’s clothing he’d never understand. She wasn’t naked beneath, but a good tug tore her panties away. She cried out, a sharp sound that mimicked pain—except Jordan knew the sound of pain.
He was inside her in the time it took to breathe once, twice. She cried out again, and this time, there was a tinge of true pain in the sound. He wanted to slam deep inside her but eased out, only to have her grab him by the hips and pull him back.
“Look at me,” she demanded in a low, urgent voice.
He did and lost himself in her gaze. She took his hand and slid it between them to get his thumb against her clit. She was slick, and his thumb slid easily against her. She bucked and gripped his hips again. Her back arched. Her mouth opened.
“Fuck me,” she whispered. Then louder. “Please, fuck me.”
The table creaked as they rocked. The hunger built inside him, and the only way to slake it was to take her. Her mouth. The heat between her legs.
“Mine,” Jordan heard himself say but as though from far away.
He felt it when she came, her body clutching his and forcing him over the edge into an orgasm so powerful that he saw gold stars flickering around the edges of his vision. He captured her mouth once more, the kiss at first fierce in the last few ripples of his climax, then softening.
In the silence that followed, he heard her breathing shift. He looked into her eyes again, not sure what he expected to see there. Or what he wanted to see.
Monica curled her fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him to her to brush his lips with hers. “Jordan.”
That was all she said. One word, his name, a wealth of meaning in the two syllables, if only he could figure out what it was. Or if he wanted to.
They disengaged. She tidied herself, and he did the same. Neither speaking. She didn’t need to ask him where the powder room was, since the layout of their bungalows was the same. By the time she came out, he’d changed into his running clothes.
“Oh,” she said.
“I need to go for a run.”
“Jordan...”
“What?” he asked roughly.
“What just happened?”
“You ought to know,” he told her. “You were there.”
“That’s not what I mean, and I’m sure you know it.”
“What can I say?” he said with a shrug. “I needed someone. You were there.”
Chapter 9 (#ulink_22c0e00d-422f-508c-b3c2-c7795347adc1)
Bastard, Monica thought, even though she knew she’d deserved it. Why did she seem to pick only the men who got bent out of shape about what could be pure and simple passion if only they’d let it? She was still bruised and tingling from the ravishment Jordan had so delightfully provided on his dining room table only an hour or so before, but though her body was sated, her mind was anything but. She’d tried to sleep but couldn’t, and for once, not because she was afraid of the nightmares.
She’d been watching from the window to catch a glimpse of him coming back, but so far, nothing. Instead, she sat on her uncomfortable couch and made more lists. She’d signed in to the Crew database again to compare what she’d been able to find out with what others had logged in their experiences. So far, not much was making sense. Then again, not much ever did.
Dark had fallen, and with her window cracked, she could hear the familiar far-off noises of the animals in their habitats and night-active insects. Low-grade anxiety plagued her. A crackle of tension, as though there was an oncoming storm. Or maybe it was simply that she’d been here two days already and hadn’t figured out what she was looking for.
Or she was fooling herself, she admitted reluctantly, and her need to pace was directly related to the man who still hadn’t come back from his run.
Jordan Leone was trouble. Bad news. Which was probably why she wanted him again, Monica thought with a sigh and a smile so twisted it almost hurt. She rubbed at her face and tried to shake off the lingering feeling of his touch, but all she could think about was the way his mouth tasted.
She wasn’t going to accomplish anything this way. No amount of note taking or database studying could help her if she didn’t get out there in the field and do her own research. DiNero had hired her for a job, and she meant to do it—because the sooner she found out what had been killing his animals, the sooner she could get out of here and away from Jordan.
She put on a pair of thick khaki work pants with a lot of pockets and her heavy waterproof hiking boots, laced tight over thick socks. Her knife went on her belt, along with several others in different utility pouches. She tucked a notepad and pen sealed inside a plastic waterproof pouch into a pocket. She added a flashlight and a package of matches, both waterproof, and a small wax candle. A couple granola bars and a bottle of water went in another. They weighed her down, especially the water, but she’d spent forty-eight hours in a pitch-black cave, desperate enough to drink just about anything; she never went on any scouting mission without at least a minimum of supplies.
Finally, she pulled her hair into a tight tail at the base of her neck, threw on a baseball cap and shrugged into a denim jacket. She’d be sweating in seconds the moment she stepped outside, but the protection for her arms and upper body would be worth it. She didn’t have a map of the menagerie, but DiNero had laid it out to be easily navigated, so it wasn’t as if she had to figure out a maze. All she had to do was follow the paths.
She knew how to move quietly, though she wasn’t trying to be sneaky. She paused at the first cage she came to, peeking inside at the flashing eyes of the silver fox. It yipped softly at her and came close to the bars of the cage, but Monica didn’t reach to pet it. She crooned to it gently, though, watching the fox’s ears flick forward and back.
“You’re okay, pretty girl,” Monica said and moved on.
She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, exactly, just that she’d exhausted her resources and needed to come at this from a different angle. She’d worked on a team once that had set a bait trap, something she hesitated to do because it meant sacrificing an innocent living creature. She didn’t think DiNero would go for it anyway, at least not with one of his pets. Which meant what, she thought as she walked, waiting for another attack?
Fortifying the walls could work to prevent another slaughter, but it was no guarantee. It also meant they’d never find out what had been doing it, unless the thing showed up someplace else...like a playground, Monica thought with a shudder. Sour bile painted her tongue at the thought of a case where the Crew had successfully managed to chase off a Chimera that had been repeatedly ransacking a poultry-processing plant, only to have the thing show up in the backyard of a nearby day-care center. She hadn’t been on that team, but everyone had heard about it. The news had said it was a pit-bull attack.
That was why, she thought as she moved on, people like Jordan didn’t believe.
Following the curving brick path, she caught sight of DiNero’s house. Lights blazing. The sounds of a party inside. She hadn’t been invited, didn’t care. She paused, though, to admire the mansion and wonder what it was like to have so much money you could drop a few grand without a second thought. Most of what DiNero was paying her went back to the Crew to fund travel and other expenses, but she got her fair share. It wouldn’t buy her a mansion but it was enough, as Carl would’ve said, to keep her in Cheetos and beer.
For a moment, grief rose in her throat, choking her. Her husband had been full of sayings like that. Most of them had made her laugh, even when his tendency to try to make everything a joke was making her angry. Suddenly, fiercely, but not unexpectedly, she missed him with a deep and wretched longing that would slaughter her faster than any monster ever could—if she succumbed to it.
There, right there, she almost did. She almost went to her knees on the bricks and wept. It was too hard, sometimes, to keep herself from giving in to sorrow. She had ways to manage the terror that came from the dreams that were really memories, but this...oh, this was something else, and nothing could make it pass but time.
Monica did not go to her knees, though she did close her eyes against the burning slide of tears. At the taste of salt, she let out a low, shuddering sigh. She rode the pain for a moment or two before steeling herself and shaking it off.
Carl had died, and nothing could bring him back. The most she could do was honor him by doing her best to prevent more death. And that was exactly what she intended to do here.
Chapter 10 (#ulink_6079621d-68de-59ac-803c-2c7fb3dbdf9b)
Jordan had lapped the entire perimeter of DiNero’s estate, eyes open for any signs of destruction in the wall but finding none. He’d exhausted himself, sweating, panting and finally aching, before he slowed to a walk. The night air was thick and humid, but he sucked it in greedily. No scent of anything weird, just the familiar mingled smells of the animals and, from farther off, dinner coming from DiNero’s house. The guy was having another party, which meant that sooner or later Jordan could expect a call to give a tour. DiNero loved showing off his pets.
For now, though, Jordan walked to clear his head and soothe his muscles. He wanted a hot shower and something to eat but didn’t dare go back just yet. He’d managed, barely, to fend off the hunger he’d tried to satiate with Monica.
Monica.
Damn, the woman had managed to get under his skin. He’d been stupid, he knew that, but no matter what she said, he was only human. Not even his twisted, tangled combination of DNA could make him less than that.
Still, there was shame, instilled in him for as long as he could remember by parents who’d wanted anything but this for their only son. They’d never tried to make him embarrassed about what he’d inherited; if anything, their staunch and devout insistence that he could learn to control his “condition” had been meant to make him feel better about it. But all they’d ever managed to do was repeatedly underline how different he was. How he could try and try, but he would never be the “same.”
That made him want to run again, but there was no getting away from the past. He’d learned that long ago. No way to run away from himself. The best he could do was learn to control it, the way his parents had taught him. To keep the hunger at bay.
And still he felt it constantly, always under the surface. Waiting to rise to something as simple as a steak or a beautiful woman or a thousand other things that tempted him to give in to his baser impulses. Not human, Monica had said, but she had no idea.
No matter what happened to him, Jordan thought grimly, he was always a man. Nothing could take that away from him. He wouldn’t let it.
For a moment, he leaned against the wall to feel the heat left from the earlier sunshine. It felt good, heat upon heat. It slowed things down. Made him languorous rather than agitated. He let himself press against it, then took a seat in the soft grass DiNero had spent a fortune to grow and maintain. If there was one benefit to his condition, it was that the night bugs left him alone.
If he stayed here a little longer, maybe she’d be asleep by the time he got back. Her windows would be dark. He wouldn’t be tempted to go in and see her... Jordan’s eyes drifted closed.
* * *
“Maybe we’ll be okay,” his mother said to his father when she thought Jordan couldn’t hear. “His birthday was last week. He’s fourteen now. Surely if it was going to happen, we’d know about it by now.”
Jordan had been sneaking into the kitchen for a late-night snack, his rumbling stomach making it impossible to sleep. Summer, school out, nothing but the possibilities of a whole three months of freedom ahead of him. He had plans with Trent and Delonn tomorrow, video games and a bike ride to the gas station, where they might try to talk to some girls. Maybe. At the sound of his parents’ hushed whispers from the back porch, though, he stopped. He hadn’t turned on the light, so they had no idea he was there.
“It’s going to be all right, bébé,” his father said.
Jordan froze. Dad never called Mom that unless they were arguing about something and he was trying to make up to her. Had his parents been fighting? The soft sound of sniffling made his stomach twist. Mom was crying?
“I just want him to be all right, Marc. I’m so worried...”
His father made a shushing sound. “I know. Me, too.”
“We should have been more careful.” Now his mother sounded fierce, angry. “We knew the risks. We were stupid. Arrogant and reckless!”
“Hush, bébé, don’t. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“I am sick,” his mother said. “Sick with worry. Jordan’s the one who will pay the price for us being careless... My sweet boy. Oh God, Marc, what will we do if he has it?”
“We’ll love him anyway,” his father said. “What else could we do?”
The sound of his mother’s sobs should’ve chased away any lingering hunger, but Jordan’s stomach only ached more. What were they talking about? If he had what?
Last year, Penny Devereux had been diagnosed with leukemia. She’d had to miss almost the entire school year, and when she’d finally come back, she’d worn a scarf to cover her bald head. She’d been thin and pale, and she still laughed a lot, but she wasn’t quite the same.
His parents had gone silent, but Jordan caught a whiff of smoke. That was bad. His mother only lit up when she was superstressed. She’d been trying to quit. Now she was smoking, right there with his dad, who hated it. Something was very wrong.
It didn’t stop him from going to the fridge, though. It was as though a phantom hand pulled him, actually, an impulse he couldn’t fight. He was so hungry he thought he might faint from it, that and the anxiety from overhearing what he knew they didn’t want him to know.
He’d come down hoping to snag a piece of leftover birthday cake or some of his mom’s homemade tapioca pudding, but what his hands pulled from the fridge’s bottom shelf was the plastic-wrapped platter of uncooked burgers his mom had put together for tomorrow’s dinner. Without thinking, Jordan tore the plastic off. Handfuls of soft ground beef went in his mouth. He barely chewed, shoving the food past his lips and licking his fingers. He couldn’t get enough.
The lights came on. His mother cried out. Jordan turned, as guilty and embarrassed as if she’d walked in on him in the shower or doing what he’d just discovered he could do under the tent of his sheets late at night. No, this was somehow worse, because somehow he knew it was related to what his parents had been saying.
Something was wrong with him.
“Put that down!” his mother cried, but she wasn’t angry, as she ought to have been. Fear had widened her eyes. He could hear it in her voice.
He could smell it on her.
“Jordan, give me that.” Dad was calmer, pushing past Mom, who clung to the doorway and burst into tears.
No. Mine. The thoughts rose unbidden, and though Jordan would never have dreamed of disobeying his father, he backed up still clutching the platter. His mouth hurt. He tasted blood, and not from the meat but from his own gums. He ran his tongue along his teeth and felt the burn and sting of a wound opening—he’d cut it on something sharp.
His own teeth.
Mine.
The thought rose again, but this time, he tossed the platter to the floor. Raw meat splatted on the linoleum, and he backed up with his hands in front of him. There was more pain. He clenched his fists. More cuts, fingernails long, sharp. There was blood.
He would carry the scars on his palms for the rest of his life.
“You’re going to be okay, son. It’s all going to be all right,” his father said, but the look on his face told Jordan that nothing was going to be all right.
Not ever again.
* * *
Jordan woke with a startled gasp, hands in front of him. He’d clenched his fists and winced automatically at the expected sting of his nails pressing his flesh, but the years of self-discipline had worked. He wasn’t going to run off into the night and start making mayhem.
Still, he got to his feet with the memory of those long-ago burgers coating the inside of his mouth. He spat, then again, but he could still taste them. He still wanted them. He would always want them, the way he’d always want to run and punch and break and devour.
With a low groan, he closed his eyes and breathed deep. He focused. Not full-on meditation, which he did every day, but still a forced pattern of breaths that was supposed to relax him. A minute passed. He opened his eyes.
At fourteen, everything had changed for him. His parents, recessive carriers of a set of genes that had combined in him to make him different, had never planned to have children. And if he’d been a girl, he’d never have ended up this way, since only males manifested the condition.
Monica had said werewolves did not exist, but Jordan could’ve told her otherwise.
Chapter 11 (#ulink_efe06106-65f7-50c6-8524-95f842590d0e)
Monica had just decided to turn back and head for home when the first muttered cackling reached her ears. DiNero kept a bunch of peacocks that were allowed to roam freely over the estate. They weren’t particularly exotic, not compared to the big cats or rare Russian foxes, but they were pretty. And they screamed, Monica discovered when the sound rose.
She didn’t think twice but ran toward it, changing direction when another scream came. Her boots pounded the bricks, but then she dodged off the path and ran through the grass, past several habitats and into darkness. There was light from the house in the distance but she had to blink rapidly to try to get her night vision working. It didn’t happen fast enough. She tripped over something and went sprawling.
It was a dead peahen, its throat slashed and long runnels carved into its body. Just beyond it lay another, a carcass rather than a bird, most of it missing. Monica rolled with a small groan and pushed up from her hands and knees, already expecting something to rush at her from the darkness.
Instead, she heard another chattering set of screams from the distance. She didn’t want to run with her knife in her hands—that was a good way to end up stabbing herself. The best she could do was hope that whatever was killing the birds wouldn’t see her before she saw it.
The menagerie hadn’t been set up in grids or blocks, so she had to circle around one of the habitats, this one with a tall, domed cage. Inside it, small gray monkeys screamed and chattered. None of them appeared hurt and she couldn’t see any breaks in their cage, so she kept going. She was heading for the exterior wall, heart racing, when something hurtled at her out of the darkness.
Something growling. Something with eyes that flashed red and sharp teeth that snapped at the air in front of her, coming so close she felt the breeze of it on her eyelashes. Claws raked her side, pulling the blow at the last second so she could roll away with her shirt flapping in shreds. Pain stung her, but she was still able to get her hands up to push away the thing on top of her.
Too dark here to see more than shadows. All she could do was twist and turn, getting an arm up to keep the snapping jaws from getting at her throat. Monica screamed, anticipating the crunch of teeth on her forearm, but it didn’t come. She kicked upward and out, connecting.
The thing, which smelled of grass and dirt, growled but didn’t retreat. It fell on top of her again, crushing her into the ground. She felt hair and limbs and another press of teeth, but by then she’d fought her knife free of the belt sheath. No hesitation, Monica slashed upward. Her aim was off, but she still connected. Her knife stuck and she pulled it free. This time, the thing howled and backed off.
She needed light, but back here close to the exterior wall, she was in a giant blind spot. Her head spun from hitting the ground, and bright sparks of pain made everything a blur anyway, but she did see a shape, a head and a half taller than she was. She smelled blood. She slashed again, her grip weaker this time, but the thing smacked her knife from her hand.
Whatever it was hit her in the face, not claws but a curled...fist? A hand? All she knew was the crisp feeling of hair on her face and the solid thunk of flesh on hers. The blow drove Monica to her knees. She rolled, and the next hit her shoulder hard enough to drive her face forward into the ground again.
This time, she didn’t get up.
* * *
She was in the cave again. Pitch-black. The stink of death. Rattle of bones. Carl was dead; she’d seen him in the last flare of her light before it had been smashed. Her husband was dead, and she would be next, unless she fought.
She fought.
Fists and feet and teeth. Her knife. Slashing. Blood, pain, screaming.
Everything blurred.
* * *
She woke up screaming, throat raw. Something held her down and she writhed, fighting it until she realized it was the soft weight of a comforter. She’d been sweating beneath it, wearing only panties and the tank top she’d gone out in earlier. Her hair had come free of the elastic and tangled over her shoulders.
For the first few seconds, Monica still didn’t know where she was. Then it came to her—the bungalow at DiNero’s menagerie. She’d gone out, then she’d heard something...the peacocks, screaming. She swallowed hard at the thought of the beautiful birds being torn apart.
She’d gone to find out what had happened. Something had attacked her. She had to get up.
She winced and cried out softly when she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her head pounded, the back of it tender and swollen where she’d hit the ground. A stinging line on her throat had come from the thing’s teeth, she remembered that much. Another set of four slashes on her side hurt, too, but they’d been cleaned and bandaged, so she couldn’t see how bad they were. They didn’t feel deep enough to be terribly serious, she thought and wondered why on earth she hadn’t been torn to ribbons.
The thing had been big and strong and angry, and yet it had not actually tried to kill her. It couldn’t have. She’d have been dead if it had. She was certain of it.
As it was, her entire body ached. When she got up and went into the bathroom, her reflection showed a pattern of bruises already gone black. She eased up the tank top to look at the bandages, which had been expertly applied. Gauze and medical tape, not adhesive bandages. The edges glistened with antibiotic ointment. She pulled her shirt back down and turned to go back to the bedroom—and let out a shriek.
She’d punched Jordan twice, first in the nose and then in the throat, before she could stop herself. He stumbled back with a shout, and Monica muttered a stricken apology.
He watched her warily, his eyes watering. She hadn’t made him bleed—at least there was that. She might’ve laughed at the look on his face if everything didn’t hurt so bad and if she weren’t so freaked out by what had happened. That and the dream. Always the dream.
A strangled sob had forced itself out of her throat before she could stop it. She found herself pressed against him, though if she’d reached for him or he’d pulled her close, she didn’t know. What she did know was that his hand stroking her hair felt good, as did his arms around her. Even the pressure of his body on her aching bruises lessened the pain.
When he picked her up and carried her to the bed, she expected him to lay her down, but instead Jordan sat on the edge of it and held her on his lap. Monica was no small woman and had never been fond of being made to feel delicate, but something in the way he cradled her only made her bury her face against the side of his neck.

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Megan Hart

Тип: электронная книга

Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература

Язык: на английском языке

Издательство: HarperCollins

Дата публикации: 16.04.2024

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О книге: Dark Heat, Dark Dreams & Dark FantasyMonica Blackship hunts down creatures that shouldn’t exist. Stephanie Adams has the power to shape nocturnal visions. And if it’s weird, Jase Davis is on it. They’re all members of the Crew, an international consortium devoted to explaining the unexplainable.In this enthralling trilogy of novellas, three intrepid investigators face a daunting array of paranormal dangers, from deadly cryptids to dream thieves. They’re ready for ghosts, monsters and other strange phenomena. But is their greatest challenge distinguishing reality from fantasy, or separating work from pleasure?

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