Call of the Moon: (BBW Paranormal Hunters Erotic Romance) (Avalon Book 2) (3 page)

In my experience, magic users were rarely honest. I hid my smile, proven right as he dropped the tooth into my outstretched hand as he grabbed the pendant.

“Done. Now get the fuck out of my bar.”

Chapter Three

Sliding the tooth into my pocket, I was about to come back with a pithy, yet sarcastic rejoinder when the door opened again. A gust of wind howled through the opening, wrapping around the three women who entered like yellow spandex on a movie superhero.

Banshees. Great, just what I needed to round off my evening.

I lifted an eyebrow and looked back at Mr. Brown. The fucker was gone, sliding off the seat as if his ass were greased, and disappearing through a backdoor without so much as a backward glance. Anger swelled to join the disgust I already felt. Well, no use looking for help from that quarter.

Shaking my head, I slipped from the booth and walked toward the newcomers. My heels rang out on the flooring again. I needed to get quieter ones. Circumspectly, I checked out the clientele. I’d first suspected Mr. Brown was the only magic user. But having seen his amulet, I’d very much doubted he had been the creator of the ward at the door.

“Ladies.”

I greeted the trio with a smile. Never show fear to a banshee. They were vicious bitches at the best of times, but exhibiting fear was like dropping blood into water infested with a bunch of piranhas. Fatal.

“Bit out of the way for you, isn’t it?”

As I spoke, I wondered what the fuck was going on. Seeing banshees in public was like seeing Santa on the beach in a mankini. In other words, fucking wrong.

Banshees didn’t do girly nights out, or bars, or cherry red lipstick the one in the middle sported. It must have been a certain well known brand, because she sure as
hell
hadn’t been born with it.

All three looked me up and down. Blondie on the left took a half step forward.
Yeah? Come on, bitch. I’ve got a Sig loaded with silver, and a blessed knife with your name on it.

There had been a good reason why I hadn’t taken off my jacket in the bar, despite the relative warmth of the night. One, it was good leather and I didn’t want it half-inched, and two, I wore a commando knife in a bottom-release spine sheath. Since the thing reached from mid-shoulder to the small of my back I had to carry concealed, or the local police—hell,
any
police—would totally wig out and try to arrest me. Since I was wanted for questioning—in god knows how many states—that was something I actively tried to avoid.

Cherry, obviously the leader, shook her head, and Blondie dropped back to pout in disappointment. Power swelled in the air, washing over me. Given half a chance, those talon-like nails could morph into real ones. Destination: my throat.

“We decided to pop out for a drink and a bite to eat.”

My face held the smile well, but I felt the warmth leeching out of my eyes. Jasen called it my “evil bitch from hell” look. I might be the heartless bitch who banged a proto-were, but I was a hunter. There was no way in hell I was letting the three stooges chow down on my watch.

“Friendly warning. Buffet’s closed, ladies. I suggest you take it elsewhere.”

The fight, when it came, was bloody and brutal. Just as I expected. Blondie obviously had a problem with the word “no,” and launched herself at me with the trademark shriek of her kind. She was fast.

I’m faster.

The Sig was in my hand in the blink of an eye. A heartbeat later, Blondie had some extra ventilation for the single brain cell occupying her cranium. Before the sound of the double-tap faded away, the other two were on me. A hard hit took the Sig out of my hand. It sailed over the bar and shattered the mirror behind it, taking out a glass of shelves on the way.

I swore, blocking strikes from razor-sharp talons as I twisted and turned, giving as good as I got. I didn’t have claws, but I had a right hook that would fell a pit pony. Luckily for me, I’d always been light on my feet. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee? I sting like a wasp with a bad case of PMS and anger management problems.

Even so, I faced down two banshees who were pissed I’d nailed their sister, and not in a good way. Any sensible hunter, a.k.a. one who wasn’t me, would have looked at the odds and hightailed it out of Dodge. Not me, I had to be the one to prove a point, didn’t I?

“You’ll pay for that,” Cherry snarled and lashed out.

I managed to block her strike, claws shredding the leather of my jacket instead of my skin, but the move left me open to another attack. Pain raked white-hot along my other side as the second one got a hit in.

Great. I wasn’t going to be able to keep this up for long.

“Yeah? You take Amex?” I threw back and vaulted over the table behind me. Cheap ass piece of shit buckled under my weight, so I rolled off it and kicked it right into Cherry’s stomach.

Her partner in crime was on me in a hot second. I didn’t even have time to roll to my feet before I was fighting from the floor. And believe me I
hate
fighting from the floor.

Screaming all the time, she lashed out at me in a fury, her skinny-ass banshee body straddling my hips to pin me to the ground. Claws were everywhere, slicing up the leather of my jacket as she tried to get to my face, my neck, my belly…anything. If she did, I was as good as dead. Yeah, I had magic, but I was also human. It didn’t do jack shit to help with disembowelment.

I started to flag, the small cuts the bitch had inflicted burning like someone had poured salt into them. Any minute now she was going to get through my defenses. Suddenly, the banshee was yanked off me, sailing through the air, slamming into the wall beyond. My rescuer, Jasen, snarled in rage as he stood over me. His hands balled into fists and relaxed by turns. Even without the feral snarl, I knew he fought the beast. The set of his shoulders was too tight, too controlled, for him to be doing anything else.

“Through the back,” I yelled as the two banshees went for him at the same time. I was already moving, ignoring the myriad of cuts the bitch had inflicted. I rolled over the bar to find Johnson crouched behind it, cowering in fear.

I grabbed my Sig, dusted the powdered glass from it and checked it with swift, efficient movements.

“Close early. Lock the doors,” I ordered, on my feet again and moving. I hurt like hell, but that was the thing about being a hunter. If I slowed down, or went down, I was as good as dead. I had to remain on my feet, keep firing or hitting as long as I could, and maybe…just maybe…I’d survive the fight.

I reached the end of the bar. Jasen streaked past me, big hand wrapped around a banshee’s throat as he propelled her out of the door, and the other trailing him like a shitty ice stream trailing a comet.

I barreled through it a half a second after the trio, and into the darkness of the alley. The only human in the fight, I had to take a moment for my night sight to adjust. The muzzle of the Sig wavered in the air as I waited for a target to resolve.

“Screw it.”

There was a screech and a thud. Hoping like hell that was one of the banshees, I fired at the sound. Though Banshees were paranormal, they were also as susceptible to lead as most living things.

The screeching died down, but the fight went on. My night sight kicked in. Jasen had the last banshee pinned under him, his hands around her slender throat as he choked the life out of her. Her vicious claws dug deep into his flesh, tearing through the light t-shirt, and skin alike. He barely seemed to notice. Lip curled back, the same feral snarl rumbled from the bottom of his chest as he shook her like a rag doll.

The back of her skull made contact with the concrete in a sickening thud. A crunchy, then a smooshy sound. The sort that said broken eggs, or worse. Her hands dropped, lifeless, to her sides and the light died from her eyes. She was dead.

Jasen wasn’t done, though. Still snarling, he carried on shaking the body, and as I watched, his hands started to change. I’d seen all the horror movies, every film about werewolves out there that I’d been able to find. It was surprising how often the really cheesy ones got it right. Effects were crap, but even so, they were quite accurate. Chuck a shitload more money at them, and some advances in animatronics, and they would be something close to the real deal.

Chapter Four

“Jasen?” I asked softly, edging into view with my hands held out. The Sig was out of sight, tucked into the back of my jeans. “Jasen, you can put her down now. She’s dead.”

His head snapped up. Bright amber eyes narrowed as they focused on me, nothing human in their gaze. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, and just for a change, shit. He was almost on the edge, teetering on the change. Power built up in the alleyway as he dropped the banshee and stood.

The sound of ripping fabric filled the darkness. His shoulders were broader than before, and…was he taller? My heart pounding against my ribcage like a terrified bird trying to escape, I looked at him levelly and stood my ground. Never run from a werewolf. They were predators who liked to chase, and I didn’t want to be the thing being chased, for it rarely turned out well.

“Jasen. How did you get here? Sure must have been a long walk without the car.” I kept talking, hoping beyond hope to get through to his human side. The change was slow, rather than the snapshot shifts I’d seen some weres accomplish. He was still humanoid, although with muscles
on
his muscles and a set of shoulders that would put a linebacker to shame.

“You’re bleeding, sweetheart. Let me have a look at those.”

My instincts of self-preservation not only cried but gave it up as I not only didn’t run from the predator that stood in front of me, but actually walked toward him. The human race as a whole had achieved its lofty position at the top of the food chain by learning to survive, and being smart. I’d obviously regressed to somewhere beneath Neanderthal.

That amber-eyed gaze tracked me all the way, and it was all I could do not to check out his hands. To make sure his nails hadn’t turned into talons as sharp as the banshees’ we’d just cleaned up. Well, not quite like theirs. If he ever developed a taste for vixen-red nail polish, I was ditching his ass. My lips quirked at the edges at the thought. Lycanthrope infection wasn’t a deal breaker for me, but cross-dressing was? Sorry, but I liked my men to
be
men. Not New Age metrosexuals interested in exploring their feminine side.

Normally the sight of amber eyes would have had me reaching for more weaponry and looking for a way out, but this time, I looked at the slight darkness in the centre. The ring of green that said there was something human left to reach. That was the giveaway. Well, there was also the fact he wasn’t tearing my guts out. On the whole, that was a pretty big clue as well.

“These must hurt, don’t you feel them?”

I stopped just in front of him, my entire body poised, ready to run. Gingerly, I reached out and took his hand. Still human, but bigger, rougher somehow. A shiver of illicit thrill ran down my spine. I loved a man’s hands over my body, especially if they were rough. Gave everything that extra edge. Lusting after a werewolf, though…that freaked me out, even if I had bedded him so many times in the last six months I should have booked myself into
Nymphos Anonymous
.

He moved like lightening, stepping closer to me and wrapping a brawny arm around my waist before I could get out of reach. One with the kind of tensile strength that could snap me in two without a second thought. With gentle fingers, he picked up a curl of my hair and wrapped it around a broad finger.

“Pretty,” he rasped, leaning in to sniff at my neck. “Smell good too.”

The thrill became a full-on attack of pleasure that weakened my knees and dampened my panties. When he lifted his head and sniffed the air, I knew I was done for. He’d mentioned he could smell my arousal before, and right now, I was dripping wet.

Grunting, he lifted me without effort and wrapped my legs around his hips. A whimper left my lips as I felt the thick cock there, straining the denim and pressing right where I needed it. All sense fled, and I could only think about was how good that cock would feel inside me. God, I wanted it.

Walking me backward, he stopped in front of the single car parked back here. Since Mr. Brown had vacated at speed, I assumed it had to be Johnson’s. Not that it mattered. In a single movement, Jasen turned me around and bent me over the hood. His big hands caught the sides of my jeans, trying to pull them down.

“Hey, hey…hold on a moment, big guy. You’ll rip them.”

While I was all for a lover being so eager he needed to tear the clothes from my body, I’d rather it happened in the confines of a bedroom than in the great outdoors. I wasn’t a fan of flashing my bare arse to all and sundry, after the fires of passion had worn off and I needed to get to my ride.

Quickly I unbuckled my belt and popped the buttons on the jeans. Growling in frustration, he took over, shoving the denim down over my hips, along with the lace of my panties, until I was completely exposed to him and the cold night air.

I shivered as a cool breeze licked over my pussy. With Jasen’s hand on the back of my neck, holding me down, there was no way to escape, nowhere to go. His hold was bruising, his fingers biting lightly into the skin. I whimpered, worry humming through me. What if he was too far gone? What if I should be shooting him instead of fucking him?