It's a Boy!!!!

Kendra just called.  It's a Boy!!!  I'll have another favorite grandson!

Magic Man

You know, I once heard that everybody has a little magic in them, it's just a matter of finding it.  So when I wrote this story, I was wondering what kind of magic I might actually have and how to find it, so I wrote about a man who had learned to harness what he could do and use it to help and not hurt.  Brady Knight turned into a very sexy man who had learned to laugh and find the good.  He seemed like the perfect match for Molly Wolfe, half sister to Callie Wolfe from Callie's Shadow.  I hope you enjoy this couple.  The book was published through Phaze and can be found at All Romance Ebooks, under my pen name of Wendy Stone.  Enjoy!

Chapter One

A sly smile crossed his face as he watched her. She was beautiful and radiant, her laughter flowing through the crowded dining room like a melodic song. The man she was with seemed almost stunned to be in her presence, a sign to Brady that he didn't deserve the woman and that she was wrapping him around her little finger.

Not that Brady wanted her for himself. He just couldn't help the little imp that whispered in his ear and made him do what he did next. His finger moved on the cloth covered table, brushing with a gentle touch over the starched white cloth.

Across the way, the girl jumped, her hand reaching under the table cloth and brushing over the front of her short skirt, reaching for the hem and pulling it down to where it had been before. Her big blue eyes seemed confused and she glared for an instant at the man who sat with her. Brady watched as her pouting red lips formed words that he could read from where he was sitting.

"Stop it."

The man just sat there, a confused slightly bemused expression on his lax features. As Brady watched, the man moved his lips. "Stop what?" Brady saw him ask.

Laughter bubbled inside of him as she tossed her blonde hair, an indignant look on her face. And the little imp whispered again. He stared at the thin white blouse that strained across impressive looking breasts. With a small purse of his lips he blew out a small breath, his finger flicking at the table.

She jumped again as the top button of her blouse popped open, the sides pulling away from each other and exposing a lot of smooth creamy skin. Staring down at the deep cleavage, she grabbed for her blouse as another button gave way. Her companion, his ears turning red, stared amazed at the lovely show that was being put on in front of him.

Brady managed to stop the chuckle that tried to erupt from his mouth, instead running his finger across the material he'd just been flicking with his finger, watching as the woman's blue eyes popped wide open as she felt an unseen touch trail across the sleek pale skin of her breast. She stared around the room widely, and Brady dropped his eyes, even as he moved his finger so that the unseen finger circled her now taut nipple, causing her to gasp.

She grabbed her purse with one hand, her other holding her top closed and ran from the room amid a mutter of whispers and some very catty giggles from women at other tables who'd seen the eyes of their companions upon his beautiful victim.

"Stop that, Brady."

Joseph Templeton, his friend and one of the very, very few people aware of what he could do, sat back down in the seat across from him. "You could have waited until I got back for the show," he said, his accusation voiced in a friendly tone.

"You never let me have any fun, Joseph, you know that." Brady Knight turned his head, cracking the bones in his neck before circling his shoulders. "Besides, she was showing off so much in front of all the men in the restaurant, I thought she might want to give a much better show. And that cleavage was pretty spectacular."

"Very true," Joseph sighed, letting his chin fall into his hand, his elbow on the table. "I just worry that one of these days your going to use these powers of yours in front of someone you shouldn't. Then I'll end up visiting you in a cage while you're waiting to be dissected. And they'll bring your parents in and do all these tests to see if maybe they'd been taken into some space ship and transported into the future..."

"Stop!" Brady laughed. "I know where you're going with this; we've been over it ten thousand times since you found out about me. I'll behave." He waited a second and then said beneath his breath, "spoil sport."

"How far would you have taken it?" Joseph asked suddenly.

"What?"

"How far would you have stripped her of her clothes if she hadn't run?" Joseph picked up his coffee, taking a small sip of the luke warm brew.

"Not far, I was having more fun running my finger over her nipple." He laughed as Joseph spit the coffee back in his cup. "Are you okay?" he asked, laughing as his friend coughed.

"You're incorrigible. I don't know how we stay friends." He sat down the coffee and picked up his napkin to pat his lips dry, running his finger across the starched white collar that denoted his rank.

"And you were a lot more fun before you became a priest, Joseph." Brady laughed, it wasn't the first time they had this conversation and probably wouldn't be the last. Their friendship had started when they were both boys, ten years of age. They'd met at school, Brady's first day. The school bully had tried to make an example of Brady and Joseph had helped him kick the boy's butt.

In the principal's office afterwards while waiting for their parents to show up, Joseph and Brady had shown off their battle wounds to each other and had gained a bond that had stood up to fights and girls, vacations and age. They'd even managed to stay friends when Joseph had quit college in the middle of his second year and joined a seminary college.

Brady's gifts, as his parents called them, had made themselves known when he was twelve. They started with small things like being able to move things with his mind and then grew and got stronger every day. Now there wasn't much he wasn't able to do with his mind, including conning any girl he wanted into going to bed with him.

But that wasn't all he could do. Joseph had never seen everything he was capable of. Brady had hidden quite a bit, not only from his friend but from his parents and his teachers. And even from his fiancée.

"I don't know how Renee handles you," Joseph said, lifting his spoon and taking a bite of the chocolate cake he'd ordered. It was decadent, a sin that Father Joseph enjoyed.

"I haven't told her."

"You haven't told her what? You haven't mentioned your penchant for molesting strange women in restaurants?"

"I haven't told her any of it." Brady ducked his head, knowing that Joseph's infamous temper was going to blow. He'd held back from telling Joseph his deception, knowing that he would be mad as hell.

"I don't blame you."

The words startled Brady. He looked up, narrowing his eyes. "You wanna run that by me again?"

"I said I don't blame you. Damn, Brady, Renee is beautiful and sweet but she's not the most understanding woman in the world."

"I thought you liked her," Brady said, still amazed.

"There's nothing wrong with Renee that would make me dislike her," Joseph said, shrugging. "I just don't know what she'd do if you were to walk up to her and show her or tell her you have magical powers. Think about it." He took another bite of his cake, determined to enjoy every ounce.

"I know. I've thought of telling her I don't know how many times. I even set about showing her once and every time, I chickened out."

"Have you ever used your powers on her?" Joseph licked the back of his spoon off and took a sip of his now cold coffee.

"Oh come on, how can you think I'd do something like that?"

"So you have," Joseph said on a sigh. "I thought as much."

"Jesus Ch..." he stopped when he saw Joseph narrow his eyes at the blasphemous curse. "Sorry, jeez, what is this, confession?" He glared at his friend who sat across from him, folding his hands on the table calmly.

"Yeah, right," Joseph scoffed, "like I'd ever get you to go to confession. I mean, I can't even get you into one of my masses." He shook his head. "No, Brady, we've been friends forever. You helped me get over my first crush. I know you."

"What the hell does that mean? You know me," Brady smacked his palm against the table with a dull smacking sound that made some of the china clink together. "Sometimes you confuse me more than you're worth."

"Yeah, but you love me anyway," Joseph laughed. "What that means is that Renee isn't going to satisfy you. She doesn't have what you need if you can't even tell her about your magic."

"I love her, Joseph."

"You think you love her, Brady. If you truly loved her, you'd be willing to share everything with her."

"I just haven't found..."

"The right time," they finished together.

Brady glared at him. "Nobody likes a smart aleck priest, Joseph."

"Yeah, the Bishop tells me that every time I see him." Joseph smiled, completely nonplussed. "You know I'm right, Brady. Getting pissed off about it won't do you any good."

"Yeah, but I can't hit you any more so I have to do something." He jumped when the phone hooked on the belt of his pants went off. Picking it up, he looked at the display, his expression turning to annoyance, before he forced a smile and flipped open the phone.

"Hi Renee."

Joseph smiled, a knowing smile that made Brady want to reach out and punch him. He lifted his hand, wiggling his fingers at his friend and waiting for Brady to tell Renee hello from him.

"I'm having lunch with Joseph."

"Okay, Father Joseph. Jeez, Renee I've known the man since he was ten, we used to have camp outs in my back yard, I can call him by his first name. He says hi by the way."

Brady grimaced, glanced at Joseph and then down at the leftover sauce on his plate that hadn't been cleared yet. "Yeah, I'll ask him. I said I would."

Unconsciously, Brady began stroking the table cloth with his fingers as he talked and Joseph stared in amazement as the silverware on the table next to theirs stood up, dancing as if dangling from the end of a wire. He reached over and pushed his hand down on Brady's watching as the silverware dropped, half of it falling to the floor with a crash.

"I've got to go, Renee. Yeah, me too." Brady flipped the phone closed and stared at the silverware. "You really drive me nuts sometimes, Joseph."

"Only when I'm right and you don't want to admit it," Joseph said, waving to their waitress who brought them their bill. "Now the only thing you have to figure out is what you want to do about it."

---

Brady left the restaurant in a strange mood. He usually enjoyed his weekly lunches with Joseph, an event he looked forward to since he'd come back home. After college he'd gotten involved with a bad crowd searching for people like himself, people who could do magic with both their hands and mind.

He'd gotten into the occult, finding himself surrounded by wannabes whose skills with magic were contrived, done with smoke and mirrors. None of them had what he did, the power of telekinesis, the power to conjure, the power to teleport, the power to change the shape of his body, though he had never told anyone he could do that. That power freaked him out a little too much to use. He also had the power to control others if he wished.

He sighed, wondering if he was going to hell for the things that he had done in those days after college. They had been wild, sex and drugs, alcohol and more sex until his brain had seemed to float, permanently pickled. The day Joseph had come looking for him, in that strange house that he and three other guys had rented out, the walls covered with pentagrams and other magical symbols, the air perfumed with the smell of marijuana and sex, spilled beer and burnt macaroni and cheese, had changed his life. Hell, Joseph had probably saved his life.

He'd found Brady in bed with two women. Brady hadn't even known their names. He couldn't remember meeting them or coming home. The last thing he'd remember was finishing off his second pint of Jack Daniels while his friends tried talking him into going into the new strip joint that had just opened across town. He could remember the embarrassment he'd felt when Joseph had walked in and he'd been lying in that bed, the room smelling strongly of sex he didn't remember having.

"Get up, Brady, and get dressed. We're going for a walk."

A walk had been the last thing Brady had wanted and he'd almost used his mind control on Joseph, the one thing he'd always promised he wouldn't do. Instead, he'd gotten up and thrown on clothes that smelled of alcohol, tobacco and cheap perfume.

Joseph had walked him until Brady, tired, hung over and out of shape, had collapsed at the foot of a fountain in a park he couldn't remember ever being in before. He'd dropped his head into his hands and wept.

And Joseph had picked him up, gotten him out of that life and back in contact with his parents. He'd helped him get straight, helped him kick the miscreant friends that had littered his life for the past two years. He'd helped him and Brady owed him for it.

But he was wrong about Renee. He did love Renee. She was perfect for him. Polished and sleek, a petite blonde who never left the house with a hair out of place. She was ordered and structured. She kept him grounded and in control when these "gifts" of his tried to get him out of control.

Had he used his powers on her? Yeah, though it wasn't something he was proud of. But ordered and structured got boring and sometimes he wanted her to strip for him, or to become aggressive and knock him to the bed, tear at his clothes and take him. He'd always rearranged her memories afterward, letting her think that the lovemaking had been sweet and gentle, like she liked it.

So what if he hadn't told her about his secret. She didn't need to know everything about him. And besides, they had their whole lives to get to know each other. He'd wait until..."Hey, watch it!"

Brady reached out and grabbed the small figure that had just barreled into him as he'd rounded a corner lost in thought. His hands grasped slender arms, his body vibrated in shock from the small but perfectly curved body that had slammed into him. He stared down at the small figure, catching a glimpse of bright green eyes.

She was wearing a bright red dress, the skirt long and flowing around her slender ankles. Her hair was a shade darker than her dress, curled and long, feeling silky against his hands as it covered both them and her arms. A very impressive cleavage was artfully displayed by the scooped neck of the dress, baring a tiny gold pendant in the shape of a pentagram.

"I... I'm sorry," Brady stammered, lost in the startling green of her eyes. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No," she said softly, her voice smoky and a little deeper than he'd expected from someone of her diminutive stature. "I'm fine, Brady."

He did a double take as he heard his name come from those soft, sensuously lush lips. "Do I know you?"

She smiled. "You probably don't remember me, it was a while ago and I've changed a bit since then." She stepped back, making him realize that he'd still been holding her.

"Oh, sorry about that," he said, his cheeks flushing. "Who are you?"

"I have to go," she said, looking around her suddenly, her eyes darkening. Without another word, she turned, her skirt flying up around her as she hurried away from him.

"Wait!" he called, his hand coming up to stop her.

She didn't stop.

Brady squinted his eyes, intrigued by her, wanting more time with her. He sent out the thought, a tingle that would be irresistible to her, to turn back to him.

She didn't even slow down, instead, she waved a hand in front of her, four fingers spread out, her thumb crossed across her palm and kept running.

"Whoa," he breathed, realizing she had deflected his power with an ease that he'd never seen before. "That's not possible."

His phone rang again and he picked it up, not bothering to check the caller id. "Yeah?"

"Is that how you answer your phone when it's your fiancée calling?" Renee's voice said.

"Oh, hi honey," he ran his hand over his face, feeling his nerves tightening. "I didn't look to see who it was. I'm sorry."

"Apology accept, Brady bear," she crooned.

Brady could feel his head begin to pound. "What did you need, sweetie?"

"I just wanted to know what Father Joseph had to say. Will he do it for us?"

"Honey," he said, trying to stay patient with her. "Neither of us are catholic. Why would you want a catholic priest to perform the ceremony?"

"I just thought... him being your friend and all," she said quietly. "I thought you'd like him to perform it."

"He said he would, Renee, but we would both have to go for counseling sessions with him. And we'd have to push back the date of the wedding to make those sessions. I told him I'd get back to him." He pulled the phone away from his ear, waiting for the explosion.

It wasn't long in coming. "Father Joseph can't help out his best friend? After all we've done for him and his church," Renee said, her voice growing strident.

Brady's head pounded, he could feel anger beginning to rise inside of him. Looking across the street, he saw the glass window in the clothing store start to vibrate. Deep breaths couldn't control the power he felt pulsing inside of him and he did the only other thing he could think of. "Renee, Father Joseph doesn't need to marry us," he said, his fingers going to his temple as he pushed the tingle out of him and into a car down the street, shattering the side windows and setting off the car alarm.

"Well, baby, it was just a thought," she said, her voice growing softer, less angry. "Are you coming home soon?"

"Not for a couple of hours," he said, relief singing through him. "I still have some work to do at the office. You might as well go home, sweetheart. I'll give you a call later."

"Okay," she sighed. "I love you, Brady bear."

"Yeah, me too," he said, hitting the button to turn the phone off with a sigh of relief. He didn't know how much more he could take. Was Joseph right? Could he only be with Renee because of the status she brought?

"No, I love her," he said out loud.

"Me too," a homeless man agreed, holding out his hand to ask for change.

Brady dug out a ten dollar bill, leaving the man the thought that he should use it for a hot meal and not for the booze that he was going to buy with it. Then he waved his hand at a cab and headed back to his office.

The idea for his detective agency had come from Joseph originally, strangely enough. Joe had figured that using his powers for good was a way to make up for the bad he'd done. Brady didn't know if he agreed or not, but it was interesting work, and he'd actually been able to make a difference.

His office was on the second floor of a building housing mostly lawyers. A stroke of genius on his part, half of them were divorce lawyers who used him to get the dope on their clients' spouses. At first he'd barely paid the rent and made enough to afford a secretary. Now, he had a waiting list, took the clients he wanted to take and could afford the newest in surveillance equipment. The cops came to him when they had cases they couldn't get a bead on.

He'd gained fame by finding a ten year old little girl who'd been kidnapped. Her parents had paid the ransom and the kidnappers had managed to get away, without giving up the girl. Brady had found her and the kidnappers. He'd gotten good at hiding the psychic part of his investigation, always covering up any vibes or pictures he'd gotten by using regular footwork and making connections.

No one was the wiser. He liked it that way and wanted to keep it.

"Hey, Hailey," he said, pushing in through the double doors into the reception area of his office. "Any calls this afternoon?"

Hailey Carlisle was a woman in her late forties, plump and matronly with a shock of bright red hair that never managed to be in place and an eye for brightly colored Hawaiian shirts. She'd been with him since the beginning and he didn't see any reason not to keep her after he'd started to make money.

She held up a sheaf of pink slipped telephone messages. "The usual," she said, cheerily enough. "Don Barlow has been down here four times looking for you. He has a client he needs to talk to you about. You aren't going to take that crook's work are you Brady?"

"It pays the bills, Hailey," Brady teased, knowing that Hailey and Don were like oil and milk, cats and dogs, sugar in a gas tank. Explosive.

"If you're that short on money, I'll loan it to you," she grouched, rising to pour him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Picking up the pile of pink notes, she took them in to his office and set them on the middle of his ritzy leather blotter, a Christmas present from Renee along with her picture in the sterling silver frame. "I don't know how you can work for someone like him. The man's a shyster. He's every lawyer joke ever told."

"Okay, okay," he said, holding his hands out in defeat. "I won't take him case. I'll give you the pleasure of telling him," he called out to her as she smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

"Oh yes, my pleasure," she breathed, closing Brady's door quietly and heading towards her phone, rubbing her hands in glee at this unexpected fun.

"Be nice," he shouted to her, hearing her chuckle even through the heavy door. "Women," he sighed. He sat behind his desk, running through the phone messages and placing them in two neat piles. One pile he would phone today, the other, well they might never hear from him.

He got through two meetings with prospective clients, fielded an irate Don Barlow who was even angrier after hearing Hailey cackle at him. His phones calls were made and he'd just finished with the last of them when Hailey knocked on his door.

"Your last appointment is here," she said quietly. "Do you mind if I get out of here, boss?"

"No," Brady said, standing and coming around his desk. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just... there's something about this one that's kind of giving me the creeps. I'd just rather be gone before she leaves." Hailey ducked her head, embarrassed.

"Damn, does she have a third eye or something? I've never seen you like this."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," she muttered, before turning back and waving in the client. She didn't even stay to close the door behind her, instead hurrying to the coat rack and grabbing her jacket and her purse out of her desk.

The door to the office was closing as the girl sauntered into his office. She closed the door herself, and then turned to face Brady.

"You!"

Charisma

Is the third in my were series.  I love dragons and this one was fun to write.  Kadian James was first seen in A Strange New Breed and he gets involved with Charisma, a siren's daughter.  They find a way to make beautiful music together while ridding the world of a big baddie.  It can also be found at All Romance Ebooks under my pen name of Wendy Stone.  Enjoy!!!

Chapter One

The blade almost seemed to sing, flashing silvery-blue under the harshness of the street lamps.  The crowd gathered around the two combatants took a few steps back as one body fell, tripping over his own feet, a nick spouting blood that dripped to the cement in quarter-sized globs.

“You pissy little cunt,” the man on the ground shouted.  “You fucking stuck me.”

The girl was half his size, her sword almost longer than she was tall.  She smirked, innocently bringing her hand to her mouth and looking at him with guiltless green eyes.  “Oh, mister, I’m so sorry.  Are you okay, mister?  Maybe I should have just stood here and let you attack me?”

“Bitch!” the man said, rising bracing his sword against the pavement to help him up.  He drew the tip around him in a semi circle, the blade causing sparks to shoot from the cement.  “I’m going to kill you.”

Charisma Snow drew back a single step.  She nodded at the blue and red colored lights headed rapidly in their direction.  “You might want to change your mind about that.”

“When I tell Hood what you’ve done,” the man began, his tone threatening, “There’ll be nowhere for you to hide.”

Charisma opened her mouth and a few words of song fell from her lips.  She glanced around the crowd as she continued to sing, noting the dazed looks growing upon the face of those she sang to.  Stepping closer to the man who’d tried to take her, and would have if she hadn’t looked up at the right time, she hit a high note. His eyes fogged and a small drop of blood appeared from his nose.  Going closer, she stood on tip-toe to reach his ear.  “You’ll never tell anyone anything, fuck wad,” she sang straight into his ear.

She stood back, watching him fall, his eyes still open but growing blind with death’s arrival.  Then she left, running down the alley and out the other side.  She couldn’t afford another run in with the cops. 

Sliding her sword inside the long black leather duster she wore, she climbed up the fire escape quickly and easily, taking it to the roof.  These roofs were fantastic for getting away.  The buildings had been built so closely together that only a small leap was needed to get from one to another.  She should know, she’d been living and surviving in this section of the city since her parents were murdered, fifteen years before.

On a whim, she back tracked to the place where the fight had been, staring down at the cops who’d cordoned off the “crime scene” and were talking to witnesses.  A smile touched her lips; each would give a different accounting of the assailant, from a seven-foot black male to a three-foot midget.  No one would be able to describe her with any accuracy.  The order to forget had been in her song. 

* * *

“Why the fuck we got to go down when the cops are already there?” Marcus complained, rubbing his eyes like a tired child.  Dating a vampire meant sleeping during the day and he hadn’t quite gotten used to the change in hours.

“Because,” Shadow began.  “The cops have no clue what they are up against.  So when Sergeant Bittle called to ask for our help, I couldn’t tell her no.”

“Bittle’s going to be there?” Marcus said, his eyes brightening.

“Oh I better not have heard the tone I thought I heard, Wings.”  Angel barged into Shadow’s office, blue eyes glowing as she stared down at her winged God.  “I’d hate to pluck you like a chicken and then…”

“I know, I know,” Marcus said with a grin, grabbing Angel around the hips and pulling her close despite her protests.  “You’d boil me into soup for the homeless.  You know no one can turn me on the way you do, baby.”

“I might get sick,” Callie said, following Angel in.  She grinned over at Shadow, giving him a wink.  “So what is this with Bittle?”

“We won’t know until we arrive.  She’s getting us full access to the crime scene.”  He rose, shooing Marcus and Angel ahead of him before dropping a quick kiss on Callie’s full lips.  “I missed you this morning,” he growled in her ear.

“Couldn’t be helped,” she sighed, enjoying the way his hand ran over her body, even on top of the leather suit she wore for ASP, The Agency for Supernatural Police.  It fit her body like a second skin. She groaned when he found her zipper, sliding it down just a bit to let him cup her breast.  “Daddy is still upset about Dorian Amante and Aidan Kent.”

“And unhappy about you carousing with your boss as well, I’ll bet,” Shadow said, giving her nipple one final squeeze before zipping up her suit. 

She turned, her hand sliding down the front of his pants to where a long, hard ridge showed his interest.  “Great Aunt Sally’s granny panties aren’t going to do anything for this, my love.”

“Callie Anne Wolfe,” he growled, his eyes narrowed.  “You are going to undermine my authority if I can’t stop getting hard-ons around you.”

“Aww, that was the sweetest thing you’ve said to me all day.”  She let him go, turning and putting a defiant swish to her hips as she walked out of his office in front of him.

Shadow stood where he was for a second, thinking of the case, of Daniels, of anything beside Callie.  In the end, he settled for gathering his coat around him and followed her out.

* * *

The scene was illuminated by the revolving lights of the cop cars spiraling around and around, flashing on faces and highlighting the lonesome alley.  Shadow stepped out of the ASP SUV, his confidence and authority so apparent that the officer at the crime scene tape didn’t bother to ask for a badge, allowing the team through.  He spotted Bittle, the tall, long-legged Sergeant dressed standing next to two plain clothes detectives.

“Homicide,” he said, nodding toward the two.

“Easy to spot,” Callie said.  “They always act like they’re doing something important, even when standing with their thumbs up their asses.”

“Not nice, Cal,” Angel said, grinning wide enough to show her fangs. 

“Keep those covered,” Shadow growled.  “We don’t need anyone knowing what we are, got me Marcus?”

“You got it.”  Marcus gathered his own coat closer around him.  His chest was bare under it, but his wings were covered and that’s all that mattered.  Working with humans could be tricky, he thought.

Sergeant Bittle lifted her head, her intelligent brown eyes lighting up when she saw the four of them.  She hurried over, pushing her hat down on her upswept sable-colored hair when a gust of cold wind threatened to tug it away.

“Am I glad to see you,” she said.  “This is the third murder we’ve had like this in the last six months.  We’ve got nothing.  This killer comes out in plain sight and kills in front of a whole crowd of witnesses and no one can tell us anything.”

“Some kind of mass hypnosis?” Angel asked.  “I mean, it would fit.”

“Do they remember the murder at all?”

“Oh yeah.  They can give you everything about the vic, even his last words. But on the perp, we got nothing.”  She turned and gestured to a sixty something year old man who was talking to one of her officers.  “That guy said the killer was a ten-year old boy,” she gestured towards a woman just stepping off the curb and heading under the tape.  “She said he was a three hundred pound transvestite wearing a strapless mini-dress.  Makes you wonder where he hid his sword, doesn’t it?”

“Not really,” Shadow said, shaking off the thought before it could grow roots in his mind.  “Why do you think sword?”

“Our Medical Examiner.  He said the body definitely had a few slices cut out of it.  Nothing fatal, but all pre-mortem.”

“Has he given cause of death yet?”

“Not officially, but he’s seen it before. He worked on the other two victims.  Both were males, both in their mid-thirties to early forties, like this guy.  Both had massive damage to their brains, as if someone reached in with a paint stirrer and gave it a good going at.  He said their frontal lobes were little more than mush.  That’s why I got the okay to bring you in on this.”  Bittle handed Shadow two files.  “This is what we have on the other two victims.  My captain wants to bring in the FBI on this.  I stalled him some, but he isn’t going to wait if we get another victim.”

Shadow handed the files to Callie who tucked them under her arm.  “Do we have an ID on this one yet?”

“That’s the other strange thing.  No identification, not a driver’s license, social security card, not even a single fucking credit card.”  Bittle pulled up the lapels on her coat as a chill wind blew through the alley.  “Fucking cold.”

Shadow felt Callie’s small hand against his arm.  “What is it?”

“A strange scent,” the brunette werewolf whispered.  “Not human, not were, not vampire.  I can’t quite place it.”

“Do you know from where?” Shadow said, turning toward her.

He watched as Callie lifted her beautiful face to the wind, then his eyes hopped from person to person outside the crime scene tape.  It was an almost inhumanly cold night in December.  Most of these looky-loos were shivering.  Not a single one of them gave him a pop; not even a ting. 

Callie opened her eyes, catching the scent again.  Above her, on the roof of the five-story building, she saw a girl. Her duster-style coat flapped in the wind, the huge moon at her back shadowing her face.  She was small, dressed in black with bright red hair that flew around her head.  That was all Callie caught before the girl stepped back and was gone, leaving nothing but that provocative scent.

“She was up there,” Callie said, pointing furtively at the rooftops

“She? You can tell sex by scent?” Bittle asked, intrigued despite herself.

“Well yeah, but I just saw her up there.”

“Call your teams back, Bittle.  Let us get her.  Once we figure out what she is, we’ll know what to do with her.”  Shadow motioned for Angel and Marcus, drawing them forward.  “The roofs,” he said.

“You got it, boss,” Marcus said.  He took off at a run, Angel keeping up with him easily.  As soon as they disappeared into the alley, Shadow knew Marcus would ditch the coat and take to the air while Angel would almost seem to fly up the buildings.  If any ASP team member could catch their fugitive, it would be those two.

“They’ll round her up.  We’ll take her back to ASP.” 

“What am I supposed to tell my Captain, Shadow?  He wasn’t happy about me calling you in and now you’re just going to take our suspect?  These are homicides.”

“Your victims’ prints weren’t in the system anywhere, were they?  There’s a reason.  These guys ain’t all human,” Callie snapped.  “Take a good look at this guy.  Look at his eyes.  Do they look a little off to you?  That’s because they have an extra set of lids.  Your ME is slipping, Bittle.”  Callie knelt down next to the figure that hadn’t been loaded into the van yet.  Carefully running a finger around one ear, she pulled gently, exposing what looked like a gill.  “Fuck, Brian, check this out.”

Shadow knelt beside her, his hand touching hers as he pulled the gill loose.  He turned the fish man’s head and found another gill on the other side.  “This is one of ours, Bittle.  We’ve got to take him back with us.”

“Shit,” Bittle said.  “Next time you want to fuck me, Shadow, kiss me first okay?  My Captain is going to blow.”

“I can have Daniels call him if that would help,” Shadow said. 

“He didn’t want me calling you anyway.  Now you’re taking not only my suspect but my body as well?  I might as well bend over to make it easier for him to ream me.  Christ!”

“Shadow?”

Shadow lifted the communicator from the small pocket on the front of his suit.  “Go Angel.”

“No sign of our suspect.  Is Callie sure about what she saw?”

Brian glanced over at Callie, catching her nod.  “Yeah, keep looking.”

“Tell butterfly up here to quit his bitching and I will.”

Marcus’s voice came over the communicator.  “I’m not bitching.  It’s just not all of us are as cold blooded as you.”

“You can say that again,” Callie hissed.

“They were easier to handle before they started…” he shut up realizing that Bittle was still there and looking at them.  “Callie, go get a bag from the back of the SUV.  We’ve got to get him bagged now, before the wind carries away any more evidence.  I’ll call base and get the new doctor out here.”

Callie’s cheeks, reddened by the wind and the cold, grew even redder.  “Yeah, thanks, dig that one in just a little deeper, okay?” she muttered.  She turned to do as he bid, her eyes lighting upon a figure in a dark brown leather jacket passing the crowd by with only the quickest of looks at the cops and the body.  He looked familiar, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of who he could be.  Shrugging it off, she opened the back of the SUV and dug into one of the boxes, pulling out a brand new body bag.

Carrying it back to the body, she knelt beside him, tipping his face to the side.  Blood seeped from his ears and from his nose, leaving small puddles of blood on each side of his head.  His eyes were blood shot.  Mottled bruises showed on his face, which seemed sunken from its appearance minutes before.  “Shadow?” she called.

Brian came, kneeling down beside her.  “This is something different.”

“Yeah.  Can I get a hand with this?”

They put down the bag, wrangling the body inside without difficulty.  His body felt strange, almost like a bag of skin where the muscle and bones were liquefying.   Callie had seen a lot, dealt with more--but the feel of that body almost made her gag.  “I think we should put a rush on this one,” she whispered to Brian. 

“Yeah,” he said, putting in the order at central.

* * *

Charisma watched the two chasing her as they raced past where she was hiding.  The long-haired female was a vampire; she’d recognized her pretty easily.  You had to do that when you lived on the streets.  The other guy though, the one with the wings? She had no fucking clue what he was.

He was pretty though, if she’d been interested in a man.  Curls of golden blonde clung to his finely shaped head and his eyes were even a brighter green then hers.  He was made for sin, with a body that rippled with muscles.  It would almost be worth a night in the jail to get a closer look.  Almost…

Finding the door that led down into the deserted building, she closed it quietly behind her.  Vampires had incredible hearing when they concentrated.  They could hear the heartbeats of their prey from a very long distance.  They could detect the tiniest difference in emotion, from fear to anger, just in the way a heart sounded.  She wouldn’t give the pretty blonde a chance to rip hers out.

When did the cops start working with vampires and winged whatever?  She couldn’t help but wonder about it as she jogged down the stairs.  Pushing through a fire door, she closed it carefully after her and moved to where she’d hidden her worldly possessions.  The mattress had been here already, a left over from a drug house.  It held stains and spots that she didn’t even want to guess what they were.  She sank down on it now, drawing the duster close as a shiver of cold, or fear, trembled through her body.

She had one blanket and one very thin pillow.  Curling up, she drew the blanket over her, her head resting on the pillow.  She was tired.  It was exhausting to live on the streets.  Now that Hood thought she’d double crossed him, it was even worse.  Trying to find food had been bad enough before Hood’s goons started scaring away anyone who would help her.

A self pitying tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it irritably away.  It wasn’t her fault that Hood had a thing for redheads.  If she could, she’d dye her hair black.  She’d paint huge shadows under her eyes and make herself look like death.  She’d do anything to get off Hood’s radar.

Maybe it was time, she thought, stifling a yawn behind a balled fist.  Maybe she should leave, just pack up everything she owned and start walking.  She could go somewhere that no one knew her.  She could sing at bars for money.  Of course, no one here believed she was over eighteen.  It was a curse of her size.  They thought she was some high school kid out looking for trouble and wouldn’t give her a chance.

High school.  She’d never had a chance to go.  Not that she missed it, she hurriedly reassured herself.  Who needs high school?  They force you to spend so many hours a day in a building, shoving their lessons down your throat and then give you bad grades to hide their bad teaching.  Nope, it wasn’t for her.

Nope, never for her.  It was her final thought before her eyes closed, the small added warmth of the blanket and the security of being home all she needed to let sleep take her away.

But it was a restless sleep, a light sleep.  She was too used to the streets to be able to sleep deeply.  That was asking for it.  Nor did she dream anything but the dark dreams that haunted her by night or day.

She could see them now--her parents.  Her mom was a tiny thing, like Charisma herself, with long, bright red hair that was pulled back and held tightly in a band.  But not even those bonds could deny the life endowed in those corkscrew curls.  They escaped and bounced about her mother’s face.

Charisma sat in the back seat.  She was barely seven years old but she could hear them fighting--about her--again.

“We don’t have the money to send her to that special school.” her father, a big man with a big voice said.  He glanced into the back seat and sent her a warm smile.  “I know she’s gifted, Savina.  But knowing doesn’t put money in the bank or food on the table.”

“I just want her to have the training, and the chances, my parents denied me,” Savina said, her hand on her husband’s shoulder.  “All they ever wanted was for me to use what I have to make their lives better.  When I wasn’t being useful, Mom just wanted me to stay away from her and pretended I didn’t exist.”

Even at seven, Charisma could hear the hurt and resentment in her mother’s tone.  She didn’t understand it, but she could hear it.

Her father took one hand off the steering wheel, reaching over to pat his wife’s hand.  His eyes were on her, not on the road.  Charisma was the only one that saw the garbage truck and the man behind the wheel.  His eyes had been crazed and he’d gunned his engine as he came barreling down the street toward their small used Neon.

“Daddy!  The truck!” she’d screamed, but it had been too late.  Her father couldn’t turn the wheel or avoid the truck.  It had hit them head on, instantly killing her mom and dad. She’d been hurt, bumps and bruises and one really bad gash on her forehead.  Even now she could smell he disinfectants used by the hospital she’d woken up in.  She could feel the scratchy sheets against her small bare legs.  The bustling sound of the hospital was loud in her ears.  She was alone.

Charisma had known the moment she woke that her parents were dead.  It wasn’t so much her memory of the crash.  It was a lack of feeling their presence, the presence of the only people in this world that loved and cared about her.   Even now, that knowledge could send huge tears streaking down her cheeks.  Not of pity, no, but of loss – the loss of something more special than she had ever known since.

Something woke her.   She lay there, not changing her breathing or opening her eyes. What had alerted her? She heard someone walking around her small area, bending and touching her things, breaching her small bubble of privacy until she wanted to scream.

“I know you’re awake,” the stranger said.  “You might as well open your eyes and talk to me.”

Charisma sat up on the mattress.  She glared at the stranger.   He was one of the prettiest men she’d ever seen, even prettier than the winged hunter earlier.  “Who are you?  If you’re here to take me to Hood, think again.  I won’t come easily.”

The man paced the floor around her.  “I don’t know any Hood.  I sensed you earlier.  What are you?”

“What do you mean, you sensed me?”  Charisma didn’t give an inch...  She stood straight as he drew closer, not wanting him to have the advantage.  He had it anyway.  He towered over her, dwarfing her petite frame.  His eyes were a gem-like green, his body fit and taut, with rippled muscles that strained the tee shirt he wore under the dark brown leather bomber jacket.

“I don’t know.  I only knew I had to come into this building.  You’re in trouble.” It was a statement, not a question.

“So, what if I am?  I’m not asking for anybodies help.  I only want to be left alone.”  Charisma started to shrink away from him, though he hadn’t touched her yet.  She had a terrible feeling that if he did touch her, she’d never be the same again.  “Go away,” she ordered, a tremor in her voice ruining the effectiveness of the words.

“I can’t,” the stranger said simply, staring down at her.  “I won’t walk away from you.”

She saw his hand coming toward her, and held her breath, her eyes closing as his palm touched her cheek.  That single touch sent a firestorm of sensations through her, sensations she didn’t understand.  “Don’t do this,” she whispered.  “Please, don’t do this to me.”

His breathing seemed as rough as hers, his fingers trembling against her skin.  He brushed her mouth with his thumb, that single touch rousing a fire in her she’d never felt before.  The scent of her arousal filled the air. 

“I…I can’t seem to stop,” he hissed, closing his eyes.

His head bent, his mouth softly finding hers.  The taste of him was spicy hot, his tongue pressing against her lips until she opened them.  Then he was in her mouth, his tongue rubbing with erotic magic against hers.  A groan was ripped from her, her hands sliding up that taut tee shirt and into his hair as she tipped her head, changing the direction of the kiss.

Sparks seem to fly behind her closed eyelids as his heat slammed into her.  She felt him lift her, dropping both of them to the mattress on the ground.

“Did you hear that?”

Charisma went rigid under him, her hands frantically pulling at him.  He lifted his head, staring down at her from only inches away.  When he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head, a plea in her eyes.

“I didn’t hear nothing but my stomach growling.  Ain’t you hungry Stretch?”

“Yeah but I got you, snack on the hoof,” Angel said, a very un-Angel like giggle coming from her mouth. 

“So, let’s call this one a wash, tell Shadow and head back to the house.  I’ll get some chow and you can chow on me down in the crypts.”

“Damn, thinking with the little head again, aren’t you?  Do you know what Shadow will do to us if we don’t bring her back?”

“I’m immortal, babe. Shadow don’t scare me much.”

“How does a stint of guard duty down in the tombs sound to you?”  Angel laughed, the melodic sound carrying in the quiet of the building.

“Eww,” Marcus groaned.  “Do you know what it’s like down there?”

“My poor little wimp boy,” Angel sympathized. 

“There’s no one in here,” Marcus said.  “Let’s at least try another building.”

“I just want to make a cursory sweep,” Angel said, the click of her heels on the bare floors sounding louder as she moved closer to the small corner Charisma called home.

“Stay here,” the man on top of her whispered.  “I’ll come back later.”  He rose easily, brushing down the front of his shirt and fixing his hair before yanking on the leather jacket.  Then he turned and walked toward the two forms he could just see in the darkened building.

“Stop!” Angel’s voice cried out.  She drew her taser, pointing it at the man who’d stepped out of the shadows.  “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

To Tame A Wolf

It's number nine at Phaze.com right now and was number six last month.  Now, while the excerpt I'm giving here is more about Rose's mother than her relationship with Wulfe, I hope I'll prick you interest enough to check out the book.  It can be found at All Romance Ebooks under my pen name of Wendy Stone. And while they claim that the book is a paranormal romance, it isn't.  It's a historical with no paranormal theme. Enjoy!!!



Prologue:  Rose’s Beginning

Screams filled the night air.  Shrieks of terror mixed with yells of victory as the village was over run.  No one was safe, not a woman or child, not even the tiniest of babes was left as they were all gathered together in the center of the conquering horde. 

It was a bedraggled group, women ranging from Grandmother Baia to Gaila who had just left the school room.  The children outnumbered the women, two were babies, held in the arms of their mothers who kept their heads down, hoping that respect would let them keep their children.  The rest were toddlers to young boys not old enough yet to carry a sword and face the fate of their fathers whose bodies would slowly decompose into the soil.

“Gather them up,” the leader bellowed.  “We have a long way to go and I want them in good shape for the auction.”  He walked to one of the women carrying a baby.  “Are you nursing?” he asked her, lifting her chin with his blood covered gloved fingers.

“Yes sir,” she murmured, cringing back as the hand dropped to her breasts, pushing the baby out of the way to lift and knead the sensitive flesh. 

“Yes, you have milk.”  He chuckled, slipping his finger into the front of her thread bare gown.  Pulling slightly, he ripped open her bodice, exposing the creamy white, heavy mounds.  Her nipples were huge, sagging slightly.  “Beautiful,” he muttered, raising his hand for his man to come and take the baby from her.

“My baby!” she screamed.

“He will be returned to you if you do as you are bid.”  He slipped off his gloves, folding them through the belt that circled his waist.

“What is it you want?” she cried, her body shaking as he kept staring at her exposed flesh.

He reached out, lifting one heavy breast in his scarred and calloused hand, his thumb brushing over the engorged nipple.  He played with it, gently, hearing the woman’s gasp and sudden inhale as he teased her sensitive flesh.  “Stand still,” he ordered her, his voice a husky grunt.

She closed her eyes, feeling his warm lips feather over her nipple, then the heat of his mouth as he suckled her in, drawing hard.  There was a heavy sensation, and then a feeling of not quite pain that triggered the let down of her milk.  She heard his hum of pleasure as the first thin stream filled his mouth with warm sweetness.

His other hand found her other breast, gently pulling at her sensitive nipple, twisting it slowly until she felt the unwelcome wetness of arousal between her slender thighs.  It tore into her soul, for she’d watched this man plunge his blade into her husband’s chest just moments before.  He’d killed her Jared, the only man who’d ever touched her in this way, and now, she was giving him the succor of her milk.

“No,” she gasped, her feet moving in place as if she’d try to back away from him.

He lifted his head, a stream of milk still spilling from her nipple, to spray his chin with the watery blue-white liquid.  He wiped it with one finger, plunging the glistening digit into his mouth and closing his eyes to savor the taste. 

“Does it bring you to heat?  Does the feel of my mouth on your teat make you long for a plunging cock?” he whispered coarsely.  His hand slid to her skirt, lifting it even as she fought him, finding his way between her naked thighs.  Plunging his hand to hold her legs apart, he dipped that same finger between her hairy lips, chuckling as he found moist heat that coated his finger. 

Her hands pushed at him, grabbing his wrist in an attempt to pull him away, but he was too strong.   He plunged his fingers inside of her, fucking her crudely, before dropping his head to her breast once more.

“No, stop,” she moaned, though her hips twitched as his tongue flicked over her nipple.  He suckled lustily, gulping loudly of her sweet milk, his thumb rubbing at the taut nubbin of flesh between her thighs.  She came suddenly, her cries mixed between horror and pleasure, flooding his hand with her juices.  He lifted his head, his green eyes laughing as they gazed into hers.

“You have no shame, rutting away on my hand, the hand that killed your husband.  His blood mixes with your come, lady.” 

Sobs shook her shoulders and she gathered the torn edging of her bodice together over her heaving breasts.  Tears of shame and fear, of mourning and grief stained her face, reddening her cheeks even as he watched.  It made him laugh and he brushed his palm, still covered in her musky spendings, across her face, lifting her chin to drop a hard kiss to her down turned mouth.  “I shall keep you for myself,” he whispered to her.  “I shall be your master and if you value the life of your babe, you will do as I say.”

He moved away, signaling again to his man who brought her the babe then took both of them to a small wagon.  She was leashed inside, a thick leather collar brought round her slender throat, the leash chained to the small metal circle in front.  “You are a lucky one, lady, for his pleasures are few and usually quickly achieved.  The rest will be auctioned off, used as serfs or bedded for the joy to be found between captured thighs.”

He took one last look at the woman whose eyes were blank, mirroring the emptiness she felt in her soul.  She sat there, her babe laid across her lap, her arm wrapped around herself.  Only the lusty cries of her hungering infant woke her from her daze and she picked up the small lass, holding her to her naked breast, crooning some song or another to her until the babe had drank its fill.

She could see the others as they were tied together at the ankles, hobbled so that they would constantly fall as they were dragged behind and knew a moment of pain at her own luck at being chosen by the leader.  The other young mother, her baby boy handed to another woman was screaming now for two men held her arms, tearing off her blouse, their mouths latching on to her leaking breasts.  They drank hungrily until they were forced away by others, her nipples stretching painfully and then more as each man seemed eager to drink at her breast.

It was a shocking scene, one that filled her with dread.  The poor woman wasn’t molested in any other way; the men seemed more eager to nurse from her life sustaining milk than to sexually abuse her.  There was a jerk and the wagon began to move, the last man wiping his mouth as he moved away from the shivering woman. 

She laid down in the wagon, unwilling to watch the village of her birth as it disappeared from sight, dreading the sight of the women and children as they tried to keep up with their captors, falling to be dragged until one of the men came back and roughly righted them.   She closed her eyes, cuddling her daughter, her very own Adaira Rose to her naked breasts and falling asleep.

A huge hand rudely woke her from her sleep, pulling her up by her leash as her captor climbed easily into the wagon.  He lifted her babe in one hand, staring at the small bundle with her curly dark hair and huge blue eyes that looked back up at him.  “Is it a boy?” he asked roughly.

“N…no,” she managed to say, her voice stuttering badly as she made a grab for her child.  “P…please my lord, s…she’s all I have l…left.”

“What will you give me if I let her live?” he asked, gazing down at the comely lass, for she was, even with her slightly sagging breasts.  She was thin, for food was scarce in this season and the babe drained much from her.  But her skin was fair and smooth, her eyes large like her daughter’s and a bright blue.  Her hair was blonde, curling under the rag she wore upon her head.  Her teeth were white, straight and even, not black and broken as some of the women’s were.

“P…Please, lord.  Anything you wish,” she begged, holding out her hands for her baby.

“What is your name, wench?” he asked roughly, eyeing her heaving breasts.

“Madelaine, lord.  My h…husband called me Maddie.”

“Maddie, aye it has a sweet ring.  I tire of the battles and of the travel.  I wish to settle on my land, to erect a home worthy of the title and raise sons that will win the day for me.  You’ve bred before, and while I’d prefer a woman known to breed sons, I find you a lusty enough wench.  You shall become my wife and if you want this girl child to live, you will not fight me in this.” 

“Y…you wish to make me your bride?” Maddie’s voice bore the strain of her surprise.  She’d expected ravishment, rape, death at the hands of her captor, not this.

“You find me offensive?” he sat back against his heels, bringing the babe to lie securely in the curve of his arm. 

In truth, he was far from offensive, even with the heavy scar that marked his wide forehead.  His face was harsh from the life of war and battle, but his eyes were bright with intelligence.  Dark green, they stared at her from under a heavy brow.  His nose was long, wide at the bridge and slightly crooked from being broken in one fight or another, his mouth was too big, his teeth white and slightly uneven.  He was tall, built for war, heavily muscled, he filled the opening of the wagon easily.  His upper arms were as wide as her waist, the strength there more than apparent.

He smelled good, male sweat mixed with the tang of the horse and the scent of leather.  It was a heady aroma, so different than her husband’s.  His speech spoke of learning, articulate and well modulated, something of importance to her since before her marriage, she’d been the village teacher.

“No, lord,” she answered truthfully.  “I do not find you offensive.”

“Then what is your answer, Maddie, for I do not have all day to waste.  We must be to auction before nightfall.”

“My daughter, she will be allowed to stay with me?”

“Aye, this I promised before.”

“Than I agree,” she whispered, feeling a tug at her conscience. 

He brought his free hand to her face, slowly tracing her slender cheek.  “It is good,” he said softly, bending to taste of her lips for the first time.

The kiss brought a flush to her face not born from embarrassment.  He was talented with that overly wide mouth, teasing her with a gentle swipe of his tongue which promised nights of passionate play.  “Now, that this foolishness is behind us, we must get back on the trail.”  He backed out of the wagon.

“Wait,” she called as she gathered her babe back to her breast.

“What is it Maddie?” he said, his tone half teasing, half irritated at the extra delay.

“I do not know your name, lord.”

“Aye,” he laughed, mostly at himself.  “Would be a sad day when a wench married a man whose name she could not give to the priest when asked.  Tis Hawkesmoor, Maddie.  But most know me as the Black Hawke.”  He gave a tug at his own inky black locks and threw her a wink before disappearing from sight.