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Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
THE TEMPTATION OF ROBIN GREEN
Carrie Vaughn
SUCCUBUS SEDUCTION
Cheyenne McCray
PARANORMAL ROMANCE BLUES
Kelley Armstrong
JOHN DOE
Anna Windsor
TAKING HOLD
Anya Bast
HOW TO DATE A SUPERHERO
Jean Johnson
DANIEL
C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp
LIGHT THROUGH FOG
Holly Lisle
THE TUESDAY ENCHANTRESS
Mary Jo Putney
TRINITY BLUE
Eve Silver
GRACE OF SMALL MAGICS
Ilona Andrews
ONCE A DEMON
Dina James
NIGHT VISION
Maria V. Snyder
PELE'S TEARS
Catherine Mulvany
PACK
Jeaniene Frost
WHEN GARGOYLES FLY
Lori Devoti
THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER AND HIS WIFE
Sara Mackenzie
BLOOD SONG
Lynda Hilburn
THE PRINCESS AND THE PEAS
Alyssa Day
AT SECOND BITE
Michelle Rowen
BLUE CRUSH
Rachel Caine
THE WAGER
Sherrilyn Kenyon
IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING
Meljean Brook
THE DREAM CATCHER
Allyson James
Author Biographies
Acknowledgments
“The Temptation of Robin Green” © by Carrie Vaughn, LLC. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Succubus Seduction” © by Cheyenne McCray. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Paranormal Romance Blues” © by K.L.A Fricke Inc. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“John Doe” © by Anna Windsor. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Taking Hold” © by Anya Bast. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“How To Date a Superhero” © by Jean Johnson. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Daniel” © by C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the authors.
“Light Through Fog” © by Holly Lisle. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Tuesday Enchantress” © by Mary Jo Putney, Inc. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Trinity Blue” © by Eve Silver. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Grace of Small Magics” © by Ilona Andrews. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Once A Demon” © by Dina James. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Night Vision” © by Maria V. Snyder. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Pele’s Tears” © by Catherine Mulvany. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Pack” © by Jeaniene Frost. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“When Gargoyles Fly” © by Lori Devoti. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Lighthouse Keeper and His Wife” © by Sara Mackenzie. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Blood Song” © by Lynda Hilburn. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Princess and the Peas” © by Alesia Holliday. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“At Second Bite” © by Michelle Rowen. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Blue Crush” © by Roxanne Conrad. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Wager” © by Sherrilyn Kenyon. First published in Elemental: The Tsunami Relief Anthology, May 2006. Printed by permi
ssion of the author.
“In Sheep’s Clothing” © by Meljean Brook. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Dream Catcher” © by Jennifer Ashley. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
Introduction
Demons are the new vampires, or so I’m told by reliable sources. The world of the paranormal has been blurring, blending with fantasy to a certain extent, to create a magical new partnership. There are now hundreds of blogs and websites devoted to different strands of the paranormal and to the authors who write it. All are full of lively discussions between writers, would-be writers, and devoted fans - the website fangsfurandfey, a Livejournal community started by writers Jeaniene Frost, Caitlin Kittredge, and Melissa Marr, is just one fantastic example.
Such creative, energetic dialogue between readers and writers has given paranormal romance a fun, fast and furious buzz. Forget writers shuttered away writing with no connection to their fans; most paranormal romance authors are accessible and contactable, and are forever gracious with comments and questions. This is no ivory tower genre, but one with a very human face (albeit attached to a body with iridescent, fairy wings).
Put another way, paranormal writers quite simply have the best fans. These are readers who turn up to book signings bubbling over with enthusiasm, who get tattoos from their best-loved books (when Sherrilyn Kenyon’s Acheron was published, one of my regulars showed up at the bookshop where I work one afternoon with a perfect replica of the Acheron symbol - “a yellow sun pierced by three white lightning bolts” - at the back of her neck), who don’t say no to cupcakes because they are on some ridiculous Palm Beach diet, and who are passionate about the genre: what they like, they LOVE; what they don’t, they LOATHE. How refreshing is that?
The authors in this new anthology have been drawn not only from the broad wealth of talent in the paranormal romance genre, but also from the world of fantasy. We haven’t completely neglected our old friend the vampire (from the previous collection, The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance) but he has been seriously overwhelmed by a magical collection of succubi, selkies, mermaids, werewolves, angels, ghosts, sorceresses, goddesses, gargoyles, fae princes and djinn, to name just a few.
This volume is the perfect opportunity to try out some new paranormal authors or curl up with the newest stories from your die-hard favourites. Where else are you going to find such a huge collection of bestselling, and critically acclaimed, authors in one place? Paranormal romance is blossoming.
The Temptation of Robin Green
Carrie Vaughn
The talking dog always whined when Robin fed the griffin.
“C’mon, Robin, please? The doc’ll never know. I never get any treats.”
“Sorry, Jones,” Robin said to the dust-coloured mutt in the steel and acrylic-glass cell.
“Please? Please, please, please?” Jones’ tail wagged the entire back end of his body.
“No, Jones. Sorry.”
“But it’s not fair. Those guys get fed late.”
“They have bigger stomachs than you.”
“Oh, please, just once, and I’ll never ask again!”
But it was a lie, the whining would never stop, and giving in would make it worse. It turned out that a talking dog was even more endearing than the non-talking kind. It took all of Lieutenant Robin Green’s army training to turn away from the mutt and move on to the rest of her rounds.
She hit a switch to illuminate a bank of lights in the second enclosure. The occupant had the thick, tawny-furred body of a lion, but its neck and head were those of an eagle: feathered, dark brown, with glaring eyes and a huge hooked bill. It opened its beak and called at her when the light came on, a sound somewhere between a screech and a roar.
A small door at the base of the acrylic glass allowed her to slide a tray of steaming meat into the cell. The griffin pounced on it, snarling and tearing at the meat, swallowing in gulps. Robin jumped back. No matter how many times that happened, it always surprised her.
Next, she took a bundle of hay to a side door that allowed access to a third enclosure and went inside. Technically, entering the enclosures was against regulations, but she had asked for special permission in this case.
“Here you go, kid.”
Hoofed footfalls shuffled towards her through the wood shavings that covered the floor. The animal stood about fifteen hands high, had a milk-white coat, cloven hooves, a tuft of hair under its chin and a silver, spiral horn between its eyes.
Robin spread out the hay, feeding some of it to the creature by hand. She and the unicorn got along well, though at twenty-three she didn’t like to admit her virginity. She’d fallen back on excuses to explain why she’d never seemed to make time for dates, for getting to know the men around her, for simply having fun: too much to do, too much studying, too much work, too much at stake. She’d always thought there’d be time, eventually. But those old patterns died hard. Colleagues and friends paired off around her, and she’d started to feel left out.
All that aside, now she was glad about it. Otherwise, she’d never have had the chance to hold a unicorn’s muzzle in her hands and stroke its silken cheek.
She’d graduated top of her class with a degree in biology and made no secret of her interest in some of the wilder branches of cryptozoology, however unfashionable. She’d gone through the university on an Army ROTC scholarship and accepted an active duty commission because she thought it would give her a chance to travel. Instead, she’d been offered a position in a shadowy military research project - covert, classified and very intriguing.
She’d had no idea what she was getting herself into when she accepted the research-assistant position.
After visiting with the unicorn for half an hour, Robin continued to the next level down. The Residence.
This level of the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology made Lieutenant Green nervous. It seemed like a prison. Well, it was a prison, though the people incarcerated here weren’t exactly criminals. Colonel Ottoman (PhD, MD, etc.) liked to say it didn’t matter since they weren’t really human. A lowly research assistant and low-ranking, newly minted officer like Robin was not supposed to question such a declaration. Still, she made an effort to treat the inhabitants of the Residence like people.
“Hello? Anyone home?” Colonel Ottoman and Doctor Lerna were supposed to be here, but Robin must have been the first in for the night shift. The day shift had already checked out.
Despite its clandestine military nature, the place was as cluttered as one would expect from any university laboratory. Paper-covered desks and crowded bookshelves lined one wall. Another wall boasted a row of heavy equipment: refrigeration units, incubators, oscillators. Several island worktables held sinks and faucets, microscopes, banks of test tubes and flasks.
One acrylic-glass wall revealed a pair of cells. The first cell was completely dark, its inhabitant asleep. Special features of this room included a silver-alloy lining and silver shavings embedded in the walls. The next cell had garlic extract mixed with the paint.
“How are you this evening, Lieutenant?” the occupant of the dimly-lit second cell greeted her.
“I’m fine, Rick. Where is everyone?”
“There’s a note on your desk.”
She went to her desk, the smallest of the group, and found a note in Dr Ottoman’s jagged writing on her desk calendar:
Lt Green,
Sorry to leave you alone, special conference came up, Bob and I will be in DC all week. Hold down the fort. No special instructions regarding the new arrival, just leave it alone. Col Ottoman.
Just like that. Gone. Leaving her alone on the night watch for a whole week. That meant she wouldn’t actually have anything to do but feed everyone and keep an eye on the monitors.
“Bad news?” Rick said.
“Just inconvenient. Do you know anything about a new arrival?”
“In the aquatics
lab.”
She started for the next door.
“Ah, Lieutenant. Chores first?” Rick - short for Ricardo, surname unknown, date of birth unknown, place of birth unknown - slouched nonchalantly against the plastic window at the front of his cell. He didn’t sound desperate - yet.
“Right.”
From the incubator she removed the three pints of blood, “borrowed” from the base hospital, which had been warming since the last shift. She poured them into clean beakers, the only useful glassware at hand, and reached through the small panel to set the glasses of blood on a table inside Rick’s cell. It wasn’t really any different from feeding raw meat to the griffin.
Rick waited until the panel was closed before moving to the table. He looked composed, classic, like he should have been wearing a silk cravat and dinner jacket instead of jeans and a cotton shirt.
“Cheers.” He drank down the first glass without pause.
She didn’t watch him, not directly. The strange, hypnotic power of his gaze had been proven experimentally. So she watched his slender hands, the shoulder of his white shirt, the movement of his throat as he swallowed.
He lowered the beaker and sighed. “Ah. Four hours old. Fine vintage.” His mouth puckered. A faint blush began to suffuse his face, which had been deathly pale.
Robin continued the last leg of her rounds. The next room contained aquariums, large dolphin tanks with steel catwalks ringing the edges. Bars reaching from the catwalks to the ceiling enclosed the tanks, forming cages around the water.
Robin retrieved a pail of fish - cut-up tuna, whole mackerel, a few abalone mixed with kelp leaves - from the refrigerator at the end of the workspace, and climbed the stairs to the top edge of the south tank.
“How are you, Marina?”
A woman lounged on an artificial rock which broke the surface of the water in the middle of the tank. She hugged a convenient outcrop of plaster and played with her bronze-coloured hair. Instead of legs she had a tail: long, covered in shimmering, blue-silver scales, ending in a broad fin which flapped the water lazily.
The mermaid covered her mouth with her pale hand and laughed. It was teasing, vicious laughter. Marina seldom spoke.
“Here you are, when you’re hungry.” Robin nudged the pail to where the mermaid could reach it through the bars.