The Men of Otherworld: Collection One, Page 2

  “Love, love are you all right?” Roz slid his arm behind her back and helped her sit up. “What happened—” He stopped. The woman in his arms was not his Fraale. Not entirely. Of that much, he was certain.

  She let out a long sigh, almost exasperated. And then, without a word, she drew him in for a kiss, her tongue playing against his. She was warm in his arms, pliable, and he found himself wanting to fuck her right there, in front of Zeus. All he could think about was how beautiful this woman of his was, and how she needed him. But then, as the kiss went on, he began to feel dizzy and with a start, realized that he was losing consciousness. Another moment, and the world went black.

  “You awaken, then?” Zeus was sitting there at the table, staring at him.

  Roz realized he was stretched out on the length of polished wood, his head aching and feeling like he’d been sick for a long, long time. He tried to sit up, but Zeus shook his head and pushed him back down.

  “Rest yourself. You are still weak.”

  “What…what happened?” And then, he remembered. “Fraale! Fraale? Where’s my wife?” He brushed away Zeus’s hand and forced himself to a seated position. The room began to spin, but he squinted, staring at one spot on the wall to help him focus enough so that he could manage sitting up.

  “Your wife. She drained you. She would have killed you if I hadn’t intervened, but truth is: She didn’t realize that she was siphoning off so much energy. She’s hungry, she needs to feed.” The god sounded genuinely sorry.

  Rozurial frowned, trying to understand what Zeus was saying. Hunger? Siphoning off energy? Oh no…he couldn’t mean… “Hera, she turned Fraale into a vampire?” His heart was about to rip out of his chest and shatter on the ground.

  Zeus quickly held up a hand. “No, no—rest easy on that. Your wife is no vampire.”

  “Then, what are you talking about?” Thoroughly confused and exhausted, Rozurial turned helplessly toward Zeus. “What happened? I don’t understand.”

  Zeus suddenly looked old. Old as the hills, old as time. His shoulders slumped. “Hera turned your wife into a succubus.”

  And that was all he needed to say. Roz knew what succubi were. Sexually charged energy vampires—minor demons, to be precise. The thought of Fraale, wanton and seeking to feed her hunger of any man she came to, churned in his stomach. He wanted to shout, to rail against the heavens, but it would do no good. The heavens were sitting in his living room. The heavens had caused this.

  “What am I going to do? I love her—I love her and I can’t stand the thought of losing her.”

  At that moment, the door opened and Fraale stood there. Her dress was different—she was wearing a lower cut gown that sparkled in the evening light, and her eyes were glowing. Her lips looked so moist that it made him hard, so rock-hard and ready to fuck her. He hung his head, unable to speak.

  She moved slowly through the room to him. “Rozurial. I’m sorry.” Her voice was as broken as his heart. “I didn’t mean to…I couldn’t help myself…” Her words drifted off and she burst into tears.

  Rozurial turned to Zeus. “This is your fault. Fix it. Do whatever you need to but fix it.”

  Zeus looked from Fraale to Roz, back to Fraale again. “I cannot undo what Hera did—no one but she has the power to undo her magic, and she has a long and harsh memory. But…I will do the only thing I can think of to help.” He stood, then reached out and touched Rozurial.

  Roz felt something beginning to shift inside, a warm glow that quickly became a raging fire, rampaging through his body—burning the cells, shifting and changing him. As he fell back on the table, his body beginning to spasm, his last thought was, “I’m dying.” And then, the darkness hit again.

  “So here we are.” Fraale gazed at him, her luminous gaze fastened on his own.

  “Wherever here is.” Roz pressed his lips into a thin line as he stared out the window. He was hungry—the ache was always there now. The desire to touch, to kiss, to run his fingers along female flesh. To taste the energy that charged him up like a fresh eye catcher, about to explode. No matter how much he and Fraale had come together, fucking their brains out over the past weeks, the ache refused to be satiated, for either of them. Now, they faced each other, honestly, the truth painfully evident.

  “I love you.” He swung around, catching her hands in his. “You know how much I love you. I never wanted anything more than to grow old with you, to have children, to make some semblance of a normal life. You know that, don’t you?”

  Her breath was ragged, this time from tears. “Don’t say it. Please, don’t say what I know you are going to say. There must be a way we can return to normal. Every man I touch reminds me that he’s not you. But I can’t stop myself. I killed someone last night, Rozurial. I killed someone—drank him dry of energy. I didn’t mean to and I’ll never let it happen again. I swear on my life. If I have to slit my own throat, I’ll never use my kiss to kill again. Can’t we try one more time? We can sustain each other—” But her pleas fell away.

  Rozurial’s own eyes were wet. “We’ve tried. My love, every day we make this pledge in the morning. Every night, we roam the astral and hunt down victims. We can’t live with each other anymore. The guilt will eat us alive. If we stay together, we’ll drive each other mad. I can’t stand to think of you with other men but I know you need them. I know your hunger because I feel it myself.”

  How many times had he ranted toward Olympus? How many times had he cursed the name of Zeus the destroyer? Rozurial felt like he had when Dredge had killed his family—full of hate and fury and passion.

  Fraale was sobbing so hard he thought she might break. She fell to her knees, pressing her head on his lap. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave. What will I do without you?”

  “My love, that’s not the question. The question is, what will we do to each other if we stay together? I think we have to accept that there’s no going back. There’s no miracle, no magic that can fix this. The healers and witches told us that. Zeus and Hera ignore our prayers. Face reality, Fraale. We’re stuck like this.”

  And that was the kicker—they were stuck in a glamorous world of sex and charm and passion, but they couldn’t share it together without destroying what love they had left.

  Fraale pushed herself to a cross legged position and wiped her tears on her sleeve. She gazed up at him, and he saw the resignation in her eyes.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I know this is the end.” She let out a shuddering sigh and pushed herself to her feet. “I will always love you. I’ll always miss you. And I’ll always hate the gods. With the last of my breath, I will curse them.”

  He rose, pulling her tight against his body. They fit together. That was the hellish part. They had come together and built their love and their life, and now, in love, they were being forced to dissemble everything they had ever known.

  Burying his face in her hair, he kissed her gently. “We have to walk away and not look back. There’s no getting past this pain, my love. Every time I look at you, I remember what joy we had.”

  She pressed her cheek on his shoulder. “And I look at you and remember the promise of the future. Now, everything is shrouded in fog.” Resolutely, she took a step back. “Promise me this: in a year, we’ll return here. To this house. To meet and…check on each other? Promise me, on your oath. That way we won’t do anything stupid.”

  He nodded, understanding the unspoken message. “I promise. One year, right here, we will meet.” He glanced around at the tidy home they had made. “I sold the goats to the farmer across the hill. Your half of the money is on the table.”

  Fraale shivered. “I don’t want to leave. I was so happy here.”

  “I know.” Rozurial picked up the bag of coins and pressed them into her hand. “You go first. That way, the house won’t seem so empty when you leave. That way you’ll remember me here.”

  “Remember you? I’ll never forget you, my love. Never.” Fraale turned and, tears silently streaking down h
er cheeks, headed for the door. As it swung shut behind her, Rozurial took one more look around the house that had been his home for too short of a time.

  He slid into a long duster—the autumn had finally hit—into which he had crammed every weapon he could think of. Placing a hat over his long curls, he inhaled sharply, then let out a long sigh. As he opened the door, he wondered if he would ever see his beloved Fraale again. Probably not. She’d probably forget him, and eventually, he’d probably let her memory go. But he’d come back in a year to see if she remembered their bargain.

  Rozurial stepped into the evening air. Reports put Dredge still in Ceredream. That seemed the most likely place to catch the vampire who had destroyed his childhood. Because since he couldn’t kill the monster who had destroyed his marriage, he was damned well going to track down the one who had murdered his parents and siblings. And this time, using the new powers that had come with transforming into an incubus, Rozurial swore he would cross every world necessary to find the vampire and stake him.

  Chasing Sharah

  The first date is always awkward—and it seemed to me that Chase and Sharah would feel even more uncomfortable, given their circumstances. So I decided to explore what that date was like.

  Chase had always been extremely good about keeping his private affairs separated from work, until now. And at this moment, he was unsure just what the hell he was doing. Should he? Shouldn’t he? He’d vacillated so much on this decision that, even standing on Sharah’s doorstep, he wasn’t sure if he could actually force himself to go through with this. But then again, if he didn’t, if he walked away and stood up the elfin medic, work would be a nightmare of embarrassments. No, he had asked her out on a date and now he was obligated to go through with it. Chase drew a sharp breath, reached out, and rang the bell.

  A faint tone sounded from inside, and the door opened with a swish. There she was. Slight, with pale blonde hair pulled back in an intricate braid, Sharah was decked out in a pair of blue jeans and a pretty peasant top.

  Chase blinked. He was so used to seeing her in her scrubs, that he’d half been expecting her to be wearing them at home. But then she smiled and invited him in, and Chase suddenly found himself inside her apartment. The flowers were in her hands, and she was showing him to the sofa.

  “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Some wine or coffee or…I don’t know. What do you want?” Sharah paused, blushing but then the words poured out of her mouth like money out of a slot machine. “I just realized, I have no idea what you like to do after work. Other than hang out with Delilah and her family.” She bit her lip, blushing. “I’m sorry—you probably don’t want to talk about her—about them—maybe…” Dropping to the sofa, she let out a sigh. “I blew it, didn’t I? This date was probably a bad idea. I don’t even know what to call you.”

  He stood there, staring down at her. The pale rose of her cheeks made her seem so delicate, yet she always struck him as steady and confident. She sounded so forlorn that Chase wanted to wipe away the worry lines on her forehead. He wanted to put her at ease.

  “How about you just call me Chase? And I don’t think this was such a bad idea. It’s terribly awkward, yes, but if we’re honest with ourselves, I think we both knew it was going to be. Let’s face it. This is new territory for us both. I guess we take it one step at a time and see where it goes?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Starting over, now. I’m going to put these flowers in water. Do you want something to drink?” She paused by the door leading into the kitchen.

  Chase started to offer his help, but then realized she might want a moment to compose herself. “Yeah, a cup of coffee would be nice. Black, with one sugar, please.”

  As she disappeared, he looked around. The living room had a Victorian feel to it, with delicate bric-a-brac scattered around: Porcelain figurines of dancing women, of frogs and raccoons and lizards, of all things. Over the fireplace, a heavy wooden frame held a copy of J.W. Waterhouse’s Boreas. The girl in the painting could have passed for one of the Fae, or an elf, caught in a blustery wind as her shawl billowed around her.

  He glanced around the rest of the apartment. Plants grew everywhere, from aloe to potted herbs to unusual flowers that must have come from Otherworld.

  Try to relax. Sharah’s your friend. She was also a damned good worker—the head medic. Technically, she didn’t work for Chase. The medical division of the Faerie-Human Crime Scenes Investigation unit was mostly autonomous, though they worked in synch with the law enforcement division. Sharah had been assigned Earthside, but she worked for Queen Asteria, her aunt, back in Otherworld. Chase couldn’t send her home unless she did something horrendous.

  Another moment and Sharah returned, tray in hand with coffee and cookies on it. She slid it onto the table and handed him one of the coffee mugs. As their fingers touched, a brief spark flared. Chase pulled away so fast he almost spilled the steaming coffee all over him.

  “So…” All of a sudden, every thought in his head vanished and he had no clue what he was going to say.

  “It was a slow day today—only four injuries.” Sharah stopped herself, biting her lip. She glanced over at him. “Your turn.”

  Chase fingered his collar, pulling on it. He felt on trial. “Same here…except…” He was about to say something about Delilah and one of the demons, but decided that wasn’t the wisest move. Delilah was out of the picture now, only in his life as a friend. But that didn’t mean her name didn’t come with a buttload of baggage for both himself and Sharah.

  They sat there in silence, sipping their coffee. Worst date ever, Chase thought. But at that moment, his cell phone rang. Relieved, he answered. It was Yugi.

  “Boss, we have a problem. Something’s going down in the morgue—a fight of some sort—and we need you back here—Sharah too.” Yugi was the only one at the station who knew what Chase and Sharah were up to that evening.

  “We’re on our way.” Chase punched the End Talk button. “Yugi said there’s…” He stopped. “A fight in the morgue? What the hell?” He jumped up. “We’re both needed at the station. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

  Sharah looked as relieved as he felt. She grabbed her purse and coat. “I’m ready. Let me turn off the coffeemaker first.”

  As she ducked into the kitchen, Chase stared morosely at the sofa. Well, so much for this idea. There was no way in hell that he and Sharah could make anything work between them. Of that, he was sure.

  Yugi was frantic, and Yugi was hardly ever frantic. When Chase and Sharah rushed through the door, he let out a mumbled, “Thank heavens” and motioned for them to follow him to the elevator.

  “What happened?” Chase checked his service weapon, making sure it was firm in his holster. He held the elevator door for Sharah, then entered the car. As the doors swished shut, Yugi leaned against the railing, looking exhausted.

  “I don’t know what practical joker decided to pull this stunt, but we brought in three bodies tonight—bad car crash. Supes involved, we were told. I was wrapping up the reports for the day when I get a summons from the morgue. Nasty problem, Clyde says—the bodies aren’t dead.”

  “What do you mean?” Sharah asked. “Should I get up to the ER?”

  Yugi shook his head. “No, they weren’t injured either.”

  “Crap. New vamps?” Please, oh please, don’t let it be vamps, Chase thought. The last thing he felt like doing tonight was taking on a pack of newly minted vampires.

  Once again, Yugi shook his head. “Nope. We were had the whole way through. A couple of local teens—Earthside Fae—apparently thought it would be funny to stage a car crash and…long story short, the victims are actually zombies. Somehow the teens devised a stasis spell that kept the zombies from moving. They’re fresh enough that it fooled the medic.”

  “You have to be kidding.” Chase stared at him. Teenaged humans were bad enough, but he had discovered that teen Supes could be far, far worse.

&nb
sp; “I wish I was. Once the bodies were here, Clyde and his assistant were opening the body bags as the spell wore off and the zombies started moving. The two managed to get out of the morgue without being hurt, but by then, the zombies were causing havoc. I was going to put them down but it occurred to me that since we’re not sure who they were, or when they were killed, I’d better call you. We don’t know if they were murdered or if the teens just dug up a few fresh graves or what.”

  Sharah let out a disgusted grumble. “If we catch the idiots, I’d like to have ten minutes alone with them.”

  Chase glanced at her. “Take ‘em down a peg, huh?”

  She snorted. “You have not seen how elfin children are disciplined. Oh, no abuse, but a stupid stunt like this would warrant six months of community service and an ass whipping.”

  “You know this for a fact, do you?” Chase let out a grin as the doors opened and they stepped out of the elevator.

  “I’ll have you know, I was a hell raiser when I was younger. And yes, that is standard punishment. I still have the memories to prove it.” Sharah laughed. “I wasn’t always the upstanding healer I am now.” She winked at him and Chase’s stomach fluttered at the coy gleam in her eye. Maybe…maybe…

  Yugi stopped in front of the doors leading into the morgue. “I’m not sure what to do. How do we subdue them so we can identify the bodies before we…um…”

  “Destroy them?” Chase frowned. “Good question. We could drive them into a cell and lock them up.”

  “Yeah, but that entails getting them upstairs to the holding tanks.” Yugi shrugged. “I really don’t feel like acting bait or being caught in an elevator with them.”

  Sharah let out a sigh. “There are a few drugs that will sedate a zombified body.”