Call of the Moon: (BBW Paranormal Hunters Erotic Romance) (Avalon Book 2) by Mina Carter Page B
Authors: Mina Carter
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took me against the tiled wall with a power and precision that threatened my very soul.
Chapter Two
Some women owned handcuffs, especially for sex. Unless they were seriously into an alternative lifestyle, those cuffs tended to be of the pink, fluffy kind. Mine were police-spec steel. They hadn’t been bought with sex in mind, or anything other than as part of a costume. The sort of creature I hunted, I didn’t get close enough to slap a pair of them on, not if I could help it. Most would happily try to disembowel me at that range.
The cuffs were part of my “cop” persona. In addition to grifting and short cons, most hunters were chameleons. We’d impersonate anyone and anything to gain the info we needed to put the monsters down, and to keep people safe.
But what could I do when I was head over heels for one of those monsters?
I watched Jasen sleep. He’d fallen asleep after our bout in the shower. I wasn’t surprised. He’d been like a machine, the power in his body frightening as he’d fought the beast within, wearing it out the only way we knew how.
Lifting his arm, I slipped the cuff around his wrist and locked it. The other went around the steel bedstead and locked with a light “click.” He murmured in his sleep, burying his face deeper into the pillow. The scent of linen and warm man wafted up to me as exhaustion filled every cell of my body. We’d been on the move for weeks, tracking the wolf pack, but every time we’d thought we’d finally had them, we’d been too late. Sometimes just by minutes, but always too late.
Steeling myself against temptation, I stepped back. “We” were running out of ideas to keep him human and hold back his change, but I was just getting started.
* * *
Half an hour later, I walked into a dive on the wrong side of town. How did I know it was the wrong side of town? The blood around the door was a good indication. Oh, it wasn’t visible, that would have sent the local “norms” into hissy fits, but I felt the shiver crawl over my skin as I passed through it.
I stopped for a second to absorb the feeling. It was the same sort of shiver one got when stepping out of an enchanted circle drawn by a topnotch magic-user, or a demon trap. Which meant someone in here was the real deal, and not the average neo-pagan, tree-hugging hippy playing with things they had no business meddling with.
I moved farther into the bar, eyes sharp for any more clues. I despised “play” witches. Magic was serious business, not something to piss about with to impress people, or to create trinkets and love potions. The real stuff wasn’t nice, it wasn’t fluffy, and it certainly didn’t give a crap about “harm none.”
It was powerful, harmful… brutal in the wrong hands. And it always, always carried a price. It just depended on whether the user was willing to pay it.
I got the usual cursory once-over from a few of the customers. I wasn’t young or blonde, and my ample tits were safely covered with a black t-shirt. Plus, I had a mean-ass look that could freeze anyone at a hundred paces. I blamed it on being British. All that “stiff upper lip” stuff made a body surly at times. That—or I was just a bitch. Actually, I should cut the crap and go with the second.
“I’ll take a vodka and lime.”
I slid onto the stool at the end of the row and plunked an elbow on the counter as I addressed the barman. He looked sideways at me, flourishing his wet cloth across the surface in front of him, before straightening. I flicked a glance down. His cleaning technique wasn’t up to much. Too much cleaner, not enough elbow grease.
Crap, crap, crap. I had to remember I wasn’t running a diner anymore. That was months…no…a lifetime ago. And I sure as hell didn’t miss it.
A glass appeared by my arm, ice chinking together in the clear liquid. A slice of lime perched jauntily on the rim. Lime, nice touch. Most places used lemon, which bugged the shit out of me. It was vodka
Chapter Two
Some women owned handcuffs, especially for sex. Unless they were seriously into an alternative lifestyle, those cuffs tended to be of the pink, fluffy kind. Mine were police-spec steel. They hadn’t been bought with sex in mind, or anything other than as part of a costume. The sort of creature I hunted, I didn’t get close enough to slap a pair of them on, not if I could help it. Most would happily try to disembowel me at that range.
The cuffs were part of my “cop” persona. In addition to grifting and short cons, most hunters were chameleons. We’d impersonate anyone and anything to gain the info we needed to put the monsters down, and to keep people safe.
But what could I do when I was head over heels for one of those monsters?
I watched Jasen sleep. He’d fallen asleep after our bout in the shower. I wasn’t surprised. He’d been like a machine, the power in his body frightening as he’d fought the beast within, wearing it out the only way we knew how.
Lifting his arm, I slipped the cuff around his wrist and locked it. The other went around the steel bedstead and locked with a light “click.” He murmured in his sleep, burying his face deeper into the pillow. The scent of linen and warm man wafted up to me as exhaustion filled every cell of my body. We’d been on the move for weeks, tracking the wolf pack, but every time we’d thought we’d finally had them, we’d been too late. Sometimes just by minutes, but always too late.
Steeling myself against temptation, I stepped back. “We” were running out of ideas to keep him human and hold back his change, but I was just getting started.
* * *
Half an hour later, I walked into a dive on the wrong side of town. How did I know it was the wrong side of town? The blood around the door was a good indication. Oh, it wasn’t visible, that would have sent the local “norms” into hissy fits, but I felt the shiver crawl over my skin as I passed through it.
I stopped for a second to absorb the feeling. It was the same sort of shiver one got when stepping out of an enchanted circle drawn by a topnotch magic-user, or a demon trap. Which meant someone in here was the real deal, and not the average neo-pagan, tree-hugging hippy playing with things they had no business meddling with.
I moved farther into the bar, eyes sharp for any more clues. I despised “play” witches. Magic was serious business, not something to piss about with to impress people, or to create trinkets and love potions. The real stuff wasn’t nice, it wasn’t fluffy, and it certainly didn’t give a crap about “harm none.”
It was powerful, harmful… brutal in the wrong hands. And it always, always carried a price. It just depended on whether the user was willing to pay it.
I got the usual cursory once-over from a few of the customers. I wasn’t young or blonde, and my ample tits were safely covered with a black t-shirt. Plus, I had a mean-ass look that could freeze anyone at a hundred paces. I blamed it on being British. All that “stiff upper lip” stuff made a body surly at times. That—or I was just a bitch. Actually, I should cut the crap and go with the second.
“I’ll take a vodka and lime.”
I slid onto the stool at the end of the row and plunked an elbow on the counter as I addressed the barman. He looked sideways at me, flourishing his wet cloth across the surface in front of him, before straightening. I flicked a glance down. His cleaning technique wasn’t up to much. Too much cleaner, not enough elbow grease.
Crap, crap, crap. I had to remember I wasn’t running a diner anymore. That was months…no…a lifetime ago. And I sure as hell didn’t miss it.
A glass appeared by my arm, ice chinking together in the clear liquid. A slice of lime perched jauntily on the rim. Lime, nice touch. Most places used lemon, which bugged the shit out of me. It was vodka
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