Just One Bite Volume 2 by Brenda Williamson Rosalie Stanton Dahlia Rose Linda Palmer Virginia Nelson Bethany Michaels Amanda McIntyre Karalynn Lee Tracey H. Kitts Jambrea Jo Jones Yvette Hines Marie Harte Kathleen Dienne Victoria Blisse Page B
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screaming my head off. I should be running away. Freaking out. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t.
“No.”
Athan smiled. “Good. That is good.”
Reaching behind his head, he untied his mask and set it aside.
I gasped. “You. You’re the man. In the photo.”
He nodded. “Emily was my lover. She begged me for a keepsake.” He looked at his hands. “I should not have allowed it. Photos, records of any kind, are too dangerous. But I could deny her nothing.”
“The stele?”
“Mine. From my human life.”
My mind reeled. It was here. “Can I see it?”
Athan chuckled softly then cocked his head and looked at me for a moment before nodding. “I find I cannot deny your request either.”
I scrambled up off the sofa and tugged my gown on over my head.
Taking my hand, Athan led me to the back of the attic. He slid a panel aside and there, inside a secret compartment built into the wall, was the object I had been searching for.
It gleamed white in the light of my flashlight, looking as fresh and new and perfect as the day it was carved. And my lover, in all his glory, was rendered to perfection in stone. The impossibly masculine lines of his torso, his strong profile, the wave of his hair--it was an exact likeness of him.
“You understand now why I keep it hidden.”
I nodded. It would raise too many questions—questions about where it had come from and how it was so perfectly preserved. There would be no paper trail to prove he was the proper owner, and it took only one look to know that the man standing before me and the one born in marble were the same.
“It’s beautiful.”
Athan nodded. “My father was very talented. He sculpted burial monuments for the wealthiest families in my region. When my human life was ended, his grief drove him to work day and night until he produced this masterpiece. I saw it on the ridge bordering our family burial plot several years after my new life had begun and after my father died, I returned and claimed the stele. After nearly 2500 years, it is my one remaining link to my humanity.”
A shadow crossed his eyes. “I cannot allow you to expose my secret,” he said, nodding at the statue. “I wonder if perhaps you might consider changing your thesis topic. You may have full access to any other pieces in my private collection.”
I looked around, my heart beating wildly at the prospect of what other secret finds might be waiting. I could catalogue his collection, perhaps. And I could visit the stele whenever I wished.
Placing my palms on the cool, hard skin of his chest, I smiled up at him. “I would love that,” I said.
Athan wrapped his arms around my waist and smiled back, eyes flashing.
“Of course you realize that means you would have to spend a lot of time here. In my home. With me.” His head dipped.
I raised my face, eyes focused on his mouth, imagining the pleasure it would bring all over again. “Hours,” I whispered.
“Days.”
“It could take weeks or even months,” I said, anticipating long nights spent exploring the mansion’s secrets as well as every curve and angle of Athan’s fine body.
“Years,” he breathed, searching my expression for an answer.
“Years,” I agreed and his mouth possessed mine once more.
Wolf Bait
by Virginia Nelson
Riley
The whole world is only a click away. That was the big perk of being online most of your day. Everyone you wanted to get in touch with, everything you could ever want to buy, available at one simple click of the mouse.
As I sat in front of my laptop and sipped coffee, I checked my social networks. A writer’s worst enemy, I knew, was procrastination. Sadly, so was my brain dribbling out my ears to lie in a puddle on the floor, which was what I felt I was headed towards if I didn’t leave the bloodbath on the page for a few minutes.
Writing suspense is fun. Murdering off whoever ticks me off in any given day in brutally creative ways is probably the best therapy in
“No.”
Athan smiled. “Good. That is good.”
Reaching behind his head, he untied his mask and set it aside.
I gasped. “You. You’re the man. In the photo.”
He nodded. “Emily was my lover. She begged me for a keepsake.” He looked at his hands. “I should not have allowed it. Photos, records of any kind, are too dangerous. But I could deny her nothing.”
“The stele?”
“Mine. From my human life.”
My mind reeled. It was here. “Can I see it?”
Athan chuckled softly then cocked his head and looked at me for a moment before nodding. “I find I cannot deny your request either.”
I scrambled up off the sofa and tugged my gown on over my head.
Taking my hand, Athan led me to the back of the attic. He slid a panel aside and there, inside a secret compartment built into the wall, was the object I had been searching for.
It gleamed white in the light of my flashlight, looking as fresh and new and perfect as the day it was carved. And my lover, in all his glory, was rendered to perfection in stone. The impossibly masculine lines of his torso, his strong profile, the wave of his hair--it was an exact likeness of him.
“You understand now why I keep it hidden.”
I nodded. It would raise too many questions—questions about where it had come from and how it was so perfectly preserved. There would be no paper trail to prove he was the proper owner, and it took only one look to know that the man standing before me and the one born in marble were the same.
“It’s beautiful.”
Athan nodded. “My father was very talented. He sculpted burial monuments for the wealthiest families in my region. When my human life was ended, his grief drove him to work day and night until he produced this masterpiece. I saw it on the ridge bordering our family burial plot several years after my new life had begun and after my father died, I returned and claimed the stele. After nearly 2500 years, it is my one remaining link to my humanity.”
A shadow crossed his eyes. “I cannot allow you to expose my secret,” he said, nodding at the statue. “I wonder if perhaps you might consider changing your thesis topic. You may have full access to any other pieces in my private collection.”
I looked around, my heart beating wildly at the prospect of what other secret finds might be waiting. I could catalogue his collection, perhaps. And I could visit the stele whenever I wished.
Placing my palms on the cool, hard skin of his chest, I smiled up at him. “I would love that,” I said.
Athan wrapped his arms around my waist and smiled back, eyes flashing.
“Of course you realize that means you would have to spend a lot of time here. In my home. With me.” His head dipped.
I raised my face, eyes focused on his mouth, imagining the pleasure it would bring all over again. “Hours,” I whispered.
“Days.”
“It could take weeks or even months,” I said, anticipating long nights spent exploring the mansion’s secrets as well as every curve and angle of Athan’s fine body.
“Years,” he breathed, searching my expression for an answer.
“Years,” I agreed and his mouth possessed mine once more.
Wolf Bait
by Virginia Nelson
Riley
The whole world is only a click away. That was the big perk of being online most of your day. Everyone you wanted to get in touch with, everything you could ever want to buy, available at one simple click of the mouse.
As I sat in front of my laptop and sipped coffee, I checked my social networks. A writer’s worst enemy, I knew, was procrastination. Sadly, so was my brain dribbling out my ears to lie in a puddle on the floor, which was what I felt I was headed towards if I didn’t leave the bloodbath on the page for a few minutes.
Writing suspense is fun. Murdering off whoever ticks me off in any given day in brutally creative ways is probably the best therapy in
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