Samhain Publishing Ltd, Ebooks and Books in Print

The Wallflower by Dana Marie Bell

She pulled the creamy, lacy shade down over the big picture window, effectively closing her in the twilight gloom of the shop. Becky had already rung out the register and was happily doing the accounts in the back, a pot of coffee and a huge container of Kung Pao chicken at her elbow while Emma finished closing down the front.

Emma loved this time of the evening. The streets were quiet, except for a few people heading either home or to their favorite restaurant for dinner. The soft light of early evening cast a glow over everything it touched, making it seem softer, more romantic. With a sigh, Emma headed into the back to gather up her coat and purse. With a wave to Becky, who waved her fork back with a grin, Emma slipped out of the back of the store.

“Emma.”

Emma shrieked, staggering back and pulling her can of mace out of her pocket before realizing that the man standing in the shadows was Max. “God damn it, Max!”

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound all that sorry; he sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “Don’t break out the grapefruit spoon just yet.”

Her heart was still beating a mile a minute. She put the mace away and glared at him. “What?”

“Well, jeez, is that any way to greet someone who’s here to help you?”

Putting her hand to her chest, Emma glared at him in the dim light. The son of a bitch was laughing at her. “Help me with what?”

“Getting Becky and Simon together, of course.”

“Huh?” He looked entirely too smug as he moved closer to her.

“You want to get Simon and Becky together? I can help you with that.” He picked up her arm and placed it through his, trapping her hand beneath his own. Suddenly he frowned and looked around. “Where is Becky, by the way?”

“She’s still inside, working on the accounts,” she answered absently, momentarily distracted by the feel of his arm under her own. It felt like it was hewn from rock, strong and solid and probably immovable.

His face blanked. “You came out here, at night, by yourself.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. He sounded like he couldn’t quite believe his ears.

“Yeah. I do that every night. I’m parked right over there.” She pointed with her free hand and gently tried to extract her other one from his suddenly iron grip. Becky lived in the apartment over the shop while Emma lived in an apartment in a complex on the other side of town. When Becky was done with the accounts, and her Chinese, she’d probably head upstairs to her tiny apartment and veg in front of her TV.

“You carry mace. I assume that means there’s some crime in this area.”

She nodded slowly. “There’s crime everywhere, even here, what with the college nearby.”

He was beginning to worry her. His face was still blank, but something about his eyes had changed. They glittered strangely, almost as if he were angry. She decided not to tell him why she carried the mace.

“Have you been attacked out here before?”

Emma winced and quickly tried to cover up the telltale sign by babbling. “It’s perfectly safe out here, and Becky keeps an ear out for the sound of my car. Any minute now she’s going to run out here ready to annihilate anyone who’s bothering me, so you might wanna let up on the death grip!” Her wince was now one of pain as his hand squeezed hers in a vice-like grip.

He let go and stared down at her. She could have sworn his eyes were gold in the moonlight before he blinked, the illusion fading back into his normal blue as he prowled around her, circling her like a predator. “Who hurt you, Emma?”

“What is wrong with you?” Emma took back her hand and rubbed it, wondering if she’d have a bruise. She glared up at him, waiting for an answer.

Max’s frown was fierce. “I want to know who hurt you, Emma. I want to know now.”

The note of command in his voice was one she’d never heard from anyone before. He compelled her to answer him in a primal way, forcing her body back against the brick wall of the shop with his own, looming over her in a way that both frightened and soothed her. Part of her wanted to bow down submissively and answer anything he asked of her. It took every ounce of her will to sniff and reply, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She saw the shock on his face as she turned her head away, dismissing him. She ducked under his arm and started walking towards her car, her back stiff, her chin high. “You know, not every woman appreciates the caveman routine. Why don’t you try it out on Livia? I’m sure she’d appreciate it!”

She gasped as her body was yanked back into the hardness of his. She could feel him in every atom, as if he was deliberately imprinting himself there. “If I’m reacting this way, how do you think Simon will react when he hears Becky’s here alone?”

Emma gulped. Becky who? Involuntarily her hand came up and grasped the arm around her waist, her nails digging in with pleasure at the strength in it.

“Um, I don’t know?” God, her brains were completely scrambled if that was the best she could do. “Hit her over the head with a club and drag her off by her hair? Not that he’d have all that far to go; she lives over the store, for God’s sake.”

He leaned down, his lips tickling her ear, his hair brushing hers, blending with hers. His other arm came around her waist, pulling her tighter into his body. She felt completely surrounded. She could feel his erection against her lower back, hot and hard as an iron bar, and gulped. “Why do you carry mace, Emma?”

“Why do you care, Max?” She tried to ignore the feel of his lips as he—

Did he just kiss my ear?

“Emma. Tell me what I want to know.”

“And you’ll go away?” She tried to ignore the incredible feeling of him gently rocking her in his arms. Yeah. That’s it, I’m gonna start struggling any minute now. Any minute…

“Hell, no.” He laughed gruffly. He put his chin on the top of her head and continued to rock her. When her stomach rumbled embarrassingly beneath his hands, he stilled. “Emma? Am I keeping you from your dinner?”

“At this point, you’re keeping me from my dinner AND late night snack.”

“Hmmm. In that case, I suggest we go out to eat. Maybe after I feed you you’ll be more willing to tell me what I want to know.” He sounded positively cheerful as he grabbed her hand, whirled her around and half dragged her towards his blue Durango.

“Gee, Captain Caveman, care to slow down? I didn’t agree to go out to dinner with you.”

He huffed out another laugh and opened the SUV’s door. “In you go!” He gently lifted her into the seat. “Food. Then fight. Okay?” And with a smile he pushed her legs inside the SUV and shut the door.

She considered opening the door and hopping out, but part of her (okay, the majority of her) wanted to see what the hell Max was up to. Plus, hello! Dinner with Max! Could there be a downside to this?

She snapped on her seat belt as he got into the car. She hadn’t enjoyed sparring with someone this much for a long time. “Don’t think you’re going to get what you want just because you buy me dinner.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Max purred, starting the SUV.

“Oh, boy,” Emma muttered as Max, with another choked off laugh, drove out of the parking lot.

Treasure Hunting by J.B. McDonald

The only problem with South America—aside from giant bugs, a lack of air conditioning, and general chauvinism—was that you could walk right past an ancient ruin and never know it.

Meg had no intention of doing so, but that was easier said than done. Still, she supposed it made her travel guides happy—they were able to set up camp and remain there while she quartered the surrounding jungle one foot at a time. What she really needed, she thought as she whacked through a hanging branch and cleared six more inches, was Tarzan. Yes, Tarzan would be the perfect trail guide. And maybe, just maybe, he’d know a shortcut to any possible rui—

She stopped, having caught a glimpse of…something out of the corner of her eye. Her feet squished in the soft ground as she leaned back. An insect bit her, and she slapped at it absently.

There. Between the trees.

Heart pounding, she turned and began the mad scramble to get through the underbrush. It could have been stone. It also could have been a funny slant of light coming through the jungle canopy. Most times, it was just light, but maybe this time…

Hope sprung eternal, after all.

Sweat dripping down her back and between her breasts, her shirt plastered to her body and various cuts and scrapes adorning her arms, she finally forced her way through.

It was just a slant of light.

Meg sighed heavily and sat, checking to make sure there was a root rather than slime to sit on. She glared at a mosquito, then squished it when it had the audacity to try and bite her.

Three more weeks. Three more weeks of leave, and then she had to go back to being a staid college professor. Back to grading papers and helping students through academic crises, trying to convince them that sociology was great. She’d have to give up treasure hunting for a while longer, until the next major break—Christmas. She thought she might be able to wrangle it free without getting a complete guilt trip from her mother. Just a partial guilt trip. Okay, slightly more than “partial”. But it would be worth it, to be able to gather up her savings (frivolously spent, if her father was asked) and hare back down here to South America, braving theft and soldiers and giant bugs from outer space.

She brushed some kind of uber-large beetle away and glowered.

Damn it.

She peered into the heavy green jungle overhead, trying to gauge how much light was left. Probably enough for another half hour of hacking and slicing before she had to hack and slice her way back to camp. She pushed back to her feet, rubbing sweat away with a dirty wrist, and started off again.

Another fifteen minutes flew by, another few feet were gained. Birds screamed above and animals watched her pass. The jungle was loud in a way the city never could be, filled with animals and bugs and the rustle of leaves against vines, against branches, against bark. Noises that faded into the background until a monkey screeched or a bird exploded out of nearby foliage, and eventually even those became less noticeable.

Gunfire shattered the noise. In the hair-lifting quiet that echoed afterward, her breath shuddered in her throat.

Her head whipped around, feet nearly catching in the mud and sending her sprawling. Visions of armed men attacking their camp snarled through her mind, and she felt for the rifle her guides had insisted she take. She raced back toward their base, discarding initial attempts to do so quietly. There was no chance of that happening.

She was halfway there when a shape darting from one shadow to the next sent her slamming against a tree trunk, trying to hide. A heartbeat passed before she realized that whatever that was, it wasn’t human. Nobody moved with such silence through the heavy jungle, no matter how long they’d lived there. She slid out from her cover, watching for the creature.

Men shouted, but there were no more shots. Even the yelling didn’t seem frantic—excited, maybe, but not panicked. Not an attack, then? An animal? She moved closer to where the thing had crossed her path, gaze casting through the humid greenery in search of—well, she wasn’t sure, but in search of something.

A smear of blood caught her eye. She hesitated, logic telling her that whatever they’d shot would likely be dead in a matter of minutes. Probably an animal, probably not a person—or if it was a person, an armed and angry one.

Despite all of the reasons to leave it alone, she found herself following the thin trail the creature had left. The occasional broken twig—and how anything moved through this forest leaving it so untouched was a wonder—added to the occasional bloody stripe across leaves, marking its path. When she found a paw print as big as her fist, she nearly stopped the search. Her guides were going to throw a fit if she brought an animal back that they’d just shot. But, damn it, at the very least she had to make sure it wasn’t suffering.

Meg pushed on. All things considered, it wasn’t long before she stumbled across—
A tail.

She blinked.

A really long tail. Shadow-dark, with ebony rosettes and a lethally black tip. This was no little critter needing help. This was large, a predator that could eat her in a single bite. Maybe even half a bite. She really wasn’t that big.

Cautiously, she pushed aside fronds to see the rest of the animal.

Jaguar, her mind whispered in equal parts awe and terror.

The cat lay coiled, a foreleg hanging almost uselessly to one side. Tawny gold eyes regarded her without blinking, ears flat back against its head. Sleek fur stretched, graceful over impossibly perfect muscles. Claws flexed into the dirt, either in threat or preparation to flee—she couldn’t tell. It wouldn’t get much farther on that leg, though. Blood matted the fur, a furrow cutting straight through the powerful shoulder.

Pausing, she unslung her rifle and aimed carefully through the sights. Her heart sank, staring into gold eyes that glared defiantly back at her. It was going to die—slowly and painfully, if left to the mercy of infection and other animals. What she was doing was a blessing. Really.

Her finger just wouldn’t tighten on the trigger.

She cursed and lowered her rifle. With hurried, frustrated movements—what she was doing was insane, and she wasn’t sure she could convince her guides to help—she slung the rifle back over her shoulder and pulled out the tranquilizer gun. She’d told the guides to use them in case of an animal attack, but obviously they hadn’t listened.

She could do it, though, and she could make them listen. The jaguar would have to be enough treasure for this trip—hell, rescuing a predator ought to at least make for several years’ worth of stories, right? Right, she decided, then lifted her gun and shot.

The jaguar screamed, the jungle incarnate. Then it relaxed, eyelids drooping closed as its eyes rolled back in their sockets.

Perfect. Now to lug several hundred pounds of flesh and muscle back to the camp.

Maybe she should have thought this through a little more.