Kissed by Night: a Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy (Her Dark Protectors Book 2) Read online

  “How did you know the door was open?” I ask. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “The wife thinks I stopped smoking,” he admits guiltily. “I go out every night for a cigarette. I guess my cover’s blown now.”

  His fingernails on his right hand are yellowed, and he smells like smoke. I’m sure his wife knows he never stopped.

  I step away from the computer screen and look around. The entire place is stuffy, with bouquets of plastic flowers placed in every corner and red-and-black patterned carpet that was last updated before I was born.

  There was nothing significant about the body stolen. Mr. McGregor’s service is set for tomorrow, and “the usual turnout” is expected. He was seventy-three when he died of cancer, which he’d been battling for the last ten years. A retired school teacher, beloved by his late wife and children. I can’t see any sort of immediate connection to the House of Horrors downtown.

  And seeing his ghost? That makes even less sense, though nothing about ghosts makes sense to me.

  Whoever broke in and stole the body is good. They left no fingerprints, no scratch marks on the locks. They slipped in and out, completely unnoticed by the cameras and the motion sensors.

  I spend an hour combing over the place, walking up and down the path from the morgue to the front door over and over again.

  And I find nothing.

  Instructing one of the officers to check nearby buildings for cameras that might have picked up on something, I head back out, phoning in an order of four large pepperoni pizzas to one of the only places around here open this late at night.

  I’m yawning by the time I pull onto the gravel driveway of my large brick estate. I park and get out, going around to the passenger side to grab the food.

  “You got pizza?” Thomas’s voice cuts through the night a second before his feet hit the earth.

  If I couldn’t sense his presence a moment before he spoke, I would have startled. His arms fold around my waist, pulling me away from the car. I spin in his arms, hooking mine around his neck. He brings his head down, kissing the side of my neck.

  “You smell weird,” he says, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. His tongue lashes out, making me shiver in the warm, humid air.

  “That would be from the funeral home.” I arch my back, pressing my core into him, and run a hand down his bare chest. He folds his wings closer to his back, moving his head up to kiss me before pulling away and taking the pizza from the car.

  “Do they always smell like that?”

  “The ones I’ve been in do.” I go up the stone steps and open the front door. Light from the TV in the living room spills into the foyer, but it isn’t enough for me to see where I’m going. I take off my shoes, then slide my hand up and down the wall as I feel for the light switch.

  I take the pizza into the living room, where Hasan and Gilbert are glued to the TV. I swear I’m going to have to set a timer on that thing. Leaving three boxes on the coffee table, I take one outside onto the back porch and wait for Jacques to swoop down from the top of the roof.

  “Acelina,” he says, landing without a sound. My grimoire is in his hand, along with a pen and another notebook. “I trust everything went all right.”

  “As all right as a murder investigation could go. Only there wasn’t anyone there who was murdered.” I sit on the edge of the porch, folding my legs up underneath me. Jacques leans against the stone railing, impressive wings held out slightly behind him.

  “Why were you there, then?”

  “The whole thing was weird, and weird is kind of my thing.”

  He sets the books down, waiting for me to go on. I open the pizza box, take one slice, and motion for him to have the rest. He reaches down at the same moment, and his hand brushes against mine. My physical interactions with Jacques have been limited, but I’ve fucked him in my dreams many times.

  And I’m pretty sure he’s fucked me in his, even though he says he doesn’t dream.

  A chill runs through me, all the way down my spine, which bursts with heat at the thought of his touch. Forcing away my attraction to him, I gulp in fresh night air and look down at the piece of pizza in my hand.

  “The room was covered in blood, as if someone took buckets and literally threw them at the walls. It was too much to be from one person, I know that for sure.” I take a bite of pizza, chewing slowly as I consider my words.

  “What do you know about ghosts?” I ask, deciding to cut right to the chase.

  “Not a whole lot. Why?”

  I set the pizza down in the box, wiping my hands on a napkin. “I think I saw one tonight.”

  3

  “You think you saw a ghost?” Jacques echoes.

  “Yes. Let me backtrack a minute. The woman who owns the house discovered the blood in the basement. She called it in, and asked for me. She said I’m the only one who can help her, and when I talked to her, she said something about ‘the Dark Ones.’”

  Jacques’s chocolate eyes fill with concern. He moves closer to me, as if he’s afraid a Dark One will appear from thin air and grab me.

  “And then you saw a ghost?”

  “Pretty much,” I say, leaving out the part about hearing voices. “I saw a flash of light in the alley where I found the body, and the ghost of the dead guy was standing right there.”

  “Hasan said the body was stolen from a morgue.”

  “Right.”

  “He died of natural causes.”

  “Also right.”

  Jacques sits next to me, hanging his feet off the edge of the stone porch. My heart lurches, and I have to fight everything inside of me not to lean in and rest my head on his shoulder.

  “In movies, the air around ghosts gets cold. Cold enough to see your breath.”

  He nods. “That’s one thing the movies have gotten correct. Ghosts pull energy from the air.”

  “The air around this guy was warm, much warmer than the air around me.” I look into Jacques’s eyes for half a second.

  “Ghosts can’t make the air around themselves warm.”

  “He looked like a ghost.”

  “I was under the impression this is the first ghost you’ve seen,” Jacques deadpans.

  “Technically, yes.”

  “Then how can he look like something you’ve never seen.”

  He’s being logical, but he’s still annoying me for some reason. “He was transparent and looked exactly like the body on the ground. What else could he be?”

  A line forms between Jacques’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

  I sigh and stand up, going to the edge of the porch. Placing my hands on the weathered stone railing, I look out at the dark yard. This century-old estate needs a lot of work, both inside and out, and I haven’t had a chance to do it. And honestly, I don’t have much desire to do it.

  Jacques’s hand lands on my shoulder, and the warmth from his skin seeps through the thin material of my T-shirt. I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath.

  “We’ll figure it out, Acelina,” he promises, voice deep and steady. “That’s what you’re good at, right?”

  He’s trying to lighten my mood and make me feel better. He doesn’t mean for his words to jar me, but they do. I don’t have much else. My parents are dead and gone, my remaining relatives want nothing to do with me, and I’ve never had anyone I could call a close friend.

  Work was everything, and I put my heart and soul into it. I was good at it. I did figure things out. But now…now I’m questioning everything, starting with myself.

  Jacques steps in closer, and his powerful aura closes in on me. Goosebumps break out along my arms, and Jacques sweeps his hand down, feeling the bumps on my flesh. I turn around, face-to-face with him.

  He parts his lips, tongue darting out and leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. His large frame blocks out most of the light from the porch lights behind him, casting his wings in a sort of golden glow.

  He’s so damn beautiful, and his deep, dark eyes hold back so
much emotion. My heart lurches, and every fiber of my being aches to be held in his embrace. The feel of his arms around me is familiar and foreign at the same time.

  “Ace,” he starts, saying my name softly, and inches forward. Heart in my throat, I turn my head up, breathing in everything around him. A soft breeze rustles my hair, blowing a few strands over my face. Reaching out, Jacques gently brushes it back, tucking my hair behind my ear, and then runs his hand down the length of my back, stopping right before my ass.

  Shuffling forward, I take in a deep breath, breasts rising and falling against his chest. He moves his gaze from my eyes to my lips, and turns his head ever so slightly. His fingers inch down, playing with the hem of my pants. Heat rushes through me, leaving me feeling weak in the knees.

  “Jac,” I whisper back, reaching up to touch his face. I cup my hand around his cheek, and he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. His fingers slip past my pants, dancing over the top of my ass now. Groaning, he moves in, closing the distance between us, and wraps me in both arms.

  And then he tenses, pushing me away as if I’m suddenly offensive. Without another word, he jumps off the porch, taking flight into the night.

  Shuddering, I exhale heavily and pull my arms in around themselves.

  “Jackass,” I mutter, though really, I have a hard time being mad at him, or any of the guys for that matter. Jacques’s past is still mostly a mystery to me, but I know being under a love spell, watching the woman he loved die, and then being cursed hasn’t been easy on him.

  I grab my piece of pizza and close the box, leaving it out here for Jacques. I finish eating, grab my grimoire, and then go inside to shower and go to bed.

  “Are you okay, Ace?” Thomas asks as I get into the kitchen. He’s leaning over the sink washing dishes, and the sight of this half-naked, muscular man with wings doing something as domestic as the dishes has me reeling.

  Damn Jacques for getting me all hot and bothered.

  “Long night, that’s all.” I force a smile, feeling bad for not going into it about the ghost. I just don’t want to right now, that’s all. “I smell like dead people, so I’m going to take a shower.”

  He shakes soapy water from his hands and strides over, taking me in his arms. Planting a big kiss right on my lips, he dips me back and grabs my ass.

  That’s one way to brighten my mood.

  “If you need me to help you wash your back or anything, let me know.”

  Smiling, I hook my arms around his neck. “Twice in one night? Are you getting greedy?”

  He responds with a kiss and lifts me up, placing me on the kitchen counter. Stepping between my legs, he gives me his famous cocky grin. “I could fuck you all night and it wouldn’t be enough.” His lips land on my neck. “And I didn’t have you to myself. I suppose I am greedy.”

  I smile, welcoming the distraction, and tip my head to the side so he can keep kissing my neck.

  And then my phone rings, and I know by the ringtone that it’s work.

  Groaning, I untangle from Thomas, who’s not ready to part ways yet, and grab my phone from the living room.

  “Bisset,” I answer.

  “Hi, Detective. This is Deena from the lab. We got the results back from the blood in the basement. It’s not human.”

  “I’m not surprised. Have you narrowed down what kind of animal blood it is?”

  “Kinds,” she says slowly. “It’s several different kinds of animals, and the full DNA report won’t be back until the morning. I wanted to let you know you’re off the case—literally—since it’s not human.”

  “For curiosity’s sake, can you have the full report sent to me in the morning?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks, Deena,” I say, and hang up. Biting my lip, I go to the front door and shoot the deadbolt into place. The guys, who all have extremely good hearing, no doubt heard the entire conversation but patiently wait for me to explain.

  “Why would someone fake a crime scene like that?” I ask, more so thinking out loud than asking them.

  “To cover something up or distract you?” Gilbert suggests.

  “Distract me from what, though? Another murder? It’s not like I was out on patrol or anything. I was home.”

  “Maybe it was the opposite.” Hasan turns away from the TV, jaw set and shoulders drawn back. “They wanted to get your attention.”

  His words make something click in my head. “The crazy lady who found the blood did ask for me. She could have staged it to look like a murder knowing I’d come out to investigate.” I mull it over for a second and then shake my head. “But that doesn’t explain the stolen body.”

  Or the voices I heard.

  “Was anyone murdered?” Gilbert asks.

  “No. The body that was stolen was a man who died from natural causes. The blood was all animal. If someone wanted to get my attention, they had a funny way of doing it. Though I suppose I’m glad no one was actually murdered.” I rake my hair over my shoulder, thinking. “If I said ‘the Dark Ones are coming,’ would that make sense to any of you?”

  Hasan’s large shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “Many called themselves the Dark Ones in our time. And on TV,” he adds, just as serious.

  “You’re right. It’s too vague.” I let out another sigh and go upstairs to shower for real this time. I have to be at work in the morning, and need a few hours of sleep before going in.

  Thomas is in my bed when I get out, but this time, he just takes me in his arms and holds me against his firm chest, rubbing my back until I fall asleep.

  I flip a page on the report, shaking my head. The blood in the basement was mostly cow blood, with a few splashes of pig thrown in for good measure. The first layer of blood is assumed to be a week old, with the freshest layer having been spilled not long before we got there.

  It was a setup, I know for sure.

  Now I just need to figure out why.

  “Morning, Detective,” Nick, an officer at the precinct, says as he comes over to my desk. He’s holding two iced mochas, and one has my name on it. “Thought you could use one. I heard about the call last night.”

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the coffee from him. “Just another Tuesday, right?”

  He laughs, eyes lingering over me a moment too long. “Right.”

  I force a smile and look back down at the papers in front of me. I’ve never once claimed to have social grace, and situations like this irritate me. I can’t tell him to fuck off even though I want him to. He just brought me coffee for one, and two, we work together. Plus, he’s a nice guy.

  “We’re going to Pete’s for lunch today,” he goes on. “Want to tag along?”

  “Uh,” I start, “let’s see what the day brings.”

  It’s like I cursed myself, because not even a minute later, I’m called out for a murder. A body was found in an abandoned church, with satanic symbols smeared on the walls with the victim’s blood.

  I gather my shit and head out, trying not to think too much into it. The writing on the wall behind the animal blood was too smeared to be deciphered, but from the analysis, the words were written in recognizable letters, not symbols.

  The church is on the edge of town, and was used as a daycare until a few years ago when there was a massive scabies outbreak that forced it to shut down. I park near the front and show my badge to the officer standing by the door. A strong smell of mildew wafts out at me as I walk in, and the faded rainbow wallpaper has seen better days.

  Through the hall, past a nursery room that still has cradles and rocking chairs set up in it, we come to the chapel. The body is laid out on the altar, throat slit and eyes dug out. Slowly, I scan the room, taking everything in.

  Right away, I can tell the woman was killed elsewhere and dismembered on the altar soon after death. The way the body is positioned lets me know whoever put her there wanted a shock factor.

  There are various symbols drawn on the altar wall behind the body, and that’s where the k
iller made a rookie mistake. A large pentagram is front and center, surrounded by The Eye of Horus and Hecate’s Wheel. None of the symbols are connected, and putting them together doesn’t make any sense.

  I walk around the body, eyeing the poor woman up and down. She has defensive wounds on her hands, and there’s a good chance we’ll be able to get DNA from skin samples under her nails.

  The table underneath her is marble, and I’m betting we can get some fingerprints off it as well. I can tell by the smeared blood that her body was moved and finagled around a bit to get the desired look.

  My boots click on the wood beneath, echoing throughout the large cathedral. Putting on gloves, I carefully move a blood-soaked strand of hair off her neck.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter. There are two puncture wounds on the woman’s neck, put there after her death. I’m positive we’re dealing with a copycat. The vampire murders got a lot of media attention, and there are still a handful of people adamant the murders were done by actual vampires. They’d shit themselves if they found out the truth. Vampires have infiltrated our city for years. I might have gotten rid of one baddie and her baby vampires, but there are more undead out there than I can count.

  Hours later, I leave the church feeling a bit like my old self, which isn’t something I’ve felt in a while.

  Confident I’d catch the murderer.

  Knowing there’s no way in hell something paranormal is behind it.

  I get into my car, open the windows, and crank the air. I pull away from the church, and that confidence starts to crumble. All signs point to a copycat of sorts, and not a very good one at that. The symbols are a culture-mashup mess. The fake vampire bites were done after death, and gouging out the eyes was just a step over the top to shock and scare people.

  But what if it is something paranormal? What if I put another human behind bars for life for murders they didn’t actually commit?

  A foreign feeling rises inside of me, and it pisses me the fuck off. I’m good at my job. I know what I’m doing. I always catch the bad guy. I’m not going to fuck this up. I’ll get to the bottom of it, arrest a very human murderer, and get on with my life.