Killer Crescent by Leigh Kelsey

2

I’d been home just long enough to take a scalding shower and gorge on a box of doughnuts slathered in chocolate and unicorn sprinkles¹ when a heavy knock interrupted my peace.

I brought the last doughnut with me, cradled to my chest, as I wrenched the door to my flat open and glared at the bastard who’d dared to disturb me. “You better have a damn good reason for knocking, buddy, or I’ll fuck you up so hard even your ass will be crying.”

The forty-something guy standing on my flat's doorstep stared at me with narrowed eyes. “What?”

“I don’t know,” I huffed, nibbling on the doughnut. “I barely slept last night okay, give me a break.” Try not sleeping at all because I was too busy being a wolf, but this guy didn’t need to know that.

Make that this suuuper hot, mouth-watering silver fox. Holy fuck, what had I done to deserve this sexy specimen at my front door? I let my eyes pour over him, from the silver hair falling around his rugged face in debonair strands, to his stubbled, square jaw, to his broad shoulders and tight fitting tweed suit. I tried not to linger too long on the cupid’s bow of his seriously-begging-me-to-kiss-them lips.

“Helloooo, daddy,” I purred, leaning against the doorframe and batting my eyelashes at him. “What brings you to my door? Need a cup of sugar? Want a tumble in the sheets? The answer’s yes to either, just so you know.”

“I’m from Blake Hall,” he replied, all stern and serious, like I ought to know what that was. He looked all sexy bristling and angry, his whiskey-brown eyes hard with a warning I gleefully ignored. “The correctional home for wayward and criminal supernaturals,” he went on, his jacket straining as he crossed his strong arms over his chest.

I gave him a wide-eyed stare. Criminal? Who, me? Not me, sir.

“Oh, no,” I breathed. “Has someone escaped? Is that why you’re here—to ask me if I’ve seen them in the area?” I batted my lashes, giving him a sultry smile. “I haven’t seen anyone, sir, but I promise I’d tell you if I had. I’m a good girl, see.”

His mouth thinned, and he shoved past me, rudely stalking into my living room with heavy footsteps.

“Hey!” I complained as he walked across my pretty mermaid-scale rug without taking his shoes off. He had the nerve to sink onto my couch, manspreading and looking annoyingly at home there. Huffing, I took mental inventory of the weapons I had stashed in the room, and lost count when I hit twenty-three. More than enough.

“Sit down,” he growled, and the sound was so powerful—so alpha—that the new wolfie part of me sat up and took notice. The human part of me bristled, already planning his murder. Except for my pussy. She had other plans, and explained them to me with very insistent throbs. It was a good plan. I was listening.

“This is my house,” I argued, planting my hands on my hips and staying by the door. “You don’t get to order me around, no matter how fancy your house is.”

His stare flattened with exasperation. I wanted to push him, to see what happened when he broke. But something told me that would take a long, lonnnnng time to happen, and I didn’t have the patience for it. Today. Maybe if he came back tomorrow when I’d had a full night’s sleep, I might feel differently.

I didn’t like the tiny smile at the edge of his mouth, or the way he stretched his legs out on my rug, confident and assured.

“Are you aware the supernatural community has a coven of seers on hand to alert them whenever someone develops new magic?”

F. U. C. Double K.

“What do you want?” I demanded, cutting through the small talk as I slammed the door shut. I didn’t want my very human neighbours witnessing this.

I wrapped my arms around my middle to disguise palming the tiny throwing knife from my leggings waistband. He was so unbelievably hot, but I’d still put a knife through his heart if he tried to hurt me.

That damned smirk kicked up higher on his stubbled face, and my clit throbbed. Not the fucking time, I hissed at my dripping pussy. He was probably here to kill me, or arrest me, and I was not getting turned on by his threatening aura.

Except, I so was getting turned on by his threatening aura.

I probably needed counselling for that.

“I don’t want anything, Miss Falcon,” he replied, smugly calm. That term fit him well—smugly calm. The smugly calm bastard.

“Son of a bitch,” I hissed at his reply. He knew my name—and my witch line. I was so screwed, and not in the way my pulsing clit wanted.

“But the seers foresaw that your magic is volatile,” he added, watching me like a hawk. Or a predatory wolf.

“I don’t even have magic,” I grumbled, stalking over to the couch to sit too damned close to him. Hoooly fuck, he smelled good, like woodsy herbs and spice. Was that peppercorn? I resisted the urge to lean in and lick him, just to be sure. “Ask anyone,” I went on, tightening my hold on my little knife. “Everyone knows I’m a dud.”

His smirk deepened, and I swayed towards him as he faced me full-on. Damn, his aura, his bearing, his scent … everything pulled me towards him. I wanted to climb onto his lap and ride him like a rodeo, and my muscles ached with the force of holding back. “You were a dud, but you must have taken a stroll in the moonlight last night.” The smirk became a knowing grin. “And your wolf form unlocked your hidden witch powers.”

My mouth fell open, and I forgot to be glarey. “So that’s what happened.”

His smug grin appeared here to stay. I wanted to kiss it off his face just because that cockiness was too damn tempting, but … that might have been defeating the object. “It is. And it leaves us with a problem. Your magic is volatile, and you have no idea how to control it or your wolf form. Wolf aggression could turn a sweet girl into a ruthless killer.”

I giggle-snorted.

Sweet girl? Aw, he was being nice to me.

“I’m serious,” he growled, full of dominance and alpha-ness. I shuddered, tingly and hot all over, and shuffled an inch closer without fully meaning to. “You’re dangerous now.”

“I was dangerous before,” I said with a laugh, and booped him on the nose.

His expression went dark with warning, all deliciously violent. Fuck, I’d love to fight with him. The two of us rolling on the floor, hot and sweaty, flashing knives and sharp canine teeth…

“Miss Falcon,” Mr Hot and Threatening growled, and I blinked my fantasies free.

“Hmm? Sorry, were you saying something? I was having a very good daydream. Would you like to know what was happening in it?” I gave him a winning smile.

“No,” he replied flatly, his low voice sending shivers down my spine. “Pay attention; this is important.”

I sat cross-legged and straight-backed on the sofa, twisting to face him with what I hoped was an attentive expression. I might have thrust my chest out a tad. Sue me. “Attention paid,” I promised. “Go ahead, Sexy Sir.”

I could see his irritation mounting, but he reined it in. That was no fun. “You’ve been put on a watch list of dangerous supernaturals, which gives you two choices. You can come back to Blake Hall with me, where we can monitor your power—and your shifts—and help you master both.”

“You can master anything you want,” I purred—and then blinked at the way his eyes darkened to full black. “Ah. I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” he growled, leaning towards me as if he couldn’t help himself, either.

“What’s my other choice?” I asked. “You said I had two.”

“You’ll be forced to register, and your magic will be stripped.”

“Yeah, no thank you,” I replied instantly. I might not have known this magic existed, or have particularly wanted it, but it was mine. I wasn’t giving it up. Plus, the idea of becoming a badass witch and turning up at a Falcon family dinner, blasting the whole thing to pieces with my immense power … that sounded like fun. Like justice and revenge and all the other things I loved.

“Good.” He nodded, standing in a controlled rush. Damn, the way he moved … I knew he’d be amazing in bed. “Pack your things, we’ll leave in ten minutes.”

Laughter rushed up my throat and burst out in a bright sparkle of sound. “Sorry to hurt your feelings, but I’m not moving in with you.”

“You come, or you get stripped,” he replied, arms crossed over his chest. His poor tweed jacket strained at the seams.

“If you want me to come…” I gave him a suggestive smile, getting slowly to my feet and prowling closer. “I’m not going to argue. But I’m not moving into your fancy-ass hall.”

“Then you lose your magic.” He shrugged, as if he couldn’t care less.

I scowled. Of course there was option C—kill him. It was a shame he had to die, but needs must. I tensed my muscles to end him—

But no matter how I held the knife in my hand, I couldn’t bring my arm to swing it, couldn’t plunge the blade into his throat. I couldn’t even try to hurt him, and I glared at my hand as if it had betrayed me. Because it fucking had!

“What have you done to me?” I growled at the sexy bastard, throwing aside my tiny knife so hard it embedded in the wall. I stalked back to the couch, digging under the cushions until I found a blowpipe. Knives were my preferred weapons, but I was a tad annoyed with my steel right now. Yet when I set the pipe to my mouth, I couldn’t find the air to fill it, couldn’t get my lips to purse.

Hot and Threatening started chuckling, a low, sexy sound that sent heat throughout my body, building into a throaty laugh that filled my quiet front room.

“What?” I demanded, throwing the pipe aside too. Useless thing.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, still laughing. His brown eyes sparkled, his posture easing.

“Yes!” I snarled. “Why won’t you die already?”

He moved suddenly and without warning, and I didn’t move fast enough to escape him. A hot, broad hand closed around my throat, and the groan that rattled my throat was pure sex and wanton need.

Whoops. I definitely needed counselling.

“Because, Miss Falcon,” he said with great relish, “you cannot kill your mate.”