Called: A Paranormal Romance (Midnight Huntress Book 1) Read online

  As I crawl into his bed and he turns off the lights, I can’t help but wonder if he always knew we’d end up like this, if he’d planned for it, like he plans for everything else.

  The Real Danger

  RYANNE

  My best friend’s cock is pressed against my ass.

  It’s a thought I never expected to have, let alone experience, but there’s no denying the rock-hard rod or the way Tyler’s hand has found its way under my tank top and is currently wrapped around my boob like he’s trying to hold onto me with it.

  Surprisingly, I’m not as disturbed as I feel like I should be.

  Carefully, I extricate myself from his arms, from his bed, and tiptoe into the kitchen, needing caffeine, aspirin, and the biggest dose of reality check as I can get. There’s no way there can be anything more going on than too much bourbon, the warmth of another body in bed, and typical manly responses to mornings and blood flow.

  There’s no way my best friend was trying to start anything, even in his sleep. Tyler’s not that kind of guy.

  As the coffee maker sputters and spits the first drips into the pot, I start rifling through his expertly organized kitchen, looking for things I can use to make breakfast. Food would help clear my head, I’m sure of it.

  Or a nice long ride on my motorcycle.

  It’s got to be the fact that I haven’t been with anyone in a while that’s making me consider Tyler as a real prospect.

  Maybe I’ll head back over to Molly’s Place tonight, see if I can’t find a guy who’s willing to get me off in the bathroom and never call me again. Just take the edge off.

  “Hey. You don’t have to do that. I can cook.” Tyler steps up to the island, looking half asleep with heavy eyes and tousled hair. His magnificent chest is bare, his sweats sagging way too low on his hips. His smile comes easy, natural, and it’s almost enough to make me believe he has no idea how I woke up.

  “You shared your bed. The least I can do is fry up some eggs and make some breakfast sandwiches.”

  “And a million dishes while you’re at it.” He comes closer, and I force my eyes to stay pec-level or higher. It’s bad enough he’s not wearing a shirt, showing off what all his clean living, exercise, and penchant for vegetables does for him. I don’t need to look and see if he’s still sporting morning wood. “Let me do the domestic work, you do what you’re best at. Grab your phone, check for any new alerts, and start mainlining coffee. I’m assuming you made this pot Ryanne-strength?”

  “Yep. If it’s not strong enough to wake the dead, what’s the point of drinking it?” I grab a mug and fill it with the dark liquid. “I don’t understand you people who like it blonde and weak.”

  Tyler shakes his head as I hop up to sit on the island, rather than taking one of the many chairs or stools he has available. “I’m pretty sure you were a feral street cat in another life. All fight, scrappy and spitting fire at anyone who tries to give you any comfort or love.”

  I grin. “It’s one of the many things you adore about me. Admit it.”

  He just shakes his head again as he starts breaking eggs into a sizzling hot pan.

  Even though I’d never go there with Tyler, I can’t help but admit there’s something sexy about a man who knows his way around a kitchen. Especially one who doesn’t complain when I tell him to add more cheese and bacon to my plate.

  He can keep the fresh fruit and egg whites he plates up for himself. Give me the greasy, cheesy, gooey breakfast sandwich any day of the week.

  “Come on, Ry. Join me at the table and pretend for five minutes that you’re a civilized human being.” He wafts my plate under my nose but pulls it away faster than I can grab it, making me hop off the counter and follow him.

  I frown. “You know, you used to love the fact that I was practically feral.” I snatch my plate and settle at the table with one foot up on another chair, twisted in my seat so that I’m perpendicular to the table and my plate’s still in my lap.

  He sits across from me, much more properly at the table, and sips his toned-down cup of coffee. His eyes trace over my face and take in my body language. “No one is asking you to be anything you’re not.”

  I glare at him. “That’s not what it feels like right now.”

  Tyler opens his mouth to argue, but my phone chimes and I rush off to find it before he can say anything. I don’t want to be a disappointment to anyone, but especially not him.

  “Morning report’s in. Let’s see who missed their court dates and needs a shiny new pair of bracelets today.” I grin as I pull open the email, scrolling through the list.

  So much of it is just more of the same. Minor offenders who would be minor thrill. I’m not crazy enough to think I need to be Ahab, chasing down the un-gettable get, my white whale. But I need something more than a couple of drunk drivers who got one too many traffic violations and a few petty crooks who failed at robbery.

  I just want a skip worth the hunt and a decent paycheck where maybe I can go on vacation.

  And then, I see him.

  The guy from Molly’s Place. Same dark hair, same cocky smirk, same exotic tan skin, and the same intense eyes that seem to burn almost as strongly through a cell phone photo as they had in real life.

  Warrants are out for his arrest. Described as slippery, as someone who’s almost a magician in the way he manages to evade law officers. Presumed very dangerous. Not to mention the dollar signs next to the skip.

  Now this is something worth my time.

  I head back to the kitchen table and pass my phone to Tyler before taking a big bite of my sandwich. “I want to nab that guy.”

  He glares at the phone like it’s personally offended him. He shakes his head as he passes the phone back. “Ry, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  My mouth falls open. “You don’t think I can do it?” I scowl and slump into the chair. “Come on, Tyler. I never miss.”

  “This is who I was looking into last night. I don’t think he’s a good fit for what we do.” His voice is stiff and monotone.

  I point at my phone. “The bounty out on his head says otherwise.”

  “He’s been in handcuffs over a dozen times, never made it into a cell. It’s like he sweettalks cops into letting him go. If they can’t bring him in, what makes you think you’ll be successful?” Tyler shakes his head. “Slippery is putting it mildly. Last time he got picked up, he somehow managed to not only walk out of the station in full view of several officers and cameras, but the cops who cuffed him were found in the interrogation room, fucking each other’s brains out. Both straight men with wives, by the way.”

  I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. “Are you kidding me? You’re telling me this guy…what? Convinced the cops to let him go so they could indulge in gay fantasies?”

  “I don’t know, Ry. I just don’t think he’s someone you want to mess with. Let this one go. We’ll catch the next white whale that swims past.”

  Shaking my head, I polish off the last of my breakfast and down my coffee. “I want this guy. He was at Molly’s last night.” I notice Tyler’s posture stiffen. “He’s probably still in the area. Probably celebrating the fact that no one can keep him in cuffs. I’m bringing him down.”

  “You don’t even know what he’s suspected of yet. At least let me do some research before you run off halfcocked.”

  “I don’t do anything halfcocked, or half-assed.” I smirk, hoping to get him to crack a smile or loosen up. I don’t like how serious he’s being about this skip. “But I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge either.”

  Tyler rubs his hands over his face. “I’m not asking you to back down. I know once you get the scent of a new skip, you don’t let go. I’m asking you to wait. A day, two tops.”

  I sigh and carry my coffee mug to the kitchen for another cup. I don’t get it. The guy is slippery, but it doesn’t sound like he’s overly dangerous. Why is Tyler being so weird about this one? I glance over at him. He’s not one to war
n me off without a good reason, but why won’t he just say it? “Fine,” I relent, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt for now. “If he’s really that slippery, I can’t imagine how waiting a couple days can hurt. But if he’s in the wind by the time I go after him, it’s your ass on the line.” And if I happen to run into the skip before Tyler comes up with whatever information he hopes to find, I’m not making any promises to not take the opportunity if it presents itself.

  Tyler looks disbelieving as he clears the plates from the table. “I’m going to have to keep one eye on you until I’ve done my research, aren’t I?”

  “Would that be the brown one, or the blue?” I smirk as I down the last of my second cup of coffee and stretch my hands over my head. “I should get dressed, and you should take me back to Molly’s to get my bike.”

  He shakes his head at me. “Why don’t you go after a couple of the lesser criminals on the list? I don’t want to have to worry about you going after Eranear Mathis until we know more information.”

  Eranear. An interesting name for an interesting man. I can’t wait to find out just how much trouble he is.

  While Tyler drives me back to Molly’s Place, I can’t help but think that our business would operate very differently if he were in charge. Tyler’s always been the cautious one in our friendship, the one to hold back, to think things through, to find the smoothest course of action.

  I’m the jump in both feet, cross the street without looking, run as fast and as hard as I can every time kind of girl.

  It hasn’t steered me wrong so far, and I have a hard time thinking it’s going to do me wrong now. At least not in regard to work. I know what I’m doing, I know how hard I can push a skip, which angles to come at them. I’ve never wanted to hunt animals, but I definitely appreciate the hunt of a skip.

  As if Tyler can tell that I’m calculating the risks of going after Eranear before he has his chance to do research, he leans over and puts his hand on my knee, saying, “Don’t break your promise, Ry. Just because you haven’t missed so far, doesn’t mean that a guy like that won’t end up doing some serious damage.”

  I pull up his “Wanted” post again, trying to figure out what it is that’s making Tyler so jumpy about this one. Bail jumping, warrants out, murder charges. He’s clearly not a good guy, but I don’t get what makes him so dangerous that I shouldn’t follow my instincts.

  But, for Tyler, I nod. “Honestly, I’m probably going to go home, get a workout in, shower, and go back to bed. Your place is too clean. And you snore.”

  Tyler’s eyes blaze with unreadable mirth. “Remind me you said that the next time you want to get shitfaced and sleep over. You thrash around like a kraken. I almost had to tie you to the bedpost.” There’s something else in his eyes, like maybe he knows exactly how I woke up this morning.

  But I’m thinking about being tied to the bed and being at Tyler’s mercy. I swallow around the lump in my throat as I remember his hand on my breast and his cock against my ass. “It was your idea, asshat.” With that I escape back into his bedroom to dress and collect myself.

  As I get onto my motorcycle and snap my helmet in place, I stare at my best friend through the windshield.

  I really don’t know how I’d live if it weren’t for him. Tyler keeps me sane. He keeps me grounded. And more than anything, he’s the person I know would miss me if I turned up dead in an alley. Probably the only one who’d be able to identify my body.

  He waits until I turn the engine over and spin the bike toward the road, watching me, probably making sure I actually leave.

  It’s fair.

  I don’t want to go back to the bar during daylight hours, though. If Eranear’s going to make the mistake of coming back here tonight, I don’t want to be here until after dark.

  My apartment is small, cramped, and sparse, decorated with the furniture it came with and a secondhand mattress I bought from some guy online. It’s a complete one-eighty from Tyler’s clean, well-cared for place, and I love it. It’s as close to a home as I’ve ever had and it’s all mine.

  I don’t have to share anything with anyone. Not my bedroom, not dishes or clothes. Granted, most of my wardrobe consists of some combination of what I’ve got on now—motorcycle boots, jeans, a tank top, and a leather jacket. But there is a section in the closet that Tyler refers to as my hooker garb. Short skirts, tight dresses, things that cling to my curves and only look good if I put on layers of shapewear before I pull them on.

  Some of the other bounty hunters I’ve interacted with over the years rolled their eyes when I’d show up dressed to attract attention, but I was always the one who took home the payday, even if it meant pressing a stiletto boot onto someone’s throat just enough for him to black out before I hauled him off to his rightful justice.

  I don’t care what others want to say about me. I’ll use all the tricks in my arsenal, if it ensures the check gets made out in my name at the end of the day.

  It’s usually all too easy to tell when a bounty’s going to be more comfortable with the soft, doe-eyed version of Ryanne, rather than the pierced, badass, kickboxer Ryanne that I usually bring along on the hunt.

  Eranear, though, is trickier. He had women hanging all over him last night, in every shape, every level of femininity. Hell, he even seemed to be flirting with some of the men in the bar. I don’t know whether he’d be more interested in soft, slutty, curvy me, or if he’d prefer a woman with a little bit of fight.

  Without making the decision, I strip out of my clothes and head straight for the shower, figuring I’d probably have to do some running or fighting if I do run into one of the names on the list. That could count as my work out for the day, right?

  By the time evening rolls around, I’m hyped up, ready for a fight.

  Searching for other bounties, when I know that Eranear’s in town, would’ve been like going after a goldfish when there’s a shark in the water.

  Not worth my time, and liable to get my ass bit.

  Opting for half dressy, I spend some time curling my long, black hair into structured waves, rather than the messy flyaway ponytail I usually rock, and then I pull on a corseted top that makes my boobs look huge and cinches me in without impairing my ability to move, to fight if I have to. I top off the look with jeans and boots with a low heel before I apply fierce eyeliner and a dark burgundy lipstick.

  It’s not the hooker chic I usually end up with, but it’s nicer than my biker chick normal look. It’ll do.

  The ring in my nose glints in the mirror as I take one final look to make sure everything’s in place before I head down to get into my own more sensible car.

  It’s not a silver sedan, and it stands out no matter where I park her, but I love my ’69 Shelby too much to trade her in for something boring and non-descript. She needs some lovin’; I’ve neglected her a little lately, but she’s still beautiful even if she’s a bit of a gas and oil guzzler.

  Besides, if I have to do a stakeout, Tyler’s always more than willing to oblige me his nondescript stake out vehicle.

  Molly’s Place is busy when I walk in, crowded even for a Saturday night.

  I’m almost worried I miscalculated. What if Eranear’s not here, and I got dressed up to tempt the skip for no reason?

  Sidling up toward the bar, I grab a beer as I survey the crowd, looking for any sign of my bounty. I figure it’s a given that he’ll be surrounded again, an easy mark to make, even with so many people jammed into the bar tonight.

  Instead of finding him, though, I see Tyler and immediately curse under my breath.

  Of course, he’s here.

  If he sees me, he’ll chew my ass out until the whole bar knows I’m a bounty hunter. Not to mention, he’ll be pissed I broke my promise.

  With the caliber of people who come into Molly’s, the last thing I need is for these unsavory folks to be able to pick me up out of a lineup.

  Quickly heading in the other direction, I find myself near the small, seldom used da
ncefloor with nowhere to sit, nowhere to even put my beer down.

  “Looking for someone?” The deep, rumbling voice purrs its way down into my core, and I’m almost tempted to let out a moan.

  Turning slowly, I come face to face with a six-foot-five-inch solid wall of muscle.

  “I’m Gage.”

  “Ryanne.” I hold out my hand, but I hardly expect him to actually take it. “No, I’m not looking for someone. Just somewhere to sit.”

  He gently twists my hand in his, bringing my knuckles up to his full lips for a soft kiss. His dark hair falls forward, almost hiding the salt-and-pepper grey at his temples.

  I ignore the intense fire in his hazel eyes as they flick up to meet mine, and gingerly extricate my hand from his.

  “Come sit with me. I have more than enough room at my table, and a woman like you shouldn’t be alone for long with these wild animals.” Gage pulls me toward a corner table that has good visibility of most of the bar and would allow me to put my back to a wall.

  Reluctantly, I drop down next to him, and peer out at the crowd. “Is something going on tonight? Did I miss a memo?”

  Gage just smirks and sips his clear, bubbly drink. “Something like that, maybe.”

  Supernatural Enforcement Agency

  GAGE

  I don’t know what compelled Ryanne to come into Molly’s Place alone tonight, dripping pheromones and looking like sex, but I’m not sorry I have a corner table all to myself.

  There’s no way the human woman could’ve known that tonight, the night of the first moon, is the monthly shifter get together in town. If she did, there’s no way she would’ve come in here, looking like that.

  Even I’m having a hard time ignoring her thick, curvy body, and the way she’s cinched in her waist with the plum-colored corset top. My panther is pacing irritably, his tail flicking against the walls of my chest at the same tempo of my heartbeat, which seems to have gone a little erratic caged in my ribs.