Carpe Demon (Carus #3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for J. C. McKenzie’s Carus Series

  Carpe Demon

  Copyright

  Dedication

  “Ever notice ‘Demon’ in the word Pandemonium? Coincidence? I think not.”

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  The Demon’s grin widened. Standing a foot away from him with no room to maneuver and nothing to separate us, the serrated details of his shiny enamel glared at me.

  My fingertips tingled as I started to shift.

  Not fast enough.

  The Demon lunged. His long nimble fingers closed around my neck as I shot my hands out, inside his arms, and dug my claws into his face. My elbows pushed against the insides of his arms. His hold should’ve weakened, but this Demon possessed uncanny strength. His frame stretched, growing to almost eight feet in height and giving his body an emaciated appearance. He pulled me close, his nose touching mine. I wrenched to the side, but my toes dangled above the floor.

  “Bola sends his regards,” he said, his breath hitting my face.

  My gums stung as fangs protruded, and I hissed at him, ready to make the full change and get my fight on. I yanked on the mountain lion and spurred her into action.

  “By all means, little nugget, shift into one of your animals.” He gnashed his sharp teeth together. “I love to rend the flesh of livestock, to mutilate the bodies of creatures, and to smash the bones of beasts.”

  Praise for J. C. McKenzie’s Carus Series

  “SHIFT HAPPENS is a fast-paced, humorous, sexy paranormal. If you like your heroine to be butt kicking and brave…then you will love Andrea.”

  ~Annetta Sweetko, Fresh Fiction

  ~*~

  “There was action, sexual tension galore, alpha males, a stubborn heroine that you don’t want to tick off, a smidgen of romance, some suspense, loads of danger, and a uniqueness that will have you deeply hooked.”

  ~Brenda Demko, Crazy Four Books

  ~*~

  “…wonderful cast of supporting characters…Blond Norse-god-like werewolf Wick, sinfully handsome (or is that sinful and handsome?) human servant Clint, chiseled-featured Asian vampire Allan, and the citrus & sunshine wereleopard Tristan (meow!)”

  ~Charlotte Copper, Author of Heart Shifter

  ~*~

  “Sassy, snarky action, packed with wonderful one-liners and irreverent laughs, J. C. McKenzie delivers a wonderful paranormal romance in BEAST COAST.”

  ~Katie O’Sullivan, Author of My Kind of Crazy

  ~*~

  “Non-stop action, kick-ass heroine, two tempting love interests, and a whole lot of supernatural excitement. Five ++ stars!”

  ~C.J. Burright, Author of Wonderfully Wicked

  ~*~

  “Ms. McKenzie has a fun style of writing, part humor, part sass that rounds out a good plot.”

  ~Karilyn Bentley, Author of Demon Lore

  Carpe Demon

  by

  J. C. McKenzie

  A Carus Novel, Book 3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Carpe Demon

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by J. C. McKenzie

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Black Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0146-4

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0147-1

  A Carus Novel, Book 3

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my son, with love.

  Your cackling laughter and wide smile

  always warm my heart, even on the coldest days.

  ~*~

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my incredible critique partners and beta readers: Jo-Ann Carson, Charlotte Copper, Shelly Chalmers, Katie O’Sullivan, and Karilyn Bentley. You guys rock!

  ~*~

  I’d also like to thank my publisher, the Wild Rose Press, for the support and for believing in this series.

  ~*~

  A big hearty thank you to the cover designer, Debbie Taylor of DCA Graphics, for another outstanding cover. It’s gorgeous and I love it.

  ~*~

  Thank you to my editor, Lara Parker, who wrote me an email to tell me she hadn’t finished it yet, but she loved it and, “Girl, you better resolve this right! Ha, ha!” Thank you, Lara, for the laughs, and all your support and help. This book truly shines (at least in my eyes) because of your input.

  ~*~

  To my family, friends and readers: thank you for your continued support. I really appreciate it.

  ~*~

  Finally, last but not least, and always on my mind and in my heart, to my husband and son, thank you. I love you both.

  “Ever notice ‘Demon’ in the word Pandemonium? Coincidence? I think not.”

  ~Andrea “Andy” McNeilly

  Chapter One

  “We’re more interesting if we are dysfunctional.”

  ~Rupert Everett

  When I thought of all the things I’d rather be doing right now, most ideas that came to mind involved large quantities of chocolate and alcohol. None included hanging out with blood-sucking fiends stuffed in designer suits. They pretended to be civil, but their dead odours and cold expressions gave them away for the monsters they really were.

  Two steps behind Lucien, the Master Vampire of British Columbia’s Lower Mainland, I bent my head in false supplication, and envisioned punching him in the back of the neck. Andy McNeilly, the all-mighty Carus, reduced to basic security detail.

  Subtle night fragrances of summer, lilac and jasmine, drifted through streams of decay, and the lingering heat of the day clung to my skin. Sandwiched between Lucien’s Werewolf Alpha and his Vampire second-in-command, I itched to run free into the summer’s warm night, to rip off this tight black pencil skirt and cream satin blouse that made me look like a cream puff, and sink
my claws into sun-warmed soil to race through the moon-lit forest.

  But I couldn’t.

  Blood bonded to the Master Vampire, I had to do his bidding. As much as I detested waiting on Lucien like a glorified body guard, it beat the alternative—a blood bag to quench his thirst. Thankfully, I wasn’t his type.

  Hah!

  Expensive artwork hung in heavy ornate frames and a super-sized, bright red Persian rug with intricate patterns decorated the black marble flooring. The air in the large boardroom ran stale as the Vampires of the North American Vampire Association (NAVA) debated an alliance with the Demons. The underworld had grown increasingly volatile in the last few months, and the Vampires of NAVA wanted to subdue the unrest, and at the same time, increase their own power.

  I’d almost punched a fellow agent in the junk fifteen years ago when he told me about NAVA at the Supernatural Regulatory Division’s training camp. I thought he’d made it up to help me fail the SRD’s boot camp, but I passed, and sadly, the association was very real.

  NAVA probably existed before the Purge, but under a more archaic, less norm-friendly name, like the New World Berserkers or the Nosferatu Kings. Lucien had pursed his lips and refused to answer when I’d asked.

  They didn’t have a webpage. I checked.

  Currently, NAVA debated some obscure point, and the argument flip-flopped between various languages. I had many skills as a Carus, but multilingualism was not one of them.

  When will this be over? I asked, using mind speech. Is it wrong to wish someone goes into a blood rage and rips into some of these suckheads?

  Steve warned me about this, Wick, the Alpha Werewolf standing beside me, replied in my head. As a Were, he could mind speak with members of his pack…and me. His voice rubbed against my brain cells and sent my focus to a screeching halt as my heart took a swan dive in my chest. The wolf familiar inside my mind paced back and forth, urging me to rip off my clothes for a different reason. My wolf fera wanted to mate with Wick, and the feeling was mutual. Most of the time.

  The wolf wasn’t the only voice inside my head.

  Wick leaned in, bringing his delicious scent closer to me. A present day Norse god. Tall, muscular and blond, with chiseled features, but instead of Viking blue, his eyes were melted dark chocolate.

  I had a sweet tooth.

  His sugar and rosemary aroma wrapped around me in a silent hug and warded off the otherwise unpleasant stench of the room.

  What did Steve say about me? I asked, trying to distract my raging hormones. Wick’s enforcer, Steve, had accompanied me and Clint the last time I’d been forced to a NAVA event.

  He said you have an inherent disregard for your own well-being. A berserk Vampire on a rampage is the last thing we need right now. It’s not good for anyone’s health. Including yours.

  I huffed. This is boring. Half the time I have no clue what they’re saying, and the rest of the time, I want to poke their eyes out. Look at them! Fifty Vampires and fifty human servants, and no decisions. Certainly no shades of gray. They should revise the “too many cooks in the kitchen” saying to something more applicable to…whatever this is.

  I would rather be bored at a Vampire summit than any of the alternatives, Wick said.

  You’re no fun.

  I’m plenty fun. Just say the word, Andy, and I’ll show you.

  My body flooded with warmth. I swallowed, and glanced over at Wick. He stood, soldier straight, watching the Vampires. He acted like the perfect Werewolf minion. The slight tug at the corner of his lips his only giveaway.

  Lick, my wolf rumbled with approval.

  Things were complicated between me and the Werewolf Alpha of the Vancouver pack. I’d spent most of the trip here trying to act indifferent toward him, but my libido and wolf had other ideas.

  Allan leaned in from the other side and whispered into my ear, “Unless the two of you are planning to let me watch, shut the fuck up.”

  Wick’s head snapped to glare at the Vampire, but Allan ignored the Werewolf’s death stare and returned to diligent guard mode.

  I clamped my mouth shut, and studied Allan. As Lucien’s second in command, he was probably the largest Asian Vampire I’d ever seen. Without a pinch of fat, he stretched the seams of his designer suit, and his angular features made him way more handsome than he deserved. We mutually tolerated each other. He liked to feed off fear and push my buttons; I liked a Vampire who didn’t want to drink, beat or bed me, but no trust existed between us. With reading minds as his special Vampire skill, not mind speech, I constantly found myself on edge around him. He could pluck thoughts out of my head.

  How much longer? I asked no one in particular.

  Wick answered. We should hear the closing remarks from those opposed, then break, then vote. Pay attention.

  He was right, of course. I should pay closer attention. As much as I hated Lucien for blood bonding me against my will and dragging me to this cursed event, his continued good health was imperative to mine. At least until I found a way out of this blood bond.

  “Think of me as another fera in your head, dear Carus,” Lucien had said after the forced bonding. “A blood sucking one.”

  My mountain lion sprang up in my mind and hissed at the memory. Not prey.

  I needed to slip this bond in a way that would keep Wick safe. Lucien liked to use the Werewolf Alpha against me. Another reason I attempted to keep Wick at tail’s length.

  “Objections?” a Vampire barked out. My thoughts faded, and I focused on the present.

  A Vampire stood up, and a hush fell over the others. Long slender neck, elongated face with high cheekbones and a sharp chin, almond-shaped eyes, full lips, delicate arms and fingers on a tall, willowy frame; despite looking almost delicate, the Vampire radiated strength so powerful it hung heavy in the air. His scent carried across the room. Ancient, the regular Vampire cloy of death and blood faint to nonexistent. He smelled instead of old dried leaves, like the ones at the end of summer before the autumn rains started.

  His gaze travelled over the crowd, but he remained silent.

  My newest animal familiar pressed against my legs and trembled. The ghost-like fox fera had slept soundly at my feet, and I’d forgotten she’d come with me. While my other feras remained in my head like sentient thoughts, I’d expelled Red from my mind a couple of months ago. I couldn’t shift into a fox anymore, but my mind was no longer a chaotic battleground for fera dominance games either. Now Red accompanied me everywhere like a ghost pet, but only I could see, feel and speak to her.

  I looked up from my quivering fera in time to observe the strange Vampire sit down. Fabric rustled as other Vampires fidgeted and shuffled in their seats. Everyone else remained frozen like the veggies in my freezer.

  Anticlimactic, much?

  Who’s that? I asked Wick.

  The Pharaoh, he replied.

  Instantly, the classic 80s song about walking like Egyptians popped into my head. Good song for karaoke with my next door neighbours. Those Witches loved hits from the past. I mentally sang along with the chorus. Way-oh-way-oh-way-ooo-aaa-ooo…

  Allan grumbled and pinched his nose. I flashed him a smile. Mental note: more singing in my head. Allan loves it.

  Said Vampire clenched his jaw, but kept his gaze forward.

  After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, the host of events stood up. Ian cleared his throat and spoke. “We will reconvene in half an hour for the vote.”

  Lucien rose out of his seat with fluid grace and tugged at his shirt cuffs, looking the ever-perfect Italian runway model. He nodded at his human servant, who rose to stand with him.

  Tall and built like a brick house, Clint’s broad shoulders made a girl want to learn how to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Except me. I wanted to take a wrecking ball to him and sing about it.

  Peck his face, my falcon demanded.

  Later, I told her.

  Lucien and Clint turned and looked at the rest of our group with expressionless faces.
Without words, we followed as they moved out of the boardroom with the rest of the Vampires and their entourages. The exits opened into a grand ballroom with exquisite furnishings, and tapestries.

  “Lucien!” a deep voice called. The mass of observers parted like the Red Sea to allow Ian through. Attractive like the rest of his kind, Ian resembled a young Rob Lowe and carried himself with enough swagger to put a pimp to shame. A lean, mean, blood-drinking machine clung to his arm. One of the rare female Master Vampires in the boardroom, she appraised, then dismissed me as they approached.

  “Ian,” Lucien greeted the other Vampire. I could never tell with these guys whether they were happy or annoyed to see each other. Guess I’d have to wait until they started snapping at each other’s necks. When I’d met Ian at the last Vampire get-together, Clint described him as both friend and foe, which in fitting with all-things-Clint, told me nothing.

  “Lucien,” Ian repeated as he closed the distance and stood beside us. His slow, calculated smile spread. “I hoped you’d be here and share a drink with me.”

  Ian’s gaze fell on me, and my spine snapped ramrod straight. My knees locked. His attention gave little doubt as to what, or whom, he wanted to drink.

  Gross!

  Ian’s gaze held no heat, only hunger as he studied me. Just another Vampire after his next meal. He spoke again, “I believe we met once, my dear, but Clint was negligent with introductions.”

  The woman on Ian’s arm sneered, but she assessed me again, and her expression turned thoughtful.

  “This is Ambassador Andrea McNeilly, of the SRD.” Lucien flipped a noncommittal hand my way. He didn’t mention the blood bond.

  Despite my fancy title as “Ambassador McNeilly,” the acting liaison between Lucien Delgatto’s Vampire horde and the Supernatural Regulatory Division, I essentially played the role of a slave—to both the SRD and the Master Vampire. Sometimes I wished I’d stayed in the forest as a mountain lion. Life was simpler.

  “She smells delicious,” Ian said.

  The female Vampire licked her lips and nodded.

  Not prey, my mountain lion hissed again, repeating her earlier statement.