In the Witching Hour Read online

  IN THE WITCHING HOUR

  A paranormal romance anthology

  With stories by

  Stephanie Bedwell-Grime

  Ashley Ladd

  S.A. Martin

  C.H. Scott

  A Pirate’s Life © copyright October 2004, Stephanie Bedwell-Grime

  Adopt-A-Demon © copyright October 2004, Ashley Ladd

  The Sacrifice © copyright October 2004, Shirley Martin

  The Seductress © copyright October 2004, C.H. Scott

  Cover Art by Amber Moon

  ISBN 1-58608-217-5

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  A Pirate’s Life

  By

  Stephanie Bedwell-Grime

  CHAPTER ONE

  He slept the deep, featureless sleep of the undead, unbothered by mortal concerns. Outside the summer sun seared the pavement. Inside his lair, blackout curtains cast his loft in impenetrable darkness. From out of the shadows, he heard the shrill ringing of his phone. Adrian rolled over, scattering black satin sheets. Let the machine get it, he thought and pulled the quilted comforter up over his ears. With a beep, his answering machine kicked in.

  "Adrian Strachan," his voice mail proclaimed, "is not available...."

  Frazier MacAdam's explosive sigh sputtered through the answering machine's tiny speaker. "Look Adrian, I hate to bother you in the middle of the day, but we've got something you ought to have a look at. So, if you're there, will you pick up the phone?"

  If Frazier called in the middle of the afternoon, it had to be an emergency. Frazier was the best detective the police force had. With a resigned groan, Adrian groped for the receiver, scattering the mess on his bedside table. Something glass crashed to the floor. He ignored it and wrestled the phone from its cradle.

  "What's up?" He got out the two syllables without slurring. His voice sounded thick even to his own ears. His body's sluggishness told him the sun was still well above the horizon. The long days of summer complicated his life in ways mere mortals would never understand.

  "Wake you up?"

  He tossed the black satin eye mask onto the covers beside him and ran a hand through his blond hair. "It’s the middle of the afternoon, what do you think?"

  He forced his brain to work, though every cell in his body screamed for the quiet blankness of sleep. At least until the sun went down. He glanced at the red LED numerals on his bedside clock. Four forty-five p.m. The summer sun wouldn't be setting for almost five hours.

  "We've found another cruiser dead in the water."

  Okay … that was unusual, but not supernatural. Certainly nothing that required his particular expertise. "Where?"

  "Washed up on the shore of Ontario Place."

  Couldn't find a more conspicuous spot than a waterfront tourist attraction in summer, Adrian thought darkly.

  "You still there?"

  "Yeah, Frazier. Still half asleep."

  "Well, wake up. This one's got a body floating in it. A couple of pleasure boaters saw it floating out by the Islands. Current dragged it up on the beach by Cinesphere."

  Still, there had to be more to it. Frazier wouldn’t have bothered him for a routine murder. "And?"

  "The body’s been completely drained of blood."

  Now he was awake. Adrian sat up. He threw off the rumpled covers and kicked aside the pile of clothes he’d left on the floor when he went to bed that morning. His mind raced ahead. Only one kind of creature drained a body of blood. "Neck wounds?" he asked Frazier.

  "Yeah," the detective answered. "Two. Right over the jugular."

  Now that was unusual. His kind went to great lengths to conceal their existence. No one he knew would be so bold.

  "…and with Kiana off on holiday," Frazier was saying, "and Yorgason taking a bullet, we're a little short staffed. I could really use your expert advice."

  Adrian rubbed a hand across his eyes, willing his sparsely decorated loft into focus. "Okay, I'll be right there."

  "Knew I could count on you," Frazier said with relief. "But since it’s the middle of the afternoon, how exactly are you going to do this?"

  "Give me half an hour, I’ll have something figured out by then."

  Somehow, in the middle of a sunny afternoon, he had to get to Ontario Place. He didn’t relish the thought of explaining to a cab driver that he wanted to ride downtown in the trunk of the car. But it was either that, or trust that the thin coating of that new zinc paste he’d been experimenting with would stop him from turning into a man-sized torch at the first ray of sun.

  Nowadays, sometimes weeks passed when he could almost believe he was human. Until he hit upon a complication as simple as sunshine.

  "Days like this, I really hate being a vampire," he muttered to himself. Moira had never warned him there'd be days like this. But then, Moira had never been known to concern herself with the affairs of mortals.

  Truth be told, neither had he. Once he had reveled in his vampiric nature, lurking in the darkness, living off humans like so much cattle. During his long life he’d committed atrocities too numerous to count. He would have been happy to continue his reign of terror, but an unlikely rescuer had put him on the path to redemption.

  Her intervention had changed his life. Since then he’d made his peace with humanity, determined to do good instead of evil.

  Five years ago he’d saved Detective Frazier MacAdam from a brutal attack by thugs. Since then the two had become good friends. Frazier was the only human being who knew his true nature. And in return for his silence, Adrian had helped the detective with his more unusual cases. Despite their friendship, he had the feeling the detective didn’t entirely trust him. Frazier went to great lengths to keep Adrian away from his new female partner, Kiana.

  Apparently the partner was off on holiday. And it sounded like Frazier could use his particular expertise. With a groan he levered his sleep-heavy body from the bed and trudged off toward the shower.

  Ice-cold water shocked him back to consciousness. Adrian stood before the mirror and contemplated the jar of flesh-colored zinc. Now seemed like as good a time as any to try it out.

  Two weeks ago, he’d coated a quarter-sized patch of his hand with the zinc and exposed it to the weak morning sun. The paste had protected him for over five minutes. But now he was facing a drive downtown in a convertible.

  Should have bought a hearse, he thought in darkest humor. At least they were dark inside and he'd have the benefit of those little gray curtains.

  In the mirror, his reflection stared back at him. Pale as a ghost. More accurately, a vampire. His shoulder-length, blond hair was only one shade darker than his skin. Emerald green eyes stared back at him with a preternatural glow. With a grimace, Adrian stuck his finger into the pot of sunscreen and smeared a line of zinc across his cheek.

  It had taken him weeks to get the mixture smooth and light enough to mimic real skin. The concoction gave him a healthy glow. He looked almost....

  Human.

  Looking human wouldn't save him from the sun's inferno. Adrian hesitated at the door to his loft. Better safe than burned to a cinder. Rooting in a trunk on the floor of his closet, he came up with a black ski mask. He'd used the scratchy wool face protection only once before and didn't relish the opportunity to do it again. But he pulled it on anyway and added a black fedora to the outfit. Sunglasses, guaranteed to block ultraviolet rays, went on over the mask. Already uncomfortably hot, he sighed then pulled his black trench coat from the closet
. Straightening his shoulders, Adrian flung open the door to his apartment and prepared to face the light.

  He made it to the garage door before courage deserted him. Fear rooted him to the thick shadows. Outside, he could feel the caustic heat of the sun still dangerously high in the sky. It didn’t help that once in his life, he'd barely escaped being burned to a crisp. It made the sun and anything else that could burn doubly scary.

  This potion had to work, he thought. He forced himself to reach out, grasp the handle of the garage door. Wrapping his will around his fear, Adrian hauled it open.

  Blinding light spilled into the garage. He tensed, ready to dash back into the shadows of his apartment.

  Underneath the heavy wool of his ski mask his skin prickled in outrage. Adrian dragged in a shuddering breath and ordered tense muscles to relax. Above him the sun beat down mercilessly on him. He felt its heat through the mask. Vampiric instincts screamed at him to take cover. He sucked in another breath, trying to conjure up comforting memories from his long forgotten past.

  Visions of a grassy meadow, an azure sky and soft spring breeze flitted through his mind. After nearly five hundred years, it was hard to grasp the insubstantial memory. But the sensation of warm sun on his face lingered. He tried to reconstruct the sensation of comforting warmth, but so many years of instinct were not so easily ignored.

  Swallowing his fear, Adrian inched further into the light. With dread a leaden weight in his stomach, he waited for the searing pain, the gray smoke, the terrible smell of his own flesh bursting into flame.

  Sun glared relentlessly down on him. An itch started in the tips of his fingers, then spread out over his arms and down his spine. He felt it reach deeper still, penetrating to the bone. But when the tingle hadn't turned to agony and his skin hadn't burst into flame, he stretched his arm further into the light.

  For a moment he could only stand there, marveling that he hadn't turned into a torch. The urgency of the situation got through to him, and he leapt into his gunmetal green Miata.

  Driving proved to be more of a challenge than he anticipated. Brightness made his eyes tear, even with the sunglasses. How could human drivers bear all that brightness and glare? No wonder they had so many accidents. Adrian blinked tears from his eyes and pulled into traffic.

  A car full of blonde teenaged girls pulled up beside him as he turned onto Lakeshore Boulevard. Adrian endured their giggles stoically, wishing he could tear off the ski mask and give them a glance at his true face. Tall, blond-haired and green eyed, he knew women found him pleasing to look at. Their interest would turn quickly to horror if he allowed them a glimpse of his true self. But instead he sat shrouded in felt and wool and endured the ridicule of women barely past childhood.

  "It's come to this," he muttered, burning rubber as he pulled away.

  By the time he reached the waterfront, the sun had dipped below the tree line, shrouding the landscape in the kind of light photographers called the magic hour. Red and blue flashing lights of the metro cruisers drew him to the crime scene.

  Holding his breath, he pulled off the mask. Weak light, cast by the absent sun illuminated the waterfront with a soft lavender glow. Carefully, he turned his face toward the light. It prickled like his skin was crawling with scorpions, but so far no blistering. He decided to leave on the hat, sunglasses and coat just in case. Shrouded head to foot in black, he looked conspicuously out of the place in the warm June afternoon. But it was better than being turned to a man-sized lump of ash. Gingerly, he stepped from the Miata and strode across the grass doing his best to project more self-assurance than he felt.

  "The coroner estimates the time of death to be about twelve hours ago," he heard Frazier say as he walked up. "As for the cause--" he stopped, mid sentence. "Give me a second, will you."

  Frazier’s tan jacket and brown pants practically screamed cop, Adrian thought. Stocky with red hair, amber eyes and a million freckles, he gave the impression of being eternally twenty-one. But the bright sun betrayed lines in the corners of his friend’s eyes. And anyone who crossed Frazier MacAdam would find it hard to forget his Scottish wrath.

  "Just get me past the police tape and inside," Adrian hissed as soon as Frazier reached him.

  One of the uniformed cops jerked a shoulder in Adrian’s direction. "Who’s the guy in black?"

  "No one you need to worry about," Frazier shot back.

  "He’s not ... wearing make-up, is he?"

  Frazier glanced at Adrian, taking in the odd color of the vampire’s skin for the first time. He choked down a laugh, then shot the officer a stern look. "Don’t you have some paperwork to do?" The officer wandered off muttering.

  Mercifully Frazier snatched Adrian away from prying eyes. "Shall we--"

  He marched off down the grassy slope to the shore of Lake Ontario where a cabin cruiser lay crookedly on the beach. The insignia 'Gone Sailing' was scrawled across the back of the boat, barely readable beneath the scratches and dirt. A line of yellow and black police tape staked out the sand around it. With one last glance at the fading sunlight, Adrian hurried to catch up to him.

  * * * *

  She’d chosen the right week for a vacation, Kiana Douglas thought as she turned onto the bike path that ran along the lakeshore. So far the weather had been spectacular. The sun spattered the lake in splashes of red as it hung low on the horizon. The day’s heat had dissipated, making the early evening perfect for a bike ride.

  But as she neared the Ontario Place grounds, she saw the flashing lights of police cars pulled up at the gates. She slowed to a stop, debating what to do. She was on holiday, and Frazier was perfectly capable of handling things. Still, duty called. As a third-generation police officer, she just couldn’t ignore it.

  With a sigh, she locked her bike to a tree and strode down the pathway to the nest of police cars. Shading her eyes, she squinted against the early evening sun looking for Frazier MacAdam’s trademark tan jacket among the sea of blue uniforms. But it was the tall man with the pale golden hair wearing a black trench coat in ninety-degree heat that caught her attention.

  "Bingo," she whispered. Frazier’s mysterious informant. His pipeline to the underworld. The man in black who turned up any time something unusual happened. Not that Frazier would ever admit he had a snitch. That in itself was unusual enough. As partners, they shared everything, including the details of her blind dates and failed relationships, even the gory details of Frazier’s fights with his wife. It was unlike him to keep secrets about work from her. She knew Frazier well enough to know there had to be a reason. And for that reason, he intrigued her.

  Memories of the night she’d first caught sight of him stirred inside her. She’d been leaving the office for the weekend when she spied a quick note scrawled in Frazier’s handwriting. It named a spot outside an abandoned warehouse. Intrigued, she’d followed Frazier to the rendezvous.

  It had rained that night, coating the city in a sheen of moisture that reflected the streetlights. They’d met on the outskirts of the factory property. Standing under the persistent drizzle, they’d talked for no more than five minutes. But then, as they left in different directions, the mystery man turned into the light from the streetlights, and Kiana saw his face for the first time.

  He had a classic face. High cheekbones gave him an aristocratic look. But his strong nose and sculpted face were set off by a mouth to die for. A slight smile quirked those full, tempting lips as he turned to glance in her direction, as if he could see her plain as day where she hid in the shadows.

  The man was gorgeous. But it wasn’t his startling good looks that plucked at her curiosity. As the light hit the harsh planes of his face, she saw what he kept hidden from Frazier. In those emerald-green eyes, she saw a lifetime of pain and regret. The impression lasted only an instant before he camouflaged it with a polite glance. But it was enough to pique her interest.

  Valuable information had changed hands that night. The following day Frazier acted on an anonymous tip and s
olved a murder that had been sitting in the open file for months.

  Kiana wanted in on his action. And she wanted a closer look at Frazier’s mysterious informant, because once she’d caught a glimpse of those mesmerizing green eyes, he’d haunted her dreams ever since.

  Haunted in a delightful, yet vaguely disturbing way. Until then, her dreams had been disjointed scenarios of police work. But after that one elusive glance, she’d begun to have torrid dreams starring none other than Frazier’s informant--minus the black trench coat, she thought with a wry smile.

  Today she was going to meet Frazier’s snitch. Whether she was on holiday or not.

  * * * *

  Adrian sensed her presence before she crested the hill behind them. It was Frazier’s partner, the lovely Kiana Douglas, who was supposed to be safely away on vacation. A brief smile crossed his lips. At first he’d been angry that the young detective had followed them to their meeting place, but then he caught sight of the female officer. She was a sight that lingered in his mind long after he’d tried to forget about her. Her cropped brown hair made her dark eyes seem too large for her face. She was slight, yet muscular. But there was no mistaking her gamine look for innocence. The stern set of her mouth said she was all business. She practically shone with ambition.

  Adrian knew Frazier had been livid when he’d been assigned the daughter of Police Chief Vincent Douglas as a partner. But according to Frazier, the younger Douglas turned out to be as hard working as her old man and a lot easier on the eyes. Before he knew it, Frazier had become like an older brother to Kiana--which meant keeping her away from the likes of Adrian Strachan. Frazier had admitted that she chafed at his misguided efforts to protect her. She’d insisted that police work was in her blood. She’d also spent the last few months trying to catch another glimpse of him.

  "So, what's up?" Kiana said from behind them. Without turning, Adrian could already tell her gaze had roved over him, taking in the gloves, the hat, the long trench coat, and every other detail she could garner without frisking him.