“Shatter the Earth” Cassandra Palmer 10 Karen Chance
Yeah. I scratched something that had imbedded itself near my hairline, and a couple bits of rubble fell out and hit the white tiled floor, making little clattering sounds. The attendant didn’t say anything, so I didn’t, either. I guessed we were both going to agree that hadn’t happened.
It was funny how you couldn’t tell now, I thought, staring. Like you couldn’t tell if a lot of the bodies around Vlad’s city of the dead were male or female, after a while. They just turned into corpses, blackened and split open, with ropes of trailing entrails festooned with maggots and dripping with unknown liquids. Mothers, fathers, lovers, friends; they were all the same in death, rotting under a cheerful blue sky . ..
Somebody had told me that war was a lot of serious tedium interspersed with moments of sheer terror, however. Which I thought described my job perfectly.
…liberated my new cat. Who looked in disbelief at my bed, which was round and so oversized that they needed a new designation for it. Orgy-sized maybe, because it could have fit ten, maybe twelve in a pinch.
You got it, I gritted out, after half a freaking hour. I had been awake for going on a day, under less than ideal conditions. My body ached, my brain was fried, and my eyes actually burned. I was going to sleep right now, damn it! Only I didn’t. I tossed and turned and tried every conceivable position. I plumped my pillow, changed it out for a different one, and then pounded that one into submission, too, before giving up and going back to the first one again. I put on a sleep mask. I took off a sleep mask, because I had black out curtains that my vamp bodyguards almost always kept closed even when they weren’t in here. I didn’t need a sleep mask, goddamnit! The problem was, I didn’t know what I needed.
Somebody had told me that warm milk helped insomnia. It sounded nasty, but I was willing to give it a try. Right now, I was willing to try anything. Of course, that required that I play the fun and exciting game of Hunt the Milk, which was no mean feat. The penthouse’s kitchen had been designed to feed a horde, with three fridges—two regular ones and a shorty under the counter—a standalone freezer, two wine coolers, another wine cooler that was used only for beer, and God knew what else. I didn’t, because I couldn’t find half of it! And what I could find, I often didn’t want
Tami, my friend and self-appointed life manager, and I had sat around one night shortly after we moved in playing “guess the item” with a couple drawers full of weird, one-use-only gadgets. We’d managed to correctly identify an avocado slicer, a carrot peeler, a pair of herb scissors, a strawberry stem remover (okay, we cheated with Google on that one) and a vertical egg cooker. Plus some stuff that even the search engine of the gods hadn’t been able to help us out with. Tami’s go-to greeting for visitors to the kitchen these days was to drag them over to the mystery item drawer and try to make them identify something.
I didn’t have an answer for her. It was one of a whole host of things I didn’t know, because this job didn’t get easier as you went along, like I’d expected. It actually seemed to be getting harder, which was a problem since I was already giving a hundred and fifty percent. Literally. I turned around and went back to bed.
Only you can’t. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” She leaned forward and put a hand on my arm. “Everybody wants a piece of you, all the time, but you can’t give it to them. They’ll take and take, until there’s nothing left. That’s how people are—”
I seriously contemplating just sleeping where I lay. The bed had one of those down-filled mattresses that grabs your ass like it’s trying to get handsy, and then draws you down into enveloping softness.
I groaned and put a hand to my head, where it felt like I had the mother of all hangovers. And the grandmother and great-grandmother as well, I thought, trying to take stock.
Now, if you please.” Damn it, Gertie! I thought. But I stomped over anyway. “What?” “Pear?” She offered me one. I looked at it blankly. It was fat and yellow, with a blushing bottom. It was a nice pear. It also made no sense at all. “What?” “Yes, I have an apple,” Gertie said, and jerked me inside. “What are you doing?” I demanded, because this was bizarre, even for her. But she just shushed me and turned me toward the crack in the door. It was still open maybe a quarter of the way, giving us a sliver of a view, although why we needed one, I didn’t know. I needed to get back—“Watch,” Gertie said, and ate pear. I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I watched anyway. Don’t argue with teacher, I thought. Only I didn’t know what I was supposed to be watching. The little girls were the easiest to see, still facing their wall. Or most of them were. One was playing with a doll she’d smuggled out, hidden in a fold of her dress, and another had squatted down to examine a fat green caterpillar. But most of the rest were dutifully reciting something, I didn’t know what, because it was in some other language. “A test,” Gertie said, her voice low. “For what?” “To see if they can age a flower.” I looked back at her. “How? They don’t have access to the Pythian power yet.” “No, they don’t,” she agreed. “The question is, can any of them get its attention?”
Or a fight, I thought, catching sight of the rest of the courtyard. “I told you I needed to get out there!” I said to Gertie, as my acolyte faced off with her own mother. I started forward, but Gertie pulled me back, and she was surprisingly strong for an old woman
Why London had what was essentially a petri dish of plague running through the city was beyond me, but it wasn’t my main concern
He’d come back for me, all right, but to capture not to kill. He’d started grafting souls onto his body, like adding apps onto a phone, and I was supposed to be his next upgrade. There to add to his power, but with none of my own, and no say in what mine was used for. Or any way to stop the process or even to die and make the torture end.
Throughout history, the number three has been fundamental to how we understand the world. The space we inhabit is measured in length, width, and height. Time is measured in past, present, and future.” He paused, and I just sat there, expectant. Until I realized that he was smiling slightly. “What?” I asked. “What are you waiting for?” “For the rest—” I stopped, realizing that I had unconsciously been waiting—for another example. I frowned. “The third instance would be body, mind, and spirit,” he continued, “which is how we understand ourselves. But the fact that you knew—instinctively—that there was a third example indicates how our minds classify things…People have always seen the world in threes. Look at religion: Christianity is fundamentally based on the Trinity—the father, son and holy spirit. The magi gave Christ three gifts, the devil tempted him three times, and he rose from the dead after three days. Even the Christian universe is traditionally seen as having three expressions: the upper world of heaven, the middle world of Earth, and the underworld of hell…The Greeks were also particularly fond of the number: there were three Fates, three Graces, three Gorgons and three Furies. There were three brothers who ruled over three realms: Zeus, Hades and Poseidon. Artemis…is often seen as a triple goddess, a unity of the divine huntress, the Moon goddess and the goddess of the underworld… the rest of the world’s religions follow a similar pattern: the Sumerian Goddess Inanna is remembered for having spent three days and nights in the underworld. There are three main gods in Hinduism: Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver, and Shiva the Destroyer. Yggdrasil, the sacred tree of life in the Norse religion, has three roots under which are three sacred wells——not to mention how often the number shows up in the world’s imagery. The triskelion, a three-legged spiral, can be found on items dating back more than six thousand years. The Borromean rings are a centuries-old symbol of unity made up of three interlacing circles. The Valknut rune of Odin——consisting of three interlocking triangles, stood for his power. Even the old superstition of not walking underneath a ladder stems from an ancient Egyptian belief that one should not “break a triangle’. The geometry of the number three was seen as being complete and perfect, and therefore not to be disturbed—”
“When shall we three meet again?” he quoted. “In thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurly-burly’s done, when the battle’s lost and won.”
The Chosen JR Ward
Oh, Viscious! V, my man, I love you but…You have survived so much but don’t go backwards! You have Doc Jane and you have a chance with Xcor to be so much more…There was growth in helping Xcor and Layla. Yes Xcor lived the same life in the Bloodletter’s camp although the Bloodletter told Xcor he was his father…In some ways, Xcor was treated as the son V actually was…
Don’t let your past fuck your future. Don’t cheat on Jane with someone anonymous…haven’t you learned anything at all? Oh you are killing me!!!!
[Top]We’re prepared to scribe up,” Bella said. “And then we’ve asked for Last Meal on special service, because we’re doing movie day upstairs in the theater.” “ Magic Mike XXL just came out on DVD,” Beth chimed in. “We have a moral obligation to support the arts, even if they’re just the human ones.” “I haven’t seen the first one,” Autumn murmured. “They tell me his pelvis is double-jointed. Is that true?” Beth came forward and took the Neverfull. “Come on, you look like you need a girls’ night. Payne and Xhex are joining us. So are Cormia, Layla, Doc Jane, and Ehlena. We’re getting all of us the friendship that was being offered. It seemed … too frivolous when she thought about all she wasn’t able to do for that unknown female. Bella leaned in. “We’ve told the males that they can’t come in. Mostly because if they see that Channing guy up on the big screen—” Beth finished, “—we’re going to need to do a remodel after they’re done with things.” “Back to the double-jointed business,” Autumn kicked in. “I mean, how does he walk?” “Very well, my friend.” As Bella answered Tohr’s mate, she put an arm around Marissa’s shoulders. “Very, very well.” As Marissa let herself get drawn into the billiards room—where ink pots had been set up on one of the coffee tables and there was already a glass set out for her—she began to blink fast. Part of the emotion was the fact that that female who had died wasn’t ever going to have anything like this again—if she’d been lucky enough to find good people surrounding her while she’d been alive. The other half was a gratitude so great, her chest could barely contain the emotion. “Ladies,” she said, putting her arm around Bella’s waist. “Let’s do the addressing quickly—so we can get to the undressing.”…“I ’m sorry … they’re doing what ?” As Butch spoke, he looked at the males-only group sitting around the mansion’s dining room table. Not one of his brothers or any of the soldiers was laughing or talking loudly. The bunch of sad sack losers was just sitting in front of half-eaten plates and untouched rocks glasses of vodka, bourbon and whiskey like a roll call of bassett hounds who’d lost their anti-depressants. Not what he’d expected to find as he came late to Last Meal. When Marissa had texted him and told him she was working with the females on something, it had seemed like a good idea to with your sac or something?” Wrath inhaled like he was about to break the news of a death in the family. “They’re having a movie night.” Butch rolled his eyes and went over to his chair. Yeah, it was a little weird to sit down without his Marissa by his side, but for crissakes, it was nothing to go Prozac over. Besides, he was glad his woman had friends in the house— “They’re watching Magic Mike ,” someone said. “Is that a children’s show?” He sat back as Fritz put a heaping plate of lamb in front of him. “Thanks, man—oh, thanks, yeah, I’d love a drink. I’ll take a Lagavulin on the rocks—” Butch stopped talking as he realized the entire table of males was looking at him. “What?” “You haven’t heard about Magic Mike ?” Rhage demanded. “No.” He leaned back again as his drink was delivered. “Thanks. Is it like Barney?” “It’s about strippers,” Hollywood countered. Butch frowned and lowered the glass from his lips. “I’m sorry?” V came in from the pantry with a thick pouch of tobacco, a pack of rolling papers, and a scowl like somebody had stripped his favorite sex toy of its batteries. “Naked,” Vishous muttered as he sat where Marissa should have been. “Buck-ass naked. And they’re humans. Christ, it’s like being shown up by a pack of dogs.” “In thongs,” someone else bitched. “Dogs in thongs.” Butch followed through on taking a drink this time, swallowing the burn, welcoming the heat in his gut. Okay, fine, it was a bit of a surprise to find that he kept going until the glass was empty, but hey, he had a lot to think about. On one level, the fact that his shellan was watching a movie with her buddies, even if it did involve some nakey, really wasn’t a big deal. On another level, he wanted to find the electrical box and cut the power to that part of the mansion. Then torch the DVD. And the screen. And take his mate to bed just to show her all the tricks he had over some actor in a—oh, God, a thong? “It’s fine,” he heard himself say as he motioned to a doggen for a refill. “I mean, first of all, they love us—and second, it’s not like it’s an X rated—” the thing at the fallen angel’s head. “You keep talking like that and I’ma trim your hair. With my eyes closed.” Lassiter laughed. “Yeah, whatever, big boy. I thought you had more mojo than to get worked up over something like this. You really that insecure?” “You want insecure,” V said. “I’ll make you—” “Okay, okay,” Butch cut in. “Leave it, V. It’s fine, it’s great—they’re just enjoying themselves. What’s wrong with that? It’s not like they’re sleeping with the guy.” “You sure about that?” Lassiter smiled. “You don’t think they’re fantasizing about—” The collective growl that rose up from the Brotherhood was so loud, it managed to agitate the crystals in the enormous chandelier hanging over the table. And the fallen angel was an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid. Moving slowly, like there were multiple guns pointed at him, he put his hands up in submission. “Sorry. Whatever. I’ll stop before all this lame-ass uncomfortability you bunch of morons are sporting kills me.” “Wise choice,” Butch said dryly. “Not that I wouldn’t mind hitting you right now. Although that’s not specific to this sitch.” Lassiter went back to eating, shoving food into his face. The Brothers weren’t so quick to do a reset on things, those narrowed eyes and bared fangs still trained on the angel with the big mouth. “Come on, boys, it’s fine .” He cut a piece of lamb off and put it in his mouth. “Mmm. Delish.” In reality, the stuff tasted like cardboard, but he made a show of the yummies. He couldn’t keep it up, though. Two minutes later, he was shoving a full plate away and nursing his second whiskey. “Really. They should have a little independence. They don’t need to be locked at our hips, and listen, life here revolves around us. It’s about time they do something just for them. Really. This is great.” Next to him, V lit up a fat hand-rolled. “Is it. You like the idea of Marissa looking at some other male’s junk?” “It’s not an X-rated—” As his voice squeaked, he cleared his throat. “I mean, it couldn’t be … no, it’s not—” up again before the growling got even worse. “Jesus, you guys are so damn touchy.” Butch shook his head and decided the angel was on his own. “So, yeah, I mean, a little gyrating—a pec pump or two. It’s nothing to get worked up over. Fritz, can I have a refill over here again?” The butler hustled over to pick up the empty glass. “Would any of you care for dessert? We have homemade ice cream and Petit Gâteau .” Butch glanced at Hollywood. “What do you say there, my man?” When Rhage just swished his ginger ale around in his glass, Butch cursed and said to Fritz, “This one here will have some even if no one else does.” “Bring me the dessert,” Rhage spoke up. Fritz bowed with Butch’s glass in his hand. “But of course, sire. I shall fix you a plate directly—” “No. I want the whole dessert. All of the cake and all of the ice cream.” Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd that was how Hollywood ended up with a morose audience of however many playing witness to his consuming fifteen small chocolate cakes and two gallons of vanilla ice cream. It was like watching paint dry, except there was no chemical smell and the room was the same color before and after. The good news was that the booze was doing its job, fuzzing out Butch’s mind, making his body both numb and horny. “May I have another?” he asked a passing doggen who was removing the final chocolate-smudged plate. “Thank you so much.” When his glass came back, he pushed his chair away from the table. “I’m out. I’ve got some work to do.” And no offense to any of them, but hanging around in their vibe was just making him more depressed. Any more of this and he was going to start braiding the noose. Walking out, he paused in the grand foyer. Looked up the stairs. Tried to imagine his Marissa ogling some actor in his underwear. “Really. It’s fine. Good for her.” He took his phone out and called up their text string. Hesitating, he thought he’d just send her something, you know, to about something like this. Marissa wasn’t only the love of his life; she was a female of worth who would never cheat on him. And hello , it wasn’t like she’d checked into a seedy motel with the guy, for fuck’s sake. She was hanging with her friends just like he hung out with his. This was ridiculous. He was not the jealous type— The sound of shitkickers approaching had him glancing over his shoulder. It was Rhage, and the brother had a frothing glass of Alka-Seltzer in his hand. Hollywood looked up the stairs. And dollars for dipshits, he was thinking exactly what Butch was. “I’m going up,” the guy announced. “Now, wait, wait, wait.” Butch grabbed that huge forearm and squeezed. “It’s not like you can just burst in there.” “Why not?” “It’s girls’ night.” “So I’ll put on a dress.” “Fucking hell, Rhage. Really ?” Next out were V., John Matthew and Tohr. And everyone else, including Wrath—and even Manny, who, in spite of being a full-blown human, was right there along with the hound-faced rest of them. “We are not going up there,” Butch announced. “We’re going to go play some pool, and get drunk, and talk about all the kills we had in the attack on Brownswick. We’re going to have a great fucking night—day, whatever the hell it is. Now pick your balls up off the floor and let’s start behaving like men.” “He has skills. I’m just saying.” As Doc Jane spoke up, the captivated audience that was focused on the big screen was in total, very unmuted agreement. Payne let out another of her now-trademark wolf whistles. Xhex cursed and threw more Milk Duds at the image, yelling, “Damn, son, you get that shit! You get it!” Marissa just laughed again. She couldn’t decide what was more amusing, the movies or the company—probably the company. Although the humans were not hard on the eyes, she had to this hard. There was something about being with the girls that made the jokes both worse and better at the same time, and the giggling louder, and the silliness more stupid. All of which was a very beautiful thing, as it turned out. It also reminded her of how great it was to be accepted for exactly who she was, no external expectations laid on her, no shortfalls she hadn’t volunteered for cutting her down. No judgment, just love. Plus a number of naked guys who were almost as hot as her male? Not a hardship. When the final scene was over and the credits started to roll, they clapped like the actors could hear them all the way out in California. “Can you teach me how to whistle like that?” someone asked Payne. “You just put two lips around your fingers and blow,” the female replied. “Isn’t that a line from a movie?” somebody chimed in. “Are they going to do a third one—” “Magic Mike Ginormous—” “We need to watch one and two again first as prep—we’ve got a tradition to uphold—” “Anybody see Nine and a Half Weeks lately—” “What’s that—” One by one, they stood up from the padded leather recliners and stretched in the dim, windowless room, backs cracking, shoulders unknotting. And it was funny—Marissa felt the urge to cut through the conversation and say something profound and meaningful, just to acknowledge the space they’d been in. But the right words didn’t come. Instead, she said, “Hey, can we do this again?” Then again, maybe that was exactly what she meant. Well, what do you know, the peanut gallery was so on board: The rousing cheer was as loud as the hoots at the dance scenes, and the idea that this special time wasn’t a one-off made her feel a piercing kind of relief. “I think we need a Chris Pratt marathon next. Guardians of the Marissa wadded her empty Milk Duds box and made a rim shot with it into the trash. Abruptly, she realized that she couldn’t wait to see Butch—and not because of all the scenes of half-naked bodies. She missed him—which was ridiculous, considering neither one of them had gone anywhere. Heading for the door by the glass display of candy bars, she was smiling as she pushed open the— “Dear … God,” she blurted as she recoiled. The hallway beyond was filled with the males of the house, the Brothers and other fighters and Manny sitting on the floor with their backs to the bare walls, their legs stretched out, propped up, crossed at the knees or crossed at the ankles. Apparently there had been quite a bit of drinking going on, empty bottles of vodka and whiskey littered around them, glasses in hands or on thighs. “This is not as pathetic as it looks,” her Butch pointed out. “Liar,” V muttered. “It so fucking is. I think I’m going to start knitting for reals.” As the females emerged with her, each one of them registered shock, disbelief, and then a wry amusement. “Is it me,” one of the males groused, “or did we just perform our own mass castration out here?” “I think that just about sums this shit up,” somebody agreed. “I’m wearing panties under my leathers from now on. Anyone joining me?” “Lassiter already does,” V said as he got to his feet and went to Jane. “Hey.” And then it was group-reunion time. While the other pairs found one another, Butch smiled as Marissa came over to him and put out her hand to help him off the floor. As they embraced, he kissed her on the side of the neck. “Are you out of love with me now?” he murmured. “’Cuz I’m pussy-whipped?” She leaned back in his arms. “Why? Because you pined after me while I was watching a dirty movie with my girls that wasn’t all that dirty? I think it’s actually—and brace yourself—really pretty cute.” “I’m still all man.” As she rolled her body against him, she let out a mmmm as she and that meant a trip all the way downstairs, into the tunnel, and through the underground passage to get back to their bedroom. He wasn’t going to last that long. Not even close. The first available vacancy with any privacy came in the form of an unoccupied staff bedroom that had pulled drapes, a twin bed with no sheets on it, and a very handy brass lock. Butch didn’t bother turning the lights on; he just pulled his female against his body and kissed the ever-loving crap out of her as he kicked the door closed and worked that dead bolt like a pro. “I need you so bad,” he growled. “You’ve got me,” she said against his mouth. Fucking perfect, his cock roared in his pants. And talk about following orders: with a quick shift, he backed her up to the bed, sat her down and knelt in front of her. As he inhaled deeply, he started to laugh.“What?” she murmured, all half-lidded and wholly edible. “You’re aroused.” “Of course I am.” “You weren’t when you came out of the movie.” “Why would I have been? That was just good fun with the girls. Like going to a museum, you know? You appreciate the art, but you wouldn’t take it home with you.” “So I’m still your favorite flavor?” “You’re my only flavor.” Well, didn’t that make him go all robin-breasted, dick swing with the ego. Flashing his fangs, he said, “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” “Were you really jealous?” she said. “Of a movie?” “Yes.” The laugh that came out of her was so easy and relaxed, such a happy sound, that it made him hope she and her girls got together again and, yes, to watch sexy humans gyrate on the screen, if that was what made his mate uncoil like this. Granted, he wasn’t about to write that Tanning Chatum guy a fan letter, but he was more than grateful for those females and that friendship. Anyone, anything that took care of his shellan was all right in body down on the little bed. He had a lot of plans that involved him going down on her for two hours—but his cock wasn’t going to be able to wait for all that. He needed in her. Now. Zeroing in on the fastening of her slacks, he had her naked from the waist down with some quick hand work and one pull down her long, lovely legs. And then his palms were traveling up her calves, her thighs. With a moan, she spread further for him as if she wanted this as badly as he did, revealing her bare, glistening sex—and that was when he lost his damn mind. Outing his erection, he went right for the heart of her, no preamble, no foreplay—they were both beyond ready. “Marissa,” he groaned as he penetrated her, sliding in deep, the sensation at once familiar and bracingly electric. Cursing on the exhale, he reared up and his hips took over, grinding, thrusting, pumping—and he loved how she held on to his neck and shoulders. “Take my vein,” she ordered. His fangs had already punched out of the roof of his mouth, and he bared them with a hiss. Striking in his favorite spot, on the left side, he drew deep, drank hard, got high on her taste as well as the sex. He couldn’t last long with that, though. Shit was getting too hard, too fast down below. Licking the puncture wounds closed, he repositioned her so he could go even deeper—then he grabbed onto her hip bones and dug in, pistoning her body, rocking things so hard the thin metal frame banged into the wall and the tinny mattress springs became a symphony of wild creaking. He heard her come, which was what he’d been after, heard that common, nothing-fancy name of his erupt into the sex-scented air—and he wanted to stop so he could feel that rhythmic gripping of her core. He was too far gone, though. His balls were tucking up and going hot, his pelvis was doing that autonomic jerking shit that he was no more capable of reining in than he could stop his own heart, and his cock was that bizarre combination of numb and hypersensitive— Butch came so hard he got a load of fireworks across his vision, and even as he started to ejaculate, he knew he wasn’t finished. He kept riding her, shifting positions again, arching farther over her body until his weight was braced on the balls of his feet floor. But again, there was no stopping. He just walked along with it—until the frame fit itself obligingly into a corner. Talk about some leverage. Fucking. Perfect. Butch kept going at it, pounding her, his body doing an uncoiling of its own, the weeks—and maybe, if he was honest, months—of feeling somewhat separate from her disappearing like he was fucking that subtle distance out of existence. Lot of orgasms. The fantastic ugly kind where your face screwed up hard, and you were going to be sore when you woke up, and shit got really, really messy down below. When it was finally over, he collapsed on top of her. He meant to roll over, though, so she could breathe easier. He really did. Yup. Rolling over would be good right now. Uh-huh. In three … two … … one.