“Sure you did, cher.” He takes a couple of steps forward now, and though he’s not out of the shadows yet, he is close enough to the light that I get the impression of shaggy dark hair, broad shoulders, and a strong jaw.

“Not exactly,” I whisper. Okay, maybe we did, but I’m not telling him that. At least not until we figure out which answer might get us eaten by whatever is still growling in the corner.

“Hmm,” he answers. “In my experience, ‘not exactly’ sounds an awful lot like ‘yes.’”

“Not exactly,” I say again, and this time he laughs—big and bold, but it only ratchets up the tension in the room.

“You’ve got gumption,” he says in a slow, New Orleans drawl that wraps around each word and drags it out, and I wonder if that’s where this prison is. “I’ll give you that.”

“And you’ve got issues, at least according to the guards,” I shoot back. “Do you tear everyone to pieces or just the ones who aren’t afraid of you?”

Flint makes a choked sound, and Hudson inhales a little too fast, but neither tries to convince me to stop talking. They do, however, brace for whatever it is he’s going to do.

But he does nothing, save shake his head as he finally, finally steps out of the shadows. And as I get my first real glimpse of him, I realize he’s nothing like what I expected.

To begin with, he’s young—like about my age or a year younger. Admittedly, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything in this paranormal world, as Hudson is more than two hundred and looks about nineteen.

But I don’t get a vampire vibe from this guy, with his shaggy hair and forest-green eyes, nor do I get a vibe that says he’s been around a long time. And he’s huge and heavily muscled—at least six foot four, with shoulders almost as wide as the door. He’d definitely give Flint a run for his money. And unlike the rest of us, he’s not dressed in prison black.

Instead, he’s wearing a pair of well-worn jeans, ripped at the knees, and a white T-shirt that makes his warm brown complexion look even warmer, richer.

I’m about to decide this kid’s not so bad—and then our gazes collide, and a shiver of fear skitters down my spine.

There might be a rabid beast in the corner of this cell, dying to rip us limb from limb, but one look at those eyes and I know Remy is the real danger here.

I don’t know what he did to get thrown in this prison, but I can guess one thing: he definitely did it. And probably smiled the whole time.

“Good question. What do you think?” he asks as he strolls over to us like he’s at a Sunday picnic on the banks of the Mississippi.

It’s hard to tell if his words are an implied threat, since he says them so casually, but Hudson must think so because he snarls, “Get away from her,” in a voice so low and controlled that it has shivers tearing down my spine.

Remy, on the other hand, just kind of looks at him, dark eyebrows raised. “Nice little attack dog there, darlin’. You might tell him to stand down…if you want him to leave here with all his pieces attached.”

Hudson steps forward to meet him and gives me the opportunity I’ve been looking for. I dart out between him and Flint and throw myself bodily in front of him. “Stop it,” I hiss at Hudson and Flint. “This isn’t helping.”

“Like he is?” Hudson asks, offended.

“I don’t know what he’s doing yet, but let’s at least try to find out before the two of you beat the hell out of each other.”

“I’m not sure that’s how this is going to go,” Remy says. “Though I do enjoy a challenge.”

“I’m happy to show you exactly how this is going to go,” Hudson growls back, fangs on full display.

“Okay, that’s it.” It’s my turn to snarl. “Can we please tamp down the level of testosterone in this room before it poisons us all?”

“Not to interrupt what is obviously a champion pissing contest,” Flint says in his most pious voice. “But I’d like it noted that my testosterone is completely tamped down.”

And in the span of a second, Remy and Hudson go from snarling at each other like two junkyard dogs to staring at Flint like he’s the interloper.

I, on the other hand, am about ready to kiss him. Trust the charming dragon to figure out how to lower the tension in the room when everything I do only seems to escalate it.

After giving Flint a sketchy once-over, Remy turns back to me. “Quite the companions you have there, Grace.”

Everyone stills. “How—how did you know my name?”

But he just holds my gaze until I feel a jolt of electricity go through me. It’s not the same kind of heat I feel with Hudson, obviously—in fact, it’s not sexual in the slightest. But it is a powerful jolt nonetheless. Almost like he’s looking inside me, sorting through the blood and organs, cells and molecules, to find who I really am under all the trappings.

It’s an odd feeling, one that only increases the longer our gazes are connected. And then his eyes turn dark and swirly, like a storm-tossed sky, and I can feel the power inside him, tugging at me, trying to latch on to something and pull me forward. And I almost go. At least until Hudson wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into him so that his front is pressed against my back.

“Don’t look him in the eyes,” Hudson whispers, and though we currently have bigger fish to fry, the warmth of his breath against the sensitive skin of my ear and neck has a tiny frisson of heat uncurling deep within me.

Then he looks straight at Remy and orders, “Stop with the tricks, witch. Or I’ll stop them for you.”

109

A Charmer, a Bad Boy,

and a Lost Soul All

Walk into a Cell…

Tense silence ensues while Remy studies us like we’re bugs under a microscope.

“All in due time, Grace,” he eventually says in answer to my question about how he knows my name. Then he makes a little clicking noise with the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you come on over here, cher, and tell me a little bit about yourself.”

I can’t decide if that was meant as an invitation or a command. In fact, I’m having trouble figuring out exactly what Remy is all about, in general. Yes, he looks scary and cold and intimidating, but you know, we are standing in a prison. Also, how the hell did he know my name? That might be the scariest thing about all this, despite something inside telling me I don’t have to be afraid. That he feels familiar. And more, that he feels safe.

Which makes absolutely no sense.

Everything about him screams run scared—except his eyes. His eyes are too watchful. Too careful. Too…needy.

And that’s when it hits me. I know exactly why he feels familiar.

He’s not the first guy I’ve met who pretends to be a psychopath so no one looks closer and sees his pain… Been there, done that, currently mated to him.

And that’s it; I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. Men. They really are simple creatures sometimes.

“Why don’t you come on over here and tell us a little bit about yourself,” I shoot back. “Starting with how you managed to get your bracelet off.” I stare pointedly at his bare, unmarked wrist.

There’s a moment’s hesitation before he tells me, “I like you.” And now I see it—his eyes are positively dancing with merriment. This whole thing has been a joke to him.

“Yeah, that’s obvious,” Hudson mutters, but Remy ignores him.

Instead, Remy follows my gaze and stares at his bracelet-less wrist like he’s going to answer. But then he kind of shrugs and says, “Guess I’m just special like that.”

“‘Special’ is one way to put it,” Hudson mocks, and if his hold on me got any tighter, I’m pretty sure it would cut off my circulation. “Narcissistic is another. But hey. Potato, po-tah-to, right?”

Remy looks so surprised—and disgruntled—at the comeback that I can’t help giggling.

And apparently, I’m not the only one because the beast from the shadows laughs—a deep, rollicking sound that fills up the whole cell with joy. And like that, Remy’s laughing, too.

“Well, hell, Calder. You’ve gone and ruined the whole game. You might as well stop hiding in the shadows.”

“I was wondering when you were going to let me out to play,” a light female voice answers, which has Hudson, Flint, and me exchanging what the fuck looks.

Because how the hell could someone who sounds like that make the growls we just heard? At least until Calder steps out of the shadows, and we realize she is a giant of a girl. An Amazon who stands as tall as Flint and has biceps as big as Remy’s and looks to be about seventeen herself.

She’s also gorgeous—no doubt about that. Long red hair, big brown eyes, boobs that make even mine look small, and an infectious smile that lights up the whole room as much as her laugh did.

I start to step forward, hand extended, to say hello, but Hudson mutters, “Jesus,” as he pulls me tighter into his side.

In the meantime, Flint sniffs the air and then asks with wide eyes, “Holy fuck. Is that a manticore?”

“Damn straight I am,” Calder replies. “And so you know, I prefer it when men talk to me, not about me.”