Taken By The Others

Book 0: H&W Investigations Novel

by Jess Haines

Genres: Shifters; Vampires; Paranormal

Synopsis

Jess Haines draws readers deep into the mesmerizing world of the Others--werewolves, vampires, and mages who make their home among humans, and are turning Shiarra Waynest's life upside down. . . Once, New York P.I. Shiarra Waynest's most pressing problem was keeping her agency afloat. Now she's dealing with two dangerous, seductive vampires who have been enemies for centuries. The only thing Max Carlyle and Alec Royce agree on is that they both want Shia--for very different reasons. Max is determined to destroy Shia for killing his progeny, while Royce's interest is a lot more personal. That's not sitting well with Shia's werewolf boyfriend, Chaz. As the feud between Max and Royce gets ever more deadly, a powerful vampire-hunting faction is urging Shia to join their side. Shia has always believed vamps were the bad guys, but she's discovering unexpected shades of grey that are about to redefine her friends, her loyalties--and even her desires. . . Praise for Hunted by the Others "Jess Haines is a talent to watch!" --Lara Adrian, New York Times bestselling author "A fun, high octane ride with a take charge heroine who will leave you wanting more." --Alexandra Ivy, New York Times bestselling author "A delightful romp of a book. Jess Haines just became my autobuy!" --Angela Knight, New York Times bestselling author

Release date: January 1, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 351

Sample

I don’t usually have people pointing guns in my face. Or in my direction at all, really. I’m a private detective, so I know some people have certainly thought about shooting me after I reported their illicit activities to my clients or the cops, but looking down the barrel of a .45 was a new experience for me.

“Jack, can we talk about this without the gun?”

Jack was precisely as I remembered him. Tall, slender, with close-cropped blond hair and the coldest blue eyes I’d ever seen. His long-sleeved flannel shirt was rolled up to just above his elbows and left unbuttoned for easy access to his shoulder holster. He’s clean-cut, looks like the poster boy for some white bread good ol’ boy magazine, and crazy as a loon. He belongs to a group of extremists and vigilante vampire hunters who call themselves the White Hats.

His thin lips quirked in a polite smile. No real emotion shone through the empty mask. I was praying he was just using some of his psycho scare tactics again. I deeply regretted leaving my own guns in my bedroom all the way across town. Fat lot of good they did me there. Maybe I should have our receptionist frisk the clients before letting them into my office from now on.

“Shiarra, I’m disappointed. I’ve left you a number of invitations to come work with us. Why didn’t you get back to me? Did you succumb to Royce after the little fiasco this spring?”

That again. A few months ago I took a job I should’ve known to leave well enough alone. When your business is failing and someone offers you a lot of money, sometimes you do stupid things. For example, you accept a job trying to find some powerful magic artifact that a vampire was hiding from a bunch of magi. I suppose you could call accepting a proposition like that suicidal. These days, I just called it a bad business decision.

“No, I haven’t gone to see Royce since the fight at his restaurant.” One little white lie couldn’t hurt. He’d come to see me, not the other way around. I’d stringently avoided Royce since the day I got home from the hospital, when he visited to apologize and thank me in his own way for pulling his ass out of the fire. “Listen, I don’t deal in that shit anymore. Once was enough.”

“You’ve taken on clients, done other jobs for supernaturals since your recovery. You have strong ties to two of the most powerful Were packs in the Five Boroughs. You’re linked to the most influential vampire in the state. We need your expertise, and your connections.”

The only reason the Moonwalker tribe had anything to do with me was because, like Royce, I had saved their butts from a crazy power-hungry sorcerer. They owed me. The only reason the Sunstriker tribe had anything to do with me was because the leader of the pack was my boyfriend. Aside from that, the occasional (nondangerous) case notwithstanding, I tried to keep my connections to anything furry or with fangs to a minimum.

I took a deep breath to steady myself while I thought about how to get Jack to get the hell out of my office, and take his gun with him. He’d tried this tactic before; I wondered why he’d never figured out that waving a weapon in someone’s face was not a good way to get them to cooperate with you for any length of time. “You know I don’t like vampires. I don’t have much to do with Weres anymore either. I don’t take jobs that have anything to do with the supernatural, no matter what the papers say about me.”

“You have the equipment and connections to be a hunter.” He frowned. “We need you. I won’t have you going to them, taking their side.”

“Whoa now, who said anything about that?”

His eyes narrowed, something passing through them I couldn’t read. “There’s a new player in the game. It’ll be down to him or Royce. Or us.”

I stared blankly. “Who?”

“Word on the street is that Max Carlyle is coming to town.” He stared back, expectantly.

Silence. After a moment decidedly lacking any explanations, I urged him along. “And he is?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Would I ask if I did?”

He grinned; the flash of white teeth against his pale skin was ominous. Predatory. Too much like the things he hunted–vampires.

“My, my. I hate to spoil the surprise.” One hand reached up to rub his smooth-shaven jaw while he stared at me. After another long, drawn-out moment of silence, he raised the gun, thumbed on the safety, and tucked it away in its holster under his flannel shirt. “Ms. Waynest, again I must apologize for my methods. Unfortunately, your reputation leads me to worry about what needs to be done to ensure you’re playing on the right side of the field.”

Holding a knife to my throat in the dead of night after breaking into my bedroom didn’t exactly give me warm fuzzies, and neither did holding a gun on me in broad daylight. I was hoping my expression was more neutral than pissed, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

“Look, for the last time–I don’t want anything to do with Others. I don’t talk to Royce, I don’t give a shit what the White Hats are doing, and I’m not about to do the tango with things that could eat me for breakfast. I’m a private detective, and that’s all. Someone go missing? Think your girlfriend is cheating on you? Great, I’ll go look for them. But I will not,” I stressed, leaning forward across the desk and pointing one admonishing finger in his direction, “be bullied into dealing with vampires and Weres again. Coming close to dying once was enough. You can’t pay me enough to put my life on the line. Not again.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Ms. Waynest. They’ll be coming to you soon enough. And once they do, you’ll come running to us for help.”

I stood, a thread of fear trailing down my spine, even as I finally boiled over. I pointed at the door. “Get the hell out of my office! Stay away from me!”

He swung the door open and sauntered out of the room, his cool, arrogant laughter trailing behind him. My glare stayed trained on him until his shadowed frame was no longer visible behind the frosted glass of the front door.

Jen twisted around in her chair to peer into my office, staring at me with wide brown eyes over the rims of her glasses. “Jeez, Shia, what was that all about?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. But if he comes back, or tries to make another appointment, I’m out of the office. No–out of the country.”

She shrugged, muttered something, and turned back to her desk to work on the stack of papers in front of her. I glared at the frosted glass door with its gold leaf-inscribed H&W INVESTIGATIONS, even though Jack was long gone.

As much as he pissed me off, he scared me more. Or maybe him saying the Others would come looking for me scared me more. Hell, I think I was entitled to be a little unsettled considering I’d had a gun waved in my face. Irritated and upset, I twisted around, calling over my shoulder as I shut the door, “Hold my calls. If anyone asks, I’ve gone home for the day.”

Some preventative measures needed to be taken about this Max Carlyle, I thought. I sat in the squeaky office chair, rolling it back so I could riffle through the back of the top drawer. After rummaging through a scattering of old Post-it notes, paper clips, pens, and papers, I finally found the leather-bound notebook I kept business cards filed in.

I flipped through the pages until I found the neat, professional card for A.D. Royce Industries. It had all the data I needed to contact Alec Royce, the vampire I’d been doing my best to avoid for the past several months. The one I’d ended up legally, contractually, bound to, and who’d been sending me invitations to nights on the town and, presumably, other things. All of which I’d carefully ignored up until now.

Daylight still shone through the window behind my desk, but I figured I could leave a message if he didn’t pick up. I grabbed my cell, dug the card out of the little plastic holder, and dialed the handwritten number scrawled on the back.

Tucking the phone between my head and shoulder, I fixed my eyes on the framed photograph of Chaz and me on the corner of my desk. We were leaning back against the rail together at the end of the pier in Greenport and his arms were wrapped around me. I tried not to think about what Chaz would say about me calling the vamp, listened to the ringing, and finally, a click. “You’ve reached the desk of Alec Royce. I’m not in right now, but if you leave a message with your name and number, I’ll get back to you.”

That mild, friendly voice gave me the shivers, worse than anything that Jack had said or done. Did I really want to get back in touch with the vampire? After swallowing hard and hesitating a bit longer than I should have, I remembered I was supposed to be leaving a message and squeaked out a few words.

“Yeah, Mr. Royce, this–it’s Shiarra Waynest. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions. I might need your help with something.” I left him my cell number and was about to hang up, hesitated again, and added, “Thanks.”

I hung up and set the phone down, wondering if I’d done the right thing. Damn it all to hell and back, I was putting myself back in the fire by contacting him again. Regardless, I needed to know who Max Carlyle was, and what sort of danger he represented. Since Jack specifically brought up Royce when talking about Max, I had to hope Royce would have some idea about what was going on. After all, he was an elder, influential vamp. He had all sorts of connections that informed him well ahead of time when somebody gunned for him or planned to do something that would affect him or his properties. I knew at least that much about him from prior experience.

Depending on what Royce told me, I might have to lie low and hide somewhere out of town for a few days. Or a few months. Whatever would keep my ass out of the fire.

I stayed late in the office. Sara, my business partner, was out of town until Sunday. Jen had gone home hours ago. The office was dark, the only light a small lamp illuminating the pictures I had spread out across my desk. Since it was Friday, I’d made plans with my boyfriend, but for later, when I got off work. Chaz would pick up dinner and come to my place around eight. Until then, I wanted to keep busy rather than sit around worrying about what big bad monster was coming to town this time.

The photographs in front of me were arranged in a series, laid out carefully next to a detailed inventory of stock. An insurance agent had called me in to investigate one of her clients. Jeremy Pryce claimed his company warehouse, which had a large store of valuable designer clothes, had burned down in an accident. The fire department had closed its investigation into the cause, reporting that faulty electrical work set off sparks during a thunderstorm and sent the whole building up in flames.

The agent, Cheryl Benedict, was convinced that Pryce had rigged the fire somehow. I didn’t know who tipped her off, but she was right. The pictures in front of me were the ones I’d taken over the last two weeks of Mr. Pryce giving gifts to different beautiful women–women who were definitely not his wife. Unsurprisingly, the gifts were clothes–designer ones, as a matter of fact. Many matching the exact descriptions in the inventory of everything that supposedly went up in flames two months ago.

“Gotcha.” I grinned, carefully ticking off and noting everything claimed destroyed that appeared in the photographs.

When I was about halfway through my notations, my cell phone belted out Beethoven’s Fifth. An unknown caller.

I picked it up, glancing at the window and noting the sun had nearly set. There were a few last rays turning everything a golden hue at the edges and leaving deep shadows between buildings.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Waynest,” Royce’s voice was smooth and cordial. “You do have the most fortuitous timing. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

I cringed. My, how perceptive. I bit my tongue to keep from saying that thought out loud. Wasn’t it too early for him to be up and about? “I heard from a little bird today that someone of interest to both of us is coming to town. Know anything about that?”

He laughed softly, the sound at once delightful and dreadful. Something that evil shouldn’t sound so good. “Someone told you about Max Carlyle, I take it?”

“Yeah. Who is he?”

“Not someone to discuss over the phone. I will tell you everything you need to know if you meet with me.”

Uh-oh. “You know what, this was a mistake. Never mind, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Before he could say anything, I ended the call and turned the cell off. Vampires were manipulative bastards, Royce worst of all. He made no secret of his interest in me despite knowing I had a boyfriend. Even worse, Royce had blackmailed me into signing one of those contracts that made it legal for him to drink my blood, turn me into a vampire, or even murder me with no consequences. All fabulous reasons to keep him as far away from me as possible.

The only good thing about that contract was that, due to the way it was worded, I could also hurt or kill him if it came down to it. My partner Sara had helped see to that. The only problem was that I wasn’t nearly confident enough that I could hurt or kill him without some help from outside sources. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, though. Most contracts didn’t offer that luxury, leaving the signed human stuck in the crappy position of facing death–or worse–at the hands of their host. If they tried to fight back when they decided they didn’t want to play the part of midnight snack anymore, they could look forward to some jail time and a hefty fine.

Some people (read: anyone but me) would love to be in the position I’m in, seeing as how Alec Royce is one of the most high-profile vampires in the United States. He’s got a power base that extends through most of New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut. Any vampire within his territory is required to get his permission to do so much as blow their nose. Okay, maybe not to that extent, but they were supposed to get his permission to hunt outside their territory, turn anyone else into a vampire, or do anything that might be construed as expanding their own power bases. He also oversaw all purchases or sales of buildings, land, or other valuable properties. Not to mention he owned a string of the hottest nightclubs and restaurants in the city. There were probably other businesses he dipped his fingers into, but publicly he was known for the clubs and eateries.

Royce even posted a calendar on his Web site of his scheduled appearances at his various establishments. Yes, a vampire celebrity with a Web site, what a novelty. When I first met him, I’d used that as a tool to figure out where to find him. These days, I also used it to figure out where not to be when I needed to check out the club scene in search of cheating lovers or shady business partners.

Some of the crazies like Jack the White Hat probably used it to find ways to corner or hurt him. The police have done more to protect the Others in the last few years, cracking down on the overzealous groups like the White Hats. In addition, Royce and a few other supernaturals had slapped lawsuits on those who discriminated against or attacked them, further curbing such delightful White Hat activities as burning down known Other establishments and hangouts, riots, beatings, even murder. That didn’t stop all of them, of course, but things were starting to settle down and the anti-Other crowd was beginning to look worse than the creatures they hated so much.

Sometimes the Others gave the general human populace good reason to be afraid of them. Despite their nature, they had rights now, and could walk the street like anyone else, but having legal citizenship didn’t do a thing to change the fact that Weres and vampires and even magi were monsters straight out of fairy tales. Weres could tear you apart bare-handed, even when they weren’t shifted. Vampires survived by drinking blood. Magi could twist and bend reality to their whims.

None of those were human traits, and even when you did your best to put those things aside, they would always be dangerous and inhuman.

Six months earlier, I’d seen firsthand how horrifically inhuman they were. I would carry scars across my chest and stomach until the day I die thanks to fighting with a crazy sorcerer, his bitch of a vampire girlfriend, the leader of the Moonwalker tribe, and last but certainly not least, Alec Royce.

I did not want to deal with other supernaturals. It was more than the scars left behind from my last up-close and personal experience. These things are scary. Some of them enjoy eating people. You don’t fool around with monsters like that voluntarily unless you know you’ll come out on top. Even then, your judgment would be questionable, at least in my book.

With those thoughts in mind, it no longer felt like such a great idea to be in my office all by myself after hours. Deciding the rest of my work could wait until Monday, I scooped up the Pryce paperwork, tucked it all back in its file, and tossed it into my pending basket on the corner of my desk. There were other businesses in the building, but they were mostly marketing firms and dentist offices, and I doubted anyone else was here this late on a Friday.

Grabbing my purse, cell, and keys, I turned off all the lights, set the alarm, and headed down to my car. Once in the parking lot, huddling in my jacket against the chill autumn wind, I thought about Chaz. He was my boyfriend, yes, but he was also a Were. Did I really want to have a werewolf alone with me in my apartment after tonight?

Yes. Yes I did. Unlike a human, Chaz had kept me safe from some threats that were too much for a deadbolt or a burglar alarm to keep out. There were some perks to having a monster on your side.

Not that I’d ever call him a monster to his face.

No matter how well behaved he might be, I knew it was there. I’d seen it. Touched it. Rolled my fingers through the fur, felt the weight of that not-man, not-wolf body. Known that, if not for his control over the pack he led, I’d have been nothing more than food to the rest of them. I’d also watched him fight another shifted Were, one much bigger and scarier than he was, keeping it away from me long enough to save everyone’s ass.

Chaz had also been useful in tracking down some of my clients’ marks. After the showdown against David Borowsky and his band of enslaved Weres made the news, a whole bunch of Others contacted H&W seeking our services. Sara and I decided we’d take the work, as long as it didn’t look too risky, unlike the majority of PI firms who won’t touch anything Other-related. I don’t have as much of an issue helping Weres and magi as I used to, though vampires still go to the back of the line. And for the most part, I don’t socialize with Others, since I still consider the majority of them scarier than Michael Myers with a machete and a grudge.

Chaz is the exception to my “keep the hell away from anything with fur or fangs” policy. Since he’d saved my life, it was hard to think of him as a bad guy. And we’d dated before, until he revealed what he was after we’d been together four or five months, and I freaked out and dumped him. This was admittedly a stupid move on my part. I came to realize this when I finally saw past my own blind idiocy that he cared about me and was showing me he trusted me with knowing what he was. Of course, it took him rescuing me, and helping me save Sara from the clutches of a mad sorcerer, to bring me around, but hey, at least I saw past the fur. Right?

We weren’t contracted. I refused to sign the papers that opened me up to being changed into a werewolf. It also meant we couldn’t do the nasty, but that didn’t bug me so much. Chaz hasn’t been brave enough to bring the subject up again, and I was happy to put off making a decision that involved the possibility of me being turned into an Other for as long as possible.

Contracts were all that saved humans from indiscriminately being eaten or injured by Others. The laws governing the wording of the contracts also made it abundantly clear that no Other was to chance turning a human, accidentally or otherwise, into one of their own. Given the passions attendant to things like sex and feeding, it prevented any Other from getting intimate with a human until they had all their legal ducks in a row.

In other words, Chaz and I might hug or kiss each other, but if we were going to do the horizontal tango, it would require a far greater commitment to him than I was willing to give at the moment. Dating was one thing–the kind of courage it would take to put my life in his hands quite another.

After mulling all this over, I realized that Chaz might know something about this Max Carlyle guy. He didn’t speak of it often but I knew he kept on top of the supernatural community’s secret goings-on. I figured I’d ask him about it when he came by later that night.

The whole ride home, I wondered who this Max person was, and what he wanted with me. Also, why did Jack care so much about me? Even though my business would be a great front for the mostly illegal activities of the White Hats, it didn’t explain why he kept pestering me or why he considered me such a threat. What connection did he have with Max Carlyle, if any? What was the connection between this newcomer and Alec Royce?

None of these questions could be answered easily, which didn’t improve my mood. By the time I pulled into my parking space at home, I’d resolved that tonight was going to be a stress-free evening with my boyfriend and that I’d worry about it all tomorrow.

By nine thirty, I was getting pissed. Chaz was supposed to have shown up hours ago. He wasn’t picking up when I called. I’d turned my cell back on once I got home–no missed calls, voice mails, or text messages. Nothing on the answering machine at home. I even checked my e-mail–nothing but spam. That made two no-call-no-shows from him so far this month.

Where was he?

The last time it happened, he said it was pack business. Nothing to worry myself about. Something unavoidable. Something like when he called in his pack mates to help deal with David Borowsky, psychotic sorcerer extraordinaire, and his unwilling pack of lap-Weres. Nothing I wanted to get involved in, or know anything about.

After a while, annoyed and tired of waiting, I ordered Chinese from down the street and sat down in front of my computer. Curiosity getting the better of me, I did a Web search for any information about Max Carlyle. Nothing came up except hits that I was pretty sure had nothing to do with the person Jack had been talking about. A movie character? Surely not.

I leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. Royce knew something about this guy. Jack knew something about this guy. The idea of talking to either one of them wasn’t appealing. Chaz might know something, but I was more than a little ticked off at his inability to pick up a phone to call me and say, “Sorry, honey, running late,” or even a simple “An emergency came up, I won’t be around.” For his sake, his butt better be rotting in a gutter somewhere or I was seriously going to rip him a new one the next time I saw him.

Out of my three choices, Royce seemed the least offensive of the bunch. Chaz would hate that I’d called him. He’d hate it even more if I set up a meeting with him.

I reached for my cell.

“Well, this is decidedly unexpected,” came the dryly amused response from the other end of the line.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about what I said, and hanging up on you earlier.”

“An apology?” he said, his quiet laughter making me grit my teeth. “I must admit, I did not anticipate this from you.”

“Listen, I know I made a mistake. You don’t have to rub it in. Are you still willing to meet with me or not?”

“Of course. We’ll put that little faux pas behind us. I realize it may be a trifle late for you, but I would suggest we meet as soon as possible so you understand what you will be dealing with once Max gets into town. What would be convenient for you?”

I spoke without thinking. “You know where my apartment is. Why don’t you just come over?”

“I need to wrap some things up at the office, but I can be there in about an hour.”

“Okay. See you then.”

After he hung up, I stared at the cell phone cradled in my hand. I’d just invited Alec Royce, the oldest and most powerful vampire in the United States, to come to my apartment.

Guess it beat waiting for Chaz to show up.

With that thought in mind, I got off my butt and started tidying up the place. I shoved loose papers lying around on my desk into a drawer and turned off the computer monitor. I loaded the dishes piled in the sink into the dishwasher, then grabbed my shoes from by the door and my jacket off the arm of the couch and tossed them in the bedroom closet. I figured that would do well enough for the fastidious Royce.

Part of me even wanted to pass by the mirror to see how I looked. The rest of me knew it was stupid and that this was for unofficial business, not a client or even a friend. Besides, I didn’t want to give Royce the wrong idea. As good as the vampire looked, he was a vampire. You know the sort. The typical tall, dark, and handsome man who also happens to be an evil, bloodsucking creature of the night. Not the type of guy you take home to Mom. Not like Chaz.

Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to take some precautions, I dug into my dresser and pulled out one of my guns. I’d picked them up way back when I thought Royce was trying to kill me. Turned out at the time Royce just wanted to make me his living slave and it was someone else who was out to kill me. Funny how these things turn out.

While I was in the drawer, I ran my fingertips over the leather belt with three matching silver stakes in their sheaths. I could literally feel discontent radiating from the thing.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling more apologetic toward the inanimate object than I was toward the vampire a few minutes ago. “Maybe after Royce is gone, I’ll take you out. Not right now.”

There was a brief sense of anger, but the bad vibes and discontent dissipated. Still, I could practically hear it grumbling. The spirit inhabiting the thing was not happy being cooped up in my drawer. Sometimes I took it out and wore it around the apartment when I was alone. The only way for it to experience life was through the one wearing it, and I was the first person to take any notice of what it wanted for the last fifteen years or so. It had been a while since the last time I took it out. I felt bad leaving it rotting with my winter clothes, but I couldn’t exactly walk around the city with a bunch of deadly weapons wrapped around my waist.

Then again, this was New York.

Whatever. I’d worry about the belt’s hurt feelings later, after I was done dealing with Royce. Sliding the drawer shut, I head. . .