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Hot Demon Nights
Elle James
Rookie cop Katya Danske didn't ask to become a member of Manhattan's Paranormal Investigation Team - or to be partnered with a sexy-as-hell demon.Then a zombie literally drops into her lap and she's recruited to help Blaise Michaels battle an impending zombie outbreak.Blaise is as exasperating as he is arousing, but while Katya's head tells her she should keep her distance, her body wants something else entirely.Forced to work closely together, their investigation takes them into the darkest shadows of the Manhattan underworld - and makes their attraction impossible to deny. But with the zombie threat rising, their hot nights together may be their last.
Rookie cop Katya Danske didn’t ask to become a member of Manhattan’s Paranormal Investigation Team—or to be partnered with a sexy-as-hell demon. Then a zombie literally drops into her lap and she’s recruited to help Blaise Michaels battle an impending zombie outbreak.
Blaise is as exasperating as he is arousing, but while Katya’s head tells her she should keep her distance, her body wants something else entirely. Forced to work closely together, their investigation takes them into the darkest shadows of the Manhattan underworld—and makes their attraction impossible to deny. But with the zombie threat rising, their hot nights together may be their last….
Hot Demon Nights
Elle James
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Chapter-One (#u0fd5c113-00a8-5118-b015-6b03f114a646)
Chapter-Two (#u0f3b9cc6-3928-5d84-bb95-267968436b40)
Chapter-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
It started out as a typical late, summer night in the city. The weather had yet to really warm up enough to call it summer, but I chose to sit out on the deck. Well, I call it a deck, but it’s really the fire escape landing, a tiny postage-stamp stretch of wrought iron outside the living room window of my closet-sized Manhattan apartment. Anyway, I was minding my own business, thinking through a crappy night on the job as a cop with the Fifth Precinct in Manhattan. I’d arrested no less than three prostitutes, two indecent exposures and chased down—and caught—one mugger, all before midnight and shift change. And after all that, what did I get? Grief on the way to the locker room.
I came into this job with five years experience on the Chicago police force—not a friggin’ cakewalk. But that didn’t seem to mean a thing to the other officers. At best, they’re condescending pricks, patting my head as if I was a favored pet cocker spaniel. No respect. At worst…well, at worst, they reminded me of why I left Chicago. Today, I took down the guy who patted my ass. Slammed his face into the concrete floor before he knew what hit him. Caught hell from my super for that, but the bastard deserved it.
It’s no secret why every guy in the precinct and every jerkwad on the street thinks I’m a powder-puff lightweight contender. I’ve been cursed with light blonde hair, big boobs and the kind of curves most porn stars would die for. Hell, they could have them.
Anyway, back to the story. I was coming down off the adrenaline rush of the job, having a glass of cheap wine, trying to wind down so that I could get a wink or two of sleep before the next round of Manhattan nightlife. About the time I thought I had the adrenaline high licked, a smell reached my nostrils, a stench so powerful I couldn’t escape it. I pressed my hand to my nose, my stomach roiling, waiting for the smell to pass, only it got stronger by the minute. When it became too much, I pushed to my feet, and glanced around.
Did I tell you I had a super sniffer? I could sniff out dead bodies from half a mile away. I’d always considered it a curse, never more so than at that moment. Because this one wasn’t a half mile away, which meant the smell was so strong I nearly choked on it. A scream from the landing above me made me glance up. I leaned over the railing, trying to see what the heck was going on.
Another scream was quickly followed by a woman shoving a man out her window. He thumped onto the landing one up from me. What the hell was going on? I slipped back into my apartment to get a weapon. My service revolver would have been my first choice, but it was buried in a pile of clothes. Digging it out would take too long. On the other hand, the special butcher knife I use to chop vegetables was right there on the kitchen counter, the long stainless steel blade gleaming in the night lights of the city.
I had just stepped back out on the landing, prepared to climb up the ladder to the floor above me, when the man tipped over the edge of the railing, slid down the fire escape, and landed on top of me.
Trapped in the ladder enclosure, I struggled to get out from under him. The knife, knocked from my hand, lay a couple of feet away from me. The guy had to outweigh me by a hundred pounds. The stench of rot overwhelmed me, triggering my gag reflex. I swallowed hard on the bile rising up my throat and shoved my way out from beneath him, rolling across the metal mesh, stretching toward the knife.
The man grabbed my ankle and yanked me back, his hand cold as death. I rolled onto my back and kicked him in the face, shaking free of his grip long enough to grab the knife.
I sat up at the same time as he lunged for my throat. With little time to aim, I plunged the blade into his neck, expecting to be drenched in blood. But none fell and neither did big-bad-and-smelly.
The knife wedged in his throat, he hesitated only a moment before coming at me again. With my hand still on the handle of the butcher knife, I ripped it to the side with all my strength, severing my attacker’s head from his odiferous body.
Instantly, he went limp. Like a dead weight, he fell on top of me, his head rolling to the side, held only by a thin strap of skin.
We slammed backwards onto the metal mesh floor, knocking the wind out of me. When I got my breath back, I shoved and pushed, struggling to breathe in air so polluted by the stench I thought I’d die before I finally rolled free. I scrambled to my feet, tugging my T-shirt up over my nose, hoping to muffle the aroma as I stared down at my attacker.
His blue-gray skin wasn’t natural for a man freshly killed. I bent to touch my fingers to him, drawing my hand away as if it had been burned. The guy was icy cold. The head had wedged against the railing, the eyes staring up at me through a milky film. There was still no blood. This guy had been dead far longer than the few minutes since I’d sliced through his throat. How in hell had he attacked me?
I didn’t believe in supernatural phenomena, but something about the situation stank more than the rotting corpse.
Being the dutiful cop, I called in the attack. Within minutes, uniforms overran my apartment, all asking questions, only a handful of which I could answer. The woman upstairs who’d pushed the body out the window was no help whatsoever. She’d been mauled and lay unconscious until the EMTs got there.
Not until the medical examiner declared that the man had been dead for over two weeks and the EMTs cleared the body from my landing did I finally take a deep breath, though the lingering scent of death continued to turn my stomach. The first responders cleared the room, leaving an older detective in a black trench coat, and a tall, broad-shouldered younger man dressed in black pants, a plum-colored shirt open at the neck and a longish black leather jacket. The younger man moved around my apartment with cat-like grace, his every move dark and sensuous. My breathing grew heavy, my heart rate kicked up a notch. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, and he hadn’t identified himself as a detective, like the old guy had. What was he doing here and why did my pulse speed up from watching him?
The older man stepped forward, flashing a badge in my face. “Officer Danske, I’m Detective Thomas with the Paranormal Investigative Team.”
With considerable effort, I dragged my gaze from the man in black and fought to process what the detective had just said. “Excuse me?” My eyes narrowed. “Did you say paranormal something?”
He smiled. “The Paranormal Investigative Team—we’re a special investigation team established to handle the unexplainable in the Manhattan area.”
My first thought was that someone was playing a prank on me—typical hazing of the newbie. But that…man who’d attacked me had been a hell of a lot more than a prank. “What does that mean?” I demanded. “Are you like ghost hunters or something?”
For some reason, I instinctively looked to the younger man for answers. But he wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he lifted a framed photo of my mother, me and my little brother from an end table.
“Hey, don’t touch my stuff.” I strode across the room and jerked the frame from his hands—my first mistake. My fingers collided with his, sending a strong jolt of something very much like electricity throughout my body, setting every nerve ending on fire. What the hell?
I backed away, my gaze claiming his.
His eyes glowed, intense black and shiny, peering into mine as if he could see all the way to my soul.
My breath caught and held. I lifted a hand to my throat, pressing the other to my breast, as if to hold my galloping heart steady. “Who the hell are you?”
He smiled, his teeth gleaming white, the dark lock of hair hanging down over his forehead glossy black and begging to be brushed to the side.
My hand rose to do just that, only I caught myself before I actually touched him.
The older man stepped up beside us, reminding me we weren’t alone.
“This is Blaise Michaels, a member of my team.”
Anger gave me the strength I needed to break the stare between us. “Tell your underling to leave my things alone,” I forced out between clenched teeth.
“Blaise.” Detective Thomas’s tone was low, but intense. “Let me handle this. I think she can be of use to us.”
The younger man’s lips slid into a full, sexy grin. “I agree,” he responded, then winked at me. “You felt it too, didn’t you, Katya?” he said, only his lips didn’t move.
I did a double take. “Did you say something?”
Blaise’s eyes widened, a smile curling his lips, but Detective Thomas interrupted him before he could say anything else. “Stop fooling around. We have a problem and we need to get to the heart of it.” Thomas waved a hand toward the worn leather couch I’d salvaged from a street corner. “Won’t you have a seat? I have a proposition for you.”
For the first time since the room had cleared, I wished I’d rearmed myself with the other knife from my cooking set before I sat. “I’m not much of a fan of propositions.”
Detective Thomas smiled. “I think you might find this one interesting. Based on the M.E.’s report, that man you beheaded earlier tonight had been dead for two weeks.”
“He wasn’t acting dead when he threw himself at me.”
Thomas nodded. “That’s my point. Dead people don’t normally throw themselves around or attack people. That’s when my team gets called in to investigate. The creature who attacked you was a zombie.”
I laughed out loud, then sobered when the good detective and his flunky didn’t laugh with me. “You expect me to believe that?” My glance passed from Thomas to the man he’d called Blaise.
“You saw him. Did he look like a rational, fully functional, warm-blooded human?” The detective’s brows rose as he waited for my answer.
The stench of death still lingered in my nostrils and the cold fingers that had grabbed my ankle hadn’t felt like any live person I’d ever known. Still…zombies?
“We refer to them as reanimated bodies, but to the layman, the term ‘zombies’ works.” Detective Thomas paced the living room floor in front of me, his brows dipping low over his eyes. “There’s been a rash of reanimates lately and we haven’t been able to find the source. I’m short of staff and frankly I haven’t met too many people I’ve felt I could trust to keep calm in weird situations and do the job without hesitation. Or willing to keep his or her mouth shut about the paranorms roaming the streets of Manhattan.” He stopped and faced me. “Until you.”
“Me?” I sat back, my heart thumping hard in my chest. “No wait, back up, what’s this about more paranorms?”
“You know, the usual collection of creatures normally considered folktales or myths.” When I continued to frown, Thomas went on. “Werewolves, vampires, zombies and demons.”
I shook my head. “Look, it’s been a long night,” I said as I got to my feet. “It already had been a long night for me even before I got home. And I think I’ve just about reached my limit.” I walked toward the door, intent on showing them out.
Blaise stepped in front of me before I could get there. “You’ve worked the nightshift for the past six weeks right?”
“Yes.” I crossed my arms over my chest, more to cover the tightening of my nipples than anything. “So?” The man had so much magnetism going on, I could feel myself leaning toward him. What was wrong with me? I hadn’t felt an attraction this strong since…hell, maybe I’d never felt an attraction this strong. But that was all the more reason to fight it. I didn’t like anything that made me feel out of control. And there was nothing controlled about my response to this man.
“Haven’t there been some really strange citizen reports of wolf sightings in the alleys or people claiming to have been bitten by a vampire?” Blaise’s gaze slipped to my lips, and almost instinctively I licked them.
I forced myself to concentrate on his words, though they made no sense. “We had those crank calls in Chicago all the time, so what? There are lunatics all over the country.”
Thomas nodded. “Ever wondered if there was a grain of truth to the reports?”
An icy finger of déjà vu trickled down my spine. I had wondered, but discounted it as a little of the crazy rubbing off. Thus, my change of venue from Chicago to Manhattan. That and the stalker coworker who wouldn’t leave me the hell alone—until he finally crossed the line. “No,” I lied. “I never gave their stories a second thought.”
Blaise laughed out loud. Liar. Again, his lips never moved.
I’d been watching them, maybe a little too closely. “I don’t believe in ghosts and never have.”
“I’m afraid denial is not an option anymore. I need someone like you on my team. You proved yourself tonight with the zombie—handling the situation without falling apart.”
Blaise moved away, giving the detective the floor.
I was able to finally direct my attention to Thomas. “I’m a beat cop. I’m out on the streets every night. I don’t fall apart.”
“Good, then it’s agreed?”
My hands went up. “Whoa. I didn’t agree to anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I’ve already spoken with your supervisor and his boss. The paperwork for your transfer will follow in the morning. You can quit altogether and be unemployed, or you can work for me. We need you. Your first case has already…dropped into your lap. It’ll be up to you to find the people responsible for reanimating that dead man.” Detective Thomas shrugged into his coat and started for the door. “Your partner will fill you in on all the details of your new responsibilities.”
“Wait a minute.” I followed Detective Thomas to the door. “I haven’t agreed to this.”
Thomas stopped and turned toward her. “Maybe you don’t understand. I don’t have enough staff to chase this new threat. The man tonight wasn’t the last of them, but nearly everyone else on my team is too tied up to take on new assignments. Unless you step up, the next zombie is going to put more people in danger.”
The blue-gray of the zombie’s face flashed through my mind along with the chill that lingered where his hand had gripped my ankle. “There are other…zombies out there?”
“We’ve had three reports, each a day apart and each zombie is getting more aggressive.”
“Why aren’t they making the news?” I asked.
Thomas nodded toward Blaise. “You want to tell her?”
Blaise leaned his back against the wall beside the door, crossing one leg over the other. It should have looked ridiculously posed. Instead, it looked ridiculously sexy. Damn him.
“The mayor of our great city doesn’t want to kill the multimillion-dollar tourism trade. Between us and the mayor, we keep a tight cap on what stories reach the paper.” He shrugged. “Not too many legitimate papers would touch a story like this, anyway. It sounds too crazy.”
Normally, I roll with the punches, but this—this was a bit overwhelming. “I just started with the Fifth Precinct, I don’t want to change jobs again in such a short amount of time.”
“And we’re wasting time arguing.” Detective Thomas gripped the door handle. “You and your new partner need to get started on the investigation yesterday before anyone else gets hurt.” He opened the door and strode through.
I followed the older man out into the hall. “Partner? When do I get to meet him?”
Detective Thomas turned back to me, frowning. “You already have, and he’s the best we’ve got. He can tell you everything you need to know since he is also a member of the paranorm community.”
It became my turn to frown. “Who—wait—what do you mean?”
Thomas nodded toward my left shoulder. “Blaise is your new partner.”
My stomach flipped, my pulse galloped and I glanced over my shoulder at the man standing in the doorway behind me. “Him? He’s my partner?”
Blaise tipped his head, a light dancing in his black eyes. “The pleasure will be all mine.”
“No way.” I turned back to Detective Thomas, but the man had already started down the steps. “No way. Take him with you.”
The detective’s hand rose, but he didn’t turn back. “I’ll want a full report tomorrow night of anything you’ve found.” The man disappeared, leaving me with the sexiest partner I’d ever had the displeasure of working with.
I groaned as I faced Blaise Michaels. “I can’t work with you.”
He held the door for me to reenter my own apartment as if he owned the place. “I’m sure I don’t understand why. I promise not to bite—unless you want me to.” He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Besides, I’ve learned that whatever Detective Thomas asks for, he gets, no questions asked.” The jerk gave me a decidedly smug grin. “You and I are now partners.”
I stepped far enough into the apartment that my back was to him then closed my eyes, tipping my head back to ease the tension in the back of my neck. Before I could even blink my eyes open, warm fingers clamped down on my shoulders and strong thumbs dug into the knotted muscles, soothing the kinks out. I should have jumped and inserted a safe distance between us, but my feet refused to move, and his fingers worked magic on the soreness caused by a two-hundred pound corpse landing on top of me. Twice.
“This is not going to be the norm.” I didn’t want him to get used to touching me. Since Chicago, I’d become wary of letting anyone lay so much as a finger on me. I tended to lash out instinctively whenever a man got within arm’s length, as the guy from the station with the imprint of the concrete floor on his face could attest. So why wasn’t I pulling away? How could it be that I was actually relaxing under the skillful pressure of his hands?
