Fur and Fangs Box Set Read online

  Other Books by Rae D. Magdon

  Lucky 7

  Tengoku

  Death Wears Yellow Garters

  Amendyr Series

  The Second Sister

  Wolf’s Eyes

  The Witch’s Daughter

  The Mirror’s Gaze

  And with Michelle Magly

  All The Pretty Things

  Dark Horizons Series

  Dark Horizons (Revised Edition)

  Starless Nights

  Fur and Fangs

  (Chapters 1 – 10)

  By Rae D. Magdon

  ©2019 Rae D. Magdon

  ISBN (trade): 9781948327190

  ISBN (epub): 9781948327206

  ISBN (pdf): 9781948327213

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form other than that which it was purchased and without the express permission of the author or publisher. Please note that piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s right and is illegal.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Desert Palm Press

  1961 Main Street, Suite 220

  Watsonville, California 95076

  Editor: Lee Fitzsimmons

  Cover Design: Gabriela Epstein

  Blurb

  Riley is a werewolf from rural Georgia, trying to make a new home in the bustling Big Apple. Isabeau is a sexy, computer-savvy vampire dealing with depression and recovering from a bad relationship. When a chance meeting on the subway brings them together, their lives will never be the same.

  Dedication

  For my darling Mona

  Chapter One - Riley

  THE WORST THING ABOUT living in the middle of Manhattan is the smell. It's nothing like the woods down in Georgia, where it’s warm and damp and aggressively green after the first spring rain. Something's always growing or scurrying in the dirt and hovering over it all is a sweet layer of smoke from someone's bonfire.

  New York City is different. The only burning smells here are diesel fumes and cigarette smoke. Dampness lives down in the subway terminals, but it's sharp and metallic. The subways themselves are filled with the smell of a hundred different body washes and lotions, and the stir of scents can be strong enough to knock a dog off a gut-wagon.

  Despite all that, riding the subway is one of my favorite parts of the day, because I get to indulge in one of my guiltiest pleasures: people-watching. That's the reason I moved to New York in the first place. It's one of the only cities in the world where humans, zombies, witches, vampires, faeries, and even werewolves like me can sit in an enclosed space together without incident. Or, at least, usually without incident. Last week a mummy punched through the safety glass and delayed the train fifteen minutes when a satyr stepped on his wrappings, but that's part of the weird beauty of this place. On the subway, you never know what you're gonna get.

  Today, the cast of characters is pretty disappointing. There are a few humans, a succubus with her face buried in a magazine and her earbuds in for protection against unwanted conversation, and a centaur in the extra-wide seating section. I'm at the far end of the car, pressed against the back wall for a prime viewing spot, pretending to look at my phone.

  The churning sound of the tunnel-wind fades, and the rattling sway of the car slows to a stop. After one last screech-and-hiss, the announcer calls out Broadway-Lafayette. The doors open, letting in even more unfamiliar smells.

  I watch the new passengers file in. Most are gussied up in suits and ties, headed for the financial district like me, but there are a few shoppers as well, in addition to a group of nervous-looking human tourists. The impractical clothes and the crumpled maps and brochures sticking out of their pockets are a dead giveaway. One smiles when she sees me, but her eyes widen in surprise when I smile back.

  In Georgia, smiling with teeth is normal, at least in the more integrated neighborhoods. It’s just polite behavior. In New York, you're not supposed to smile at all—especially if it's to a tourist and your teeth happen to be pointed. The woman grabs her man's arm and scurries to the opposite end of the car.

  I settle in my seat. Today isn't off to a great start. That is, until one more passenger slides on just before the doors close. Suddenly, I'm so distracted I manage to blank out the announcements. The woman couldn't be more than five foot four, but she seems to tower with every step. She's curvy, with dark skin, and unlike just about everyone else, she’s not wearing some shade of black. Her dress is bright yellow, knitted, and it manages to highlight everything important with a neck that scoops clear to the Promised Land. She's got black leggings on underneath, ending with high-heeled purple boots—and such a pretty collision of colors I never did see. Chunky pink sunglasses are perched on her nose even though it's early morning in September, but somehow, they go with everything else.

  I choke on my next breath. This woman sucked the wind right out of me. For once, I don't even bother pretending not to stare. She’s left me so dumb I don’t know whether to check my ass or scratch my watch.

  The strange woman sees me. She tips her sunglasses down, peering at me over the tops of the bright pink lenses, and her hazel eyes drown me. They're like a cat’s, and I'm so entranced that I almost don't notice the gleaming white fangs pricking her plump bottom lip. Then they're both gone, her eyes and her fangs, and I feel like I've just been run over by the subway instead of riding it.

  She’s a vampire. When my lungs decide to work again, my nose confirms it. I can pick up traces of flowers and heavy suntan lotion, which is definitely odd considering her skin tone, but underneath that is the unmistakable scent of copper. It's surprisingly delicious, and strangely reminds me of home, hunting under a full moon. My tongue wants to loll.

  All too soon, the subway stops again. The announcer calls out Cortland Street, and I realize I’ve missed several stops while lost in my haze. I still can’t figure out what to do with my hands as the vampire in the yellow dress leaves her seat and sways to the doors. It takes an effort of will not to stare at her backside, but I manage—barely, and only because the riot of tight black curls around her head bounces as she turns to look over her shoulder.

  Our eyes meet once more over the tops of her sunglasses, and my frantically pumping heart stops for a split second. The glance seems to last longer than a month of Sundays. Then she’s gone, disappearing between the silver doors. I crane my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but I only see a flash of yellow as the train takes off again.

  I lean back into my seat, grinning as the train rushes off toward the financial district. I’ll say this for Manhattan: it’s never boring.

  ***

  By ten thirty, I’m itching to get out of my skin. It’s still over an hour to lunch, but my memories of the subway, and the beautiful vampire, have me jonesing to drop to all fours and chase my tail for a while. It would probably be more productive than what I’m doing now, staring at a computer screen and pretending to read numbers. The work at Gragnar, Mrglsptz, & Smith pays okay, but the days here pass slower than molasses runn
ing uphill in winter. Just when I'm fixing to go crazy, there's a knock on the wall of my cubicle. A familiar face peeks in, and I smile when I see Colin Duncan. He's a selkie, one of the seal-folk, and looks it. His silver hair is short around his handsome face, and his piercing blue eyes are the color of the sea.

  "What's got your tail in a twist, Riley? Looks like the dog isn't having her day."

  I sigh. There's no harm in confessing, and Colin is one of my best friends. Besides, anything is better than pretending to work. "I got a question for ya, Colin. When you see someone pretty on the subway, what do y’all do up here?" Selkie gentlemen, as everyone knows, have a special way with the ladies, and Colin is no exception.

  He steps the rest of the way into my cubicle, leaning a hip on my desk and folding his arms across his chest. He's already got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, against dress code of course, and he looks like a man on a mission. "Depends. Was she making long eye contact with you or reading a book?"

  "Long eye contact," I say, a little offended that he's even asking. "I'd never bother someone showing signs she didn't wanna talk."

  He waves me off. "Did she seem interested?"

  I swallow, remembering. If that look over her shoulder hadn't screamed 'interested', I'd put on Colin's sealskin and dive in the fountain outside the building, the one with the statue of an ugly bronze troll in a suit.

  "Yup."

  "Then you should talk to her!" Colin grabs my shoulder, giving it a light but insistent shake. "Now, what kind of hottie was this? Faerie? Succubus? Maybe a witch?"

  "Vampire," I rasp. My mouth has suddenly gone dry. "She was wearing this yellow dress..."

  "Ooh. Vampire? Well, that's interesting..."

  Before Colin can elaborate on why, there's a loud cough from somewhere near his waist. Both of us jump, but it's too late. Standing behind us is our boss, Mr. Mrglsptz. Like most demons, he's got long, pointed ears, twisted horns, and tomato-red skin.

  "Duncan, what are you doing in Evans's work area?"

  "Nothing, sir," Colin says, suddenly the picture of seriousness. "I was just about to leave, sir."

  "Employee fraternization during work hours is strictly forbidden."

  "Of course, sir."

  “And your shirtsleeves are not being worn at an acceptable length.”

  Colin fixes his sleeves and scurries away—the traitor—leaving me alone with our boss.

  Mrglsptz doesn't seem any happier for Colin's departure. His scaly lips are firmly set in a scowl and his brow is lowered over his red eyes. "I expected better of you, Evans. When I agreed to give you this job on Colin's recommendation, both of you assured me your friendship wouldn't interfere with work."

  "Yes sir. I was just asking Colin a question, sir."

  "Glad to hear it. Now, please get back to work."

  He stomps off, arrowhead tail swishing behind him, leaving me alone with my computer and my thoughts. Colin's advice was useless anyway. Ain’t like I’m gonna see her again. The thought leaves a hole in my stomach. Desperately, I check the clock. Still almost an hour until lunch. This is gonna be a long day.

  ***

  I do see her again, the very next morning, on the very same train. She gets on at the same stop, Broadway-Lafayette, and my heart flies into my mouth. I try to swallow it down, but it sticks stubbornly in my throat as she passes through the doors.

  Today, she's wearing a bright pink dress that swishes around her knees and silver leggings that match the shining belt around her waist. Her lipstick is blue, of all possible colors, and I've never seen a louder outfit that still seems so put together. Her sunglasses are the same pink ones from yesterday, and once again, she tips them down to peer at me. It's a look that leaves me panting like a hound dog in June.

  This time, she winks, actually winks at me before pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and settling into her seat. She sets her purse on her lap and starts rummaging through it, leaning forward just enough for me to see the valley of her cleavage.

  She must notice me staring, because when she finds what she's looking for—a pack of gum—she makes eye contact again as she straightens up. Like the coward I am, I look away. My eyes end up on her hands instead, which is a mistake. Her fingers are long and graceful, and her nails are the same powder blue as her lipstick. The packet she's opening says: BluddBubble! Extra oxygen included!

  My stomach churns as she opens her mouth. Once more, I catch a glimpse of her fangs. They're longer than I expected, even longer than mine, and I suppress a shudder. They say vampires can make their victims want the bite, but I've never believed that particular stereotype...until now.

  I sit there, totally entranced, watching her chew until the train comes to her stop. She rises, and once more, she gives me a long, lingering look before slipping out through the subway doors and disappearing into the station.

  When she leaves, it's like all the warmth in the room leaves with her. All that's left is a flush on my cheeks and a throbbing ache between my legs. It's only then that I realize I didn't even try to talk to her.

  ***

  On the morning of the third day, I'm determined to do something other than sit there. I’m not exactly Don Juan, but I did all right with the ladies before my move to the city. Then again, none of those ladies were as pretty as the vampire on my train. The bar I've set myself this time is low: a simple "Hello". No lines, no stupid rambling. Just hello. Nothing can possibly go wrong.

  At least, that's what I tell myself as I board the train and sit in my usual spot. I run the possibilities over and over in my head, completely ignoring the other passengers for a change. Maybe she'll smile at me? Maybe she'll say hello back? Maybe, if I'm lucky, she'll even ask for my name?

  Those questions keep my bubbling brain occupied until the vampire finally boards the train at Broadway-Lafayette. My eyes are drawn to her like magnets as she saunters into the car, wearing a blazing white dress with big black polka dots. Her gloves and boots are white to match, and her lipstick and nails are bubblegum pink.

  I'm still adjusting to the vision of loveliness while she picks her seat, and I’m overjoyed when, after considering her options, she chooses one just a few spaces away. It's the closest she's ever been to me. The scent of suntan lotion, coconut, and a hint of sweet copper drown out everything else. I almost wipe my chin on my sleeve to make sure I'm not drooling.

  A faint thought blunders around in my head, like a lost moth trying to get inside a lightbulb, but eventually I remember I'm supposed to say hello. I open my mouth, but no words tumble out—not a single one. All the while, she's watching me with those bright hazel cat's eyes, as if she knows I'm about to speak and she's just waiting.

  The train hisses to a stop, and the announcer calls out Cortland Street. My heart pumps into overdrive. I watch with increasing desperation as the vampire adjusts her sunglasses, hitches her purse up on her shoulder, and gets up from her seat, heading toward the doors. I have to do something. This might be my only chance.

  "Hi?"

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see her stop. She turns, and her pointed, pearly-white smile lights up her entire face and mine. "Well hey there, baby."

  She sits back down, not in her original seat, but in the one right next to me. I can almost feel the heat of her thigh against mine as she settles in. "I'm Isabeau," she says. Her voice is sweet and slow and syrupy, like dripping honey. "What's your name?"

  Isabeau. A wide grin spreads across my face as my misfiring brain realizes she's told me her name. Eventually, when she continues looking at me, I remember she's asked me a question. "Riley?"

  "You sure about that?" she teases, but it's lighthearted and not at all condescending.

  I cough and try again. I should know how to hold a simple conversation, even in front of someone this good looking. "Riley. Uh... I didn't hold y'all up, did I? I mean, you missed your stop."

  Isabeau doesn't seem concerned about it. "Y'all?" she repeats. "You aren't from New York, are you?
"

  "Georgia. Just moved here a couple months ago.”

  "Well now... a transplant. I was born here, but I've got folks in New Awlins." Her accent is normal for these parts, not heavy Bronx, but standard mid-Atlantic—but when she says New Orleans, it dips into something vaguely southern.

  "Hope I'm not stepping on any tails," she continues, "but I'm curious... what's a wolf all the way from Georgia doing in New York City? I imagine running in Central Park gets boring after a while."

  "It ain't—it’s not so bad," I lie. Full moon runs in the cordoned-off areas of the park do get tedious after a while, but there aren't many other choices unless you want to go all the way out of the boroughs. "You meet plenty of interesting folks."

  "I'll bet," she laughs, and the sounds got my head ringing with silver bells.

  It's an opening for conversation, and I take it. "One time, a sphinx forgot to leave her pedestal. She ended up treed with a whole pack baying after her."

  Now that I'm saying it out loud, it sounds like the stupidest story in all creation, but Isabeau doesn't seem to mind. She's still looking right at me, smiling, and my stomach loops into slippery knots.

  "And? What happened?"

  "Scared 'em off," I mumble, modestly. "City wolves can't hunt proper anyway."

  Isabeau laughs. "So, is this your usual method for impressing girls? By telling them about the time you rescued a cat from a tree?"

  "Well..." I rub at the back of my neck, which is already starting to sweat, and has probably stained the back of my shirt. "Probably explains why I'm single, huh?" Smooth, Riley. Real smooth.

  "Single in New York is nothing to be ashamed of," Isabeau purrs. Her tongue peeks out to touch the tips of her fangs. "In fact, it opens you up to all kinds of adventures."