Forbidden Hybrid, page 1
FORBIDDEN
HYBRID
BY
MONTANA ASH
&
T.J. SPADE
Published by Paladin Publishing
Forbidden Hybrid
Copyright © 2018 by Montana Ash & T.J. Spade
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Montana Ash and T.J. Spade, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover design by: LKO Design
Formatting by: LKO Design
DEDICATION
To friendship … and Daniel Jackson.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THRITEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THRITY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THRITY THREE
CHAPTER THRIRTY FOUR
OTHER TITLES BY MONTANA ASH AND T.J. SPADE
FOLLOW MONTANA
FOLLOW T.J.
CHAPTER ONE
Maeve tapped her finger against her dwindling glass of tequila in time with the music. The Sliders were a local band who played music with actual words and the mood in the bar was upbeat. She wasn’t entirely sure of the name of this place – there was an unfamiliar symbol over the door which declared it to be a hot-spot and the current place to be seen – or so Violet assured her. Although all Maeve really wanted to see were the walls of her shower, she had grudgingly relented to the evening’s shenanigans because it had been two weeks since she had last seen her best friend.
Maeve had just spent a long, hectic weekend at the DEFCON Hacker Convention in Las Vegas and although she’d learnt a lot and had admittedly had fun, by the end of it, all she had wanted was to lay spread-eagled on her own sheets with blessed quiet in her ears. The flight had been beyond long, and a constant assault to her senses thanks to her onion-smelling neighbour in the seat next to her. Sighing despondently into her drink, Maeve glanced around and perked up a little. Although getting out of the house for reasons other than work was something she did less and less in recent years, even Maeve could appreciate the ambience of her current location. The space was all glass and chrome and every time she looked up, she saw her reflection in successive mirrors behind the bar. Her sharp blue eyes spied Violet chatting up a behemoth of a man over by the stage. Even as Maeve watched, the drool-worthy hottie threw his head back in a display of genuine laughter, and she had to smile; Vi was the type to inspire lots of laughter and smiles. The spontaneous movement afforded Maeve a perfect view of his neck and she noted the distinctive black brand marking him as a werewolf.
Maeve screwed her nose up, immediately losing interest and hoping Violet didn’t bring the wolf back to the tall stools at the bar. It wasn’t that Maeve was a specieist or anything. She had no problem with werewolves, vampires, or humans for that matter. But they seemed to have a problem with her. The wolves were constantly sniffing her and she never knew if they were going to hump her leg or piss on her. As for the vamps, they always fanged-out whenever they got too close and she knew they only saw cheeseburger when they looked at her. Humans didn’t react to her quite as oddly, but she had never found one who kept her interest beyond anything casual.
A brush of a hand against her arm in a subtle, yet at the same time, really obvious gesture to get her attention, had her leaving her musings. A young-looking guy in a form-fitting t-shirt and ripped jeans flashed her a blinding smile, complete with dimples and twinkling green eyes. Maeve flicked her eyes discreetly to his neck and saw his registration brand was a stylised V. A vampire, she thought, preparing to give him the old heave-ho before he had the chance to get fangy with her. But Mr Green Eyes opened his mouth – no doubt to deliver a pithy pick-up line – and inhaled at the same time. He immediately recoiled, scrunching his face up as though her scent was offensive to him. Maeve barely withheld a snicker when he gave her a brief nod, practically running in the opposite direction.
“Wow. That guy couldn’t get away fast enough. What did you say to him?”
The voice was Violet’s as she slid onto the vacant stool next to hers. Maeve watched, with more than a little envy, when Vi’s short, tight dress stayed in place, revealing just enough leg to tease but not enough to go all Basic Instinct in the trendy bar. No matter what her best friend since pre-school wore, she always managed to look classy. A feat Maeve could never pull off. If she were to wear a dress that red and that tight, she would immediately be in skank territory. Fingers snapped in front of her eyes;
“Hello, Earth to Maeve. What’s with the death stare? You planning on eating my liver?” Vi asked, tone serious, but hazel eyes sparkling with mirth.
Maeve snorted, “That’s more your schtick than mine.”
Violet grinned, revealing wickedly sharp canines, “I hardly ever do that anymore.”
Maeve laughed, appreciating her vampire friend and feeling no fear whatsoever. Not only was Vi missing the violent gene, she was also the only vampire Maeve had ever met who didn’t want to suck her dry. For some reason, her blood was not as appealing to Violet as it seemed to be for every other vampire on the planet. Maeve liked to think it was because they were family.
“So,” Violet idly pushed a coaster around with her finger, “are you going to tell me what you said to make that guy run away?”
Maeve smirked, “I didn’t have to say anything. Eau de Maeve scared him away.” Maeve took a deep whiff of her armpit, almost choking on the strong scent of her excessive perfume.
Violet wrinkled her nose, “I really wish you wouldn’t drown yourself in those obnoxious scents. They make my tongue tingle and my nose itch.”
“Yeah? Well, I really wish werewolves and vampires weren’t attracted to me like bees to honey either. The perfume keeps them away, that’s all I care about,” Maeve retorted, gratefully noting her drink was now all gone. Perhaps she could escape soon.
Vi patted her arm, “I know, sweetie. It’s cool. Besides, it makes Christmas shopping easy; perfume, perfume, and more perfume!”
Maeve smiled in appreciation, but quickly lost her cheer when she heard her bestie’s next words; “How was Vegas anyway? Did you see Britney? Did you meet anyone?” Vi waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“It was good – productive. I saw some amazing computer architecture, plus some lock-picking and robotics contests. And I met plenty of people; government employees, security researchers, software analysts …” Maeve trailed off, sounding pathetic even to her own ears.
“So not what I meant, and you know it!” Violet frowned.
Maeve sighed; she really didn’t want to have this conversation again. Sure, she’d met people, but no, she hadn’t taken them back to her hotel for debaucherous monkey-type sex. Why? Because it sometimes seemed like more effort than it was worth. It wasn’t as though she didn’t enjoy sex – she liked it a lot. She also liked men – a lot! She was even liberal enough to appreciate the feminine form – Scarlett Johansson was smoking hot – and to cap it all off, there was even a decent amount of steamy reading on her bookshelf. Maeve sat up straighter at the reminders, announcing to herself proudly; I am Maeve and I am a sex goddess … who simply hasn’t had sex in almost a year. Slight technicality. Maeve knew she could have sex – hell, she could have sex tonight if she wanted to. The only glitch was that she didn’t pick up random guys easily and she knew that wasn’t because of her looks – it was something more fundamental. That old adage – it’s not you, it’s me – was written for her, because somehow her blood or her body or her scent were faulty. It was just too risky to hook-up with some random supernatural.
“Uh oh. You have that constipated look on your face. I know what that means. You’re getting ready to bolt.” Violet informed her, before grabbing her arm and giving it an enthusiastic shake. “C’mon, Maeve, not yet. One last drink and then you can go home,” she promised.
“You said that three drinks ago,” Maeve replied, laughingly. “And although I love torturing my liver, I only just got back and I need to unpack and –”
“Let me guess,” Violet interrupted, “you need to water your fern – how is Ferdinand by the way? And check your mail and park yourself in front of a glowing computer screen.”
“That’s not it,” Maeve shook her head unconvincingly, t hinking; shit! Violet often teased, but really the girl was right on the money. She did have a plant and a computer screen calling her name. Feeling a wee bit lame, Maeve decided to suck up her reclusive instincts and turned to tell Violet she’d stay for that one last drink as the band struck up another tune. But she didn’t get a chance to before the tattooed hottie behind the bar placed a margarita down in front of her. “That was fast,” she elbowed her friend playfully in the ribs. “At least you ordered my favourite.”
Violet cast a look down the bar and over her shoulder, “That’s not from me.”
“The gentleman in the corner booth asked that you get this.” The barman nodded his head in the direction of said mystery man, but the booth was already empty.
Maeve glanced at the now vacant booth then pushed the cocktail glass in Violet’s direction, “I think this was meant for you.” At almost six-feet tall and with legs that went on forever, Maeve was used to Vi getting hit on in bars … and coffee shops … and once, even a gynaecologist’s office. “Too bad you’re not a tequila girl,” she joked.
“Exactly. I’m not,” Violet pushed the drink back again, “but you are. This is obviously for you.”
Maeve glanced at the margarita and then stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Who would buy me a drink?” she muttered.
Overhearing, Violet stuttered, “Um, who the hell wouldn’t want to buy you a drink?! You may not try hard but trust me, you look like you stepped out of a magazine!”
Maeve fluffed her hair self-consciously, “Like some really awful hunting and fishing magazine? Do I look like I’m some salty fisherman?” She snagged a loose hair and tucked it behind her ear, “Maybe a Wookie?”
“Sweets.” Violet shook her head, “Trust me, that ebony hair of yours glints blue-black like a raven’s wing in this light, and your eyes – they slay me!”
“You’re drunk,” Maeve admonished. “You always say I’m pretty when you’re drunk.”
“And you need to listen to me,” Vi smooshed Maeve’s cheeks together, “Girl, with those sapphire-blue irises you could get any man in this bar. All you’d need to do is bat your long lashes and ask. Oh, and stop bathing in perfume,” Violet winked.
Why do I even try to fight her? Maeve wondered, before saying, “Uh huh. Okay, let me go.” Finally free, Maeve massaged her cheeks and took a sip from her drink, “Why waste it, right?”
“Exactly!” Violet tasted her own Mojito and sighed appreciatively. She raised her glass, “Here’s to me and here’s to you. Salut.” She grinned at Maeve over the rim of her drink then rapped the glass bar with her knuckles. Turning a full-voltage smile the bartender’s way, Violet demanded, “A shot of Jager for me and my friend.” Pulling a note from her pocket, she coyly passed it his way. “And keep them coming,” she winked.
“No,” Maeve shook her head. “You said one more.” She pointed to her drink, “This is one.”
“I didn’t buy that one, so it doesn’t count,” Violet chirped. “Let’s have fun.”
Maeve eyed the flair with which the dark-hued liquid was being transferred into the shot glass and decided to hell with it. “Okay, let’s drink!” Tomorrow was soon enough to decide if this was a bad idea or not.
“This was definitely a bad idea,” Maeve told herself as she left the bar. She’d kissed Violet on each cheek and put her in a taxi before beginning the short walk to her home. She’d promised to text with a smiley-face emoji when she arrived safe and sound – a habit they’d picked up as teenagers and had been using ever since. Truthfully, she always preferred to walk and enjoyed the cool breeze on her cheeks as well as the solitude she embraced quite naturally. At this hour the shining streets were almost bare – the clubs hadn’t quite emptied out but everyone at home had already locked their doors for the night. Now, she would walk the few blocks to her apartment, step into a cool shower, then fall into bed. Violet was wrong about one thing – she might water Ferdinand tonight but she wouldn’t turn on her computer until the morning. The plus side of having her own cyber-security business was that she was her own boss and could make her own hours. Maybe she’d be reckless and not open her laptop till nine!
Maeve strolled the empty street, lovingly envisioning her quiet apartment, when something to her right shifted and caught her eye. She startled inwardly but didn’t let it show and kept up her pace whilst covertly scanning her peripheral vision. And there it is again! This time she didn’t pretend ignorance and she spun around. “Who’s there?” she called, challengingly.
A cat jumped out from some rubbish bins down the street and a siren blared a block over. Around her, everything was still and silent. You’re imagining it! You’ve had too much to drink and now you’re jumping at shadows – that’s what you get for watching pay-per-view serial killer documentaries in the hotel last night. She turned and kept walking – still with her hackles raised but feeling a little stupid beneath her tough-girl exterior. Get a grip, Maeve. She stepped up onto the footpath and was almost at the corner, and the intersection of a main road, when she felt the first blow.
“Did you enjoy the drink?” a male voice from the shadows, goaded.
Maeve’s vision exploded and the street lamp up ahead seemed to rain stars down on them as a fierce, unexpected agony ricocheted around her skull. She hissed in pain and spun wildly, grasping at her head. In some far-off place, her brain registered that the substance in her hair was sticky but there was no time to deal with that now. Whoever this person was, he wanted to hurt her and she needed to fight. Maeve blinked, then shook her head and immediately understood that was a seriously bad idea. The night twirled around her and she lurched with its momentum.
“I asked did you enjoy your drink? I gave the barman explicit instructions: salt on the rim and a twist of lime in the glass, just the way you like it.” The shrouded figure flexed his right hand, causing his knuckles to crack. In the darkness, he bared white teeth, grinning.
“What?” Maeve felt confused and her head seemed stuffy all of a sudden, as though there was cotton wool blanketing her brain and filling her ears. What was he talking about? He bought me the margarita? Maeve squinted into the darkness, trying to make out some details of the face of the man in front of her. She understood enough about police procedurals that she knew she’d be required to give a description when providing her statement. If you live to give your statement, her traitorous mind taunted her. That thought had Maeve wavering on her feet but she tried not to let her unsteadiness show. Steeling her spine and trying her best to focus, she demanded, “What do you want?”
“What do you think I want?”
Still cloaked in shadows by the wall to her right, the dark form moved closer, and before her brain even registered what her body was doing, she’d taken an involuntary step backward. Hands trembling, she reached in her pocket; all she typically carried on a night out was her ID, a bank card and some cash, but maybe he’d take it and let her go. She had enough common sense not to play the hero alone in a dark alley and if this guy wanted money she’d hand it over, because as much as it pissed her off, she sure as hell wasn’t about to die for the fifty she was carrying.
“It annoyed me when you tried to give it away.”
“Give what away?” Maeve repeated stupidly. It was as though the scene around her was a scratched tape and her brain was trying to piece together the plot with only fragments of information instead of viewing the whole reel.
“The drink,” he explained, seemingly patient with her. He glanced around, searching, “I guess your friend left you all alone out here. Why would you want to be friends with a vampire anyway, hmm?”
“There’s no law,” Maeve croaked, trying to stay on her feet. And that was true. Although humans were increasingly seen as second-class citizens, there were no prohibitions in place for interspecies mingling.
“And you’re a human,” he said it like it needed clarifying.
“Yes, I’m a human and she’s a vampire. Everyone has known about vampires for the better part of fifty years. The bartender was a damn werewolf, so what’s your point?!” She thrust out the note and plastic she held in her hand. “Take it.”
