Page 2 of A Killer Crescent Valentine

“We’ll need to commandeer the surveillance room to catch the Cupid,” Dean mused.

I squealed and shimmied. “I love you.”

“Because I agreed to call the killer the Cupid?” he drawled, gazing fondly at me as I beamed up at him. “You’re very easily pleased, Miss Falcon.”

A little shiver worked through my body. “Speaking of being easy and wanting to be pleased…” I let my eyes drift across the lawn towards the Whimpering Woods, where the darkness between trees was full of terrifying monsters. “Care to fuck me against a tree, Dean Garrick?”

His laugh was low and edged with a growl. Leaving the corpse to tarnish the lawn for a little longer, he grabbed the backs of my thighs and lifted me, my legs circling his waist.

“I care indeed,” he replied and carried me into the woods.

CHAPTER 2

“This is why you’re my soulmate,” I told Slasher, grinning as I spun in my spinny desk chair and my crazed vampire immediately followed suit.

“You’re gonna get dizzy and throw up all that birthday cake you ate,” Edison remarked as he dropped into his chair and didn’t spin. I stuck my tongue out at him.

“I’d never waste birthday cake in such a careless manner,” I replied, my head beginning to whirl like the chair.

“Why are you using the voice you use to mock me?” Dean grumbled as he tapped at a keyboard, waking up the bank of screens we were all here to stare at. For hours.

I was already bored.

“Careless manner just wouldn’t sound right in my voice. It suits yours better,” I told him.

I stopped spinning before I proved Edison right, but my head kept whirling, the small surveillance room whizzing into a mass of grey walls, flickering screens, and pretty mates. I sighed. I really did have the best mates on Earth.

I batted my dizzy eyelashes at Hugh as he set a pink unicorn mug in front of me. “You’re so pretty, and kind. Do you know I love you?”

My big, cuddly wolf laughed, stroking a hand down my hair. “I know. You tell me every day.”

His fingers travelled to my chin and tipped my face up. Butterflies erupted in my belly as he kissed me slow and deep, lingering on the extra sensitive spots that made me arch up against him, made my clit pound with sudden need. Everyone else must have felt it too, because they groaned.

“We can watch the screens and fuck you at the same time, right, my beautiful cake pop?” Slasher asked, his voice huskier than it had been a moment ago.

“Right,” I agreed, well used to his food names and completely and utterly charmed by them. Bubblegum and sugarplum were my favourites so far, but he found new ones every week. “We can totally do both.”

“No,” Dean argued, his mouth in a thin line as he assessed the security feeds from the many cameras put up across Blake Hall grounds.

I turned big, pleading eyes on him, my bottom lip pushed out in a pout. “But it’s Brannigan’s birthday. We have to do something special.”

Hugh suppressed a laugh.

“Group sex is certainly special,” Edison remarked, tilting his head as he watched me with amused black eyes. “Most people tend to stick to jewellery and aftershave, though.”

“Most people are dull,” I replied, getting out of my chair and patting the seat as I met Brannigan’s deep red eyes. The way they flared with humour before love softened them gave me even more giddy butterflies.

“You do realise I’m not a cat to be tempted into a seat, darlin,” he drawled, but he loped across the room in his graceful, vampire-y way regardless of his complaint. He looked damn good tonight, his curly black hair pulled into a knot on the back of his head, his sculpted features on full display, and his lush mouth tempting me close for a kiss.

“You might not be a cat,” I said as he sank into my seat, “but I hope you’re feline horny.”

Male groans answered me. Bastards. That was a good joke, and they knew it.

Brannigan’s eyes glittered as I climbed onto his lap, straddling him, unable to look away from his eyes. “I’m feline lucky to have such an amazing mate,” he said, earning deeper, louder groans from the others.

I ignored them all and kissed Brannigan, a thrill going down my spine when he slid cold fingers into my hair and gripped tight. The dominance made me kiss him harder, my back arching to press my chest against his as heat pounded a pulse between my legs. It was always surprising when my mild-mannered librarian showed his dangerous side. I was more than happy to hand over the reins of control.1

Brannigan tightened his grip on my hair and tilted my head so he could kiss me deeper, his coffee and blood taste and possessive touches and soft, sexy groans consuming all my senses. I arched against him like a cat in heat, my own feline joke taking revenge against me, my body turning liquid with every long, fluid stroke of his tongue, every nip of teeth and fangs.

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