When Darkness Falls Read online

  background-1- -2- -3- -4- -5- -6- -7- -8- -9- -a- -b- -c- -d- -e- -f- -g- -clear-

  color -1- -2- -3- -4- -5- -6- -7- -8- -9-

  * * *

  WHEN DARKNESS FALLS

  By

  Susan Krinard, Tanith Lee & Evelyn Vaughn

  * * *

  Contents

  KISS OF THE WOLF

  Susan Krinard

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  SHADOW KISSING

  Tanith Lee

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  THE DEVIL SHE KNEW

  Evelyn Vaughn

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Part 5

  * * *

  Sometimes love lurks somewhere

  between dusk and dawn

  THREE NEW STORIES

  Kiss of the Wolf by USA TODAY

  bestselling author Susan Krinard

  Surgeon Dana Saint-Cyr trusted her instincts, even when they urged her toward an irresistible Louisiana man with a wicked reputation. But would she discredit the whispers of his supernatural powers and murderous intent before falling prey to his passion?

  Shadow Kissing by Tanith Lee

  Four-time winner of the World Fantasy Award Artist Vivien Gray's new mysterious lover promised soul-stealing ecstasy that haunted her dreams and set her spine tingling. Now their happiness was at stake—from the ominous evil their very love had unleashed.

  The Devil She Knew by Evelyn Vaughn

  When Marcy Bridges discovered a portal to hell in her closet, she needed help from the last person she wanted to call—her gorgeous landlord. Could she trust her life—and her heart—to the care of a dark, dangerous stranger?

  Visit Silhouette at www.eHarlequin.com

  * * *

  LUNA

  Coming January 2004

  Powerful women.

  Captivating worlds.

  Magical journeys.

  A world you can only imagine…

  * * *

  Praise for Susan Krinard

  "A master of atmosphere and description."

  —Library Journal

  "A vivid, talented writer with a sparkling imagination."

  —National bestselling author Anne Stuart

  "Susan Krinard has set the standards for today's fantasy romance."

  —Affaire de Coeur

  Praise for Tanith Lee

  "An astonishingly good mix of horror…

  and intense but well-handled eroticism."

  —Booklist

  "Lee's prose is a waking dream, filled with tropical sensualities."

  —Time Out

  "Scary enough you may want to leave the light on all night—erotic enough you may want to turn it out… "

  —London Love Review

  Praise for Evelyn Vaughn

  "If you enjoy my books, you are going to LOVE Evelyn Vaughn's! A romantic thriller that will tingle your spine and curl your toes. Don't miss it!"

  —USA TODAY bestselling author Maggie Shayne

  "Evelyn Vaughn delivers thrills and chills in a true battle of good versus evil. Four stars!"

  —Romantic Times

  "Evelyn Vaughn challenges her audience, even as she entertains them, into suspending their own belief systems and, for a brief period of time, allowing the magic to overwhelm them."

  —Affaire de Coeur

  * * *

  SUSAN KRINARD

  never expected to become a writer. She "fell into it" by accident when a friend suggested she try writing a novel, and that novel sold to a major publisher two years later. She now considers herself incredibly fortunate in finding a career so perfectly suited to her love of words and storytelling.

  Susan incorporates fantasy into her romance novels and has made a unique place for herself in the romance genre. She's won several awards and has been a finalist in the Romance Writers of America RITA® Awards competition. She has published eleven books and four novellas. Her most popular stories are those featuring her "romantic werewolves," but she's also written tales of time travel, distant worlds, ghosts and the ancient fairy folk.

  TANITH LEE

  began writing at age nine, and since then, she's published over seventy stories in novels and short-story collections. In the 1970s and early eighties, four of her radio plays were broadcast by the BBC, and she wrote two episodes of the BBC TV cult series Blake's Seven. Her work has been translated into over fifteen languages, and she has twice won the World Fantasy Award for short fiction.

  Tanith Lee lives with her husband, writer John Kaüne, in England, where they share their home with one black-and-white and one Siamese cat. Check out her Web site at www.tanithlee.com.

  EVELYN VAUGHN,

  aka Yvonne Jocks, is a firm believer in the magic of stories. Her own have included six Silhouette romances, five historical romances and ten fantasy stories in various anthologies. She currently teaches community-college English in Texas, where she lives with a seventeen-year-old cat named Simone, a cocker spaniel named Kermit and too many imaginary friends to easily count. Check her out at www.evelynvaughn.homestead.com.

  * * *

  Susan Krinard

  Tanith Lee Evelyn Vaughn

  When

  Darkness

  Falls

  Published by Silhouette Books

  America's Publisher of Contemporary Romance

  * * *

  SILHOUETTE BOOKS

  WHEN DARKNESS FALLS

  Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Books S A

  ISBN 0-373-21822-2

  The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows

  KISS OF THE WOLF

  Copyright © 2003 by Susan Krinard

  SHADOW KISSING Copyright © 2003 by Tanith Lee

  THE DEVIL SHE KNEW

  Copyright © 2003 by Yvonne A Jocks

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S A

  ® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S A, used under license Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries

  Visit Silhouette at www eHarlequin com

  Printed in U.S.A.

  * * *

  * * *

  KISS OF THE WOLF

  Susan Krinard

  * * *

  To the "Prickly Chicks," cheerleaders extraordinaire.

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  ^ »

  What a way to come home.

  Dana St. Cyr stood at the sloping shoulder of a narrow road edged by cattails and a stand of bald cypress trees, tapping the toe of her shoe on the gravel as smoke poured out from under the hood of her rented Lexus. In every direction, as far as the eye could see, lay mile upon mile of swamp, with n
ot a gas station in sight.

  The sun beat down on Dana's head and shoulders, plastering jacket and blouse to damp skin. How could it still be so hot in mid-September? Why in the world had she decided to leave her cell phone in California? If she had to walk all the rest of the way to Grand Marais…

  Big Marsh. That was a good name for a town in the backwaters of southern Louisiana, even if this was more swamp than marsh. Dana blew out her breath and glanced down at her Prada mules. Practical, she thought in mild self-disgust. Where did I ever get the idea that anything other than sneakers would be practical in a place like this?

  But she hadn't worn sneakers since the age of sixteen, when she'd decided who and what she was going to be. All that certainty had vanished a few months ago, when suddenly it wasn't enough to have a thriving career as one of San Francisco's top plastic surgeons, blessed with an elegant penthouse overlooking the Bay and several closets full of Paris couture. The perfect life she'd built had grown inexplicably flat and lonely.

  And that was why she was standing here on the road in the soggy heat of a Louisiana afternoon. She still remembered Uncle Charles's stories of the bayou. "If you ever get in trouble," he'd said, "go home to Beaucoeur Parish. You'll always find a welcome there, with your own people."

  People she'd never met. People who actually liked living in a place like this.

  She sighed and pushed damp hair out of her face. The road was still deserted. Birds sang in the cypress trees and tangled thickets of impenetrable scrub. A few white, fluffy clouds scudded across the sky.

  Dana pulled off one shoe and flexed her toes. The last thing she intended to do was stand here and wait to be rescued. A few blisters weren't going to kill her. The worst part would be arriving in Grand Marais with a psychological disadvantage, the stranger from California who got herself broken down in the middle of nowhere.

  It's not as if you care what they think. You don't have any expectations, remember? This was a crazy idea, anyway, and if not for Uncle Charles…

  The cattails by the side of the road rustled with the motion of some hidden shape. Dana lost her balance and leaned against the Lexus, the small hairs rising on the back of her neck. Did they have bears in Louisiana?

  You're being ridiculous. It's probably a deer, or maybe an opossum.

  But it was not a deer, and definitely not an opossum. Dana blinked, and a tall, very human form emerged from the undergrowth.

  The man moved a little way toward her and paused, regarding her silently. Dana assessed him with a keen eye developed over years of sculpting faces, inching her way toward the car door and the can of pepper spray in the glove compartment.

  Her first impression was of height, broad shoulders and a shock of red-brown hair. But it was the face beneath that hair that made her forget about the pepper spray. Even if the swamp sheltered escaped criminals or crazed hermits, surely none of them could be quite so strikingly attractive.

  Mid-thirties, she calculated. Nonsmoker, not a shred of excess weight, high cheekbones, firm chin with a dimple she couldn't improve on. A mouth with lips just full enough to be sensual without sacrificing masculinity. Strong, straight nose. Eyes just a little deep set, a shifting turquoise under dark, straight brows.

  The rest of the body matched the face, beautifully proportioned, narrow through hips and waist under a clean white T-shirt, thighs muscular in blue jeans painted with mud to midcalf. Dana couldn't see his feet behind the tall grass, but his hands, thumbs hooked in his pockets, looked as graceful as a concern pianist's.

  The Greeks had made statues like this, but nature seldom duplicated their talents. Not without help. If genes like his were common, she would be out of a job. And then maybe she would have time for a love life…

  The man took a step toward her, breaking the spell. Dana flung open the car door and dived across the seat. Idiot. Who knows better than you how little a face has to do with the soul inside?

  "Are you in need of assistance, ma'am?"

  Dana's fingers slid off the button of the glove compartment. She peered out the passenger window, where the face gazed back at her, lips curved up at the ends as if he knew exactly what she'd been thinking.

  She flushed, slid back into the driver's seat and folded her hands in her lap. The doors were unlocked. He could get in if he wanted, but she would be damned if she let him think she was afraid, especially when he was circling his finger in an unmistakable request that she roll down the window.

  Calmly cursing herself, she punched the window button. Hot air flooded the car, and with it the subtle scent of male: cotton, soap, perspiration and a whiff of motor oil. The man leaned down and rested his elbow on the door.

  "You're not from around here, are you?" he asked.

  His voice was a low drawl, tinged by an agreeable accent that reminded her of Uncle Charles. She searched his eyes for any clue as to his intentions, but found only blue-green sparkling with mischievous light over depths she couldn't begin to plumb.

  "A very astute observation," she said coolly. "You don't by chance know how to repair my car?"

  "It's possible," he said, his gaze wandering to the open neck of her blouse. "Where are you headed?"

  "Grand Marais." If it's any of your business. "Do you live in this area?"

  He rested his dimpled chin on his knuckles. "You're still a good five miles from town, if you don't count the shacks and fishermen's camps along the levee. You have family in Grand Marais?"

  "Lucky guess." Better that he know she wasn't alone and without resources, just in case—though her skittishness was beginning to seem very foolish. "Augustine Daigle is my great-aunt. Do you know her?"

  "I've met her." He cocked his head and studied her with sharper interest. "You're a Daigle?"

  Dana wondered if this kind of inquisitiveness was specific to Louisiana. "St. Cyr, actually. Aunt Augustine is my mother's aunt. My parents left this area in their twenties. This is the first time I've been here."

  Now, what had possessed her to babble on so? Something about his lazy, half-lidded eyes invited her to confide in him, a total stranger, in a way she wouldn't confide in her closest friends back home. She tried to reassemble her guard, but the stranger's demeanor had radically altered in the short time she'd been talking. He had drawn back from the window, and his eyes had lost all of their friendliness.

  "You look like a woman who enjoys fine things," he said, all the melody gone from his voice. "Grand Marais is a simple place, with simple people. I don't think you'll like it there. If I were you, I'd go back where I came from."

  Dana realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it with a snap. "I beg your pardon. I won't trouble you any further, but if you have a cell phone I can borrow… "

  "I'll tell them you're here." His mouth set in a straight, grim line. "Take my advice. Don't stay in Beaucoeur Parish."

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  His last words were drowned out by the roar of a car approaching at high speed from the east. He looked toward the road, and Dana caught a flicker of something breathtakingly dangerous in his face before he turned away.

  "Wait!" she called after him. "You haven't told me your name—"

  But he was gone. Just like that, vanished, without even a swaying branch to mark his passage. The noise of the car—a very new, very expensive BMW convertible—had become deafening, and Dana winced as it pulled up beside the Lexus.

  This seemed to be her day to find astonishingly handsome men in the swamp, she thought absurdly. A flash of white teeth in a tanned face, tousled blond hair and the insouciant air of great wealth dazzled her sight like heat rising from hot pavement. The driver stopped his engine and leaned over the seat.

  "Well, hello there," he said. "I'll hazard a guess that you didn't park here just to take in the—" He hesitated, peering at her over the top of his sunglasses. Blue eyes crinkled in consternation and darted away, searching the thicket where the first stranger had disappeared. Just as Dana was
about to speak, he removed his sunglasses and turned his blinding attention on her again.

  "Forgive my bad manners, miss. I trust that I may be of assistance?"

  Dana felt her spine relax. She didn't know this man any better than the other one, but he was something she understood: rich, confident, and sure of his place in the world. She'd had several boyfriends exactly like him. The difference lay in the accent; Mr. BMW's voice had the graceful cadence of a quintessential Southern gentleman.

  "I hope so," she said, offering her hand. "I'm Dana St. Cyr, on my way to Grand Marais. I'm afraid the rental company has quite a bit to answer for."

  "So I see." He took her hand in a firm grip, making no concession to her gender. "Chad Lacoste. St. Cyr, of the Baton Rouge St. Cyrs?"

  "My father was from New Orleans."

  "And you're from the West Coast."

  "I suppose my accent gives me away."

  He grinned. "Believe me, I knew you weren't from around here the moment I saw you."