Really Unusual Bad Boys. MaryJanice Davidson

well, I’m not from around here, pally.”

      He laughed in her head again—God, that was so weird!—dug into the sand with all four paws, and they were off like a shot. She shrieked with surprise and joy and nearly fell off. She gripped him tighter with her knees and clutched his fur, which was coarse and soft at the same time—like rough silk. The stunted trees were whizzing by, his paws thudded into the hard-packed sand with the regularity of a metronome, and above her the lavender sky whirled and twirled. She laughed aloud and felt truly, deeply happy for the first time in a year.

      “Oh, faster, can you go faster?” The wind was rushing in her face and the dust was making her eyes water and she was probably going to get a bloody nose if she let her face bang into his shoulder but she didn’t give a tin-shit. All she knew was that she wasn’t dead—or if she was dead, it was pretty swell—she wasn’t in pain, and she was enjoying the first puma ride of her life with the most intriguing man she’d ever met. “Faster!”

      She could hear the delight in his voice. “Most ladies—and lords!—would be yetching all over my coat by now.”

      “Yetching? You mean puking, barfing? Throwing up? Ha! I haven’t thrown up since I was eight,” she said scornfully. “And that was because I ate all our leftover Halloween candy.”

      “Hallo’een? You mean Spirit Night?”

      “Hmm, that’s interesting. Looks like your home and my home have some interesting parallels. And the reason I’m using words like ‘interesting parallels’ is because you’re not going fast enough.”

      He snorted, then poured it on. She didn’t talk anymore. She concentrated solely on hanging on. She had never been happier in her life.

      Chapter 4

      “That was something,” she said, jumping off. She was panting from the adrenaline rush, but her knee didn’t so much as squeak in pain. And she took fresh delight in that. “That was really something. Hey, gorgeous, maybe we can do it again sometime?”

      He popped back to human form. It was still too quick for her eye to accurately report what happened when he transformed. “I am at my lady’s command.”

      “Well, isn’t that nifty. So, um—you live here?”

      “Here” was the castle. When she’d seen it from the middle of the desert, it had looked like a small white castle dreaming in the distance. Up close it was, she figured, about the size of the Empire State Building. Except not as high. But it sure had the square footage of Manhattan real estate. She had to tip her head waaaaaaay back to see the top of the spires.

      It looked just like the castles she’d seen pictures of back home, except it was pure, dazzling white. She assumed they had mined the stone from a nearby quarry…about a thousand years ago. The flags flying atop the spires were brightly colored and had animals on them—she spotted a puma atop all the others, but lions, leopards, and even a few house cats were also represented.

      There were several people about, going to and from the castle, and every one of them was staring at her as they hurried by. She assumed it was her clothes—or her coloring, because they were, to a man, woman, and child, all blond. And they sure weren’t wearing an old workout bra and tattered gym shorts. Shit, she was practically as naked as puma-man was. Somewhere along the way, her old shirt had disappeared.

      There were dozens of shades of blond represented, from the fairest platinum to what her dad had always called “dirty dishwater blond.” And while many of them had wavy locks, none of them sported a headful of wild curls, as she did.

      Ah, great…dead and a freak. Perfect.

      “…all my life.”

      “Huh?”

      “I said, in answer to your question, that I have lived in the Castle Royale all my life.”

      “Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot the question. Is that why they’re staring at me instead of you? I mean, at least I’m wearing clothes.”

      “I told you,” he said simply. “You are beautiful, and so they stare.”

      “Uh-huh.” She changed the subject. “So, are you going to give me the nickel tour, or what? After you get dressed,” she added in a mutter.

      His brow wrinkled. “Uh…yes. Might I first have your name, good lady?”

      “Right! I can’t believe I forgot about that.”

      “You are increasingly forgetful, it seems,” he teased.

      She grinned back. As long as he was standing here, talking to her, she didn’t mind the stares so much. “Today, yes. I’m Lois Commoner.”

      She stuck out her hand. He looked at it and didn’t say anything.

      “Helloooooo?” She waved her hand in front of his face. “And you are?”

      “Please forgive; I was waiting to hear your rank and affiliations.”

      “Oh, as to that—well, up ’til yesterday, it was Detective Lois Commoner, Minneapolis Police Department.”

      “That is an odd affiliation.”

      “Well, it worked for me, once upon a time.”

      He took her still-proffered hand, and seemed unsure of what to do with it. Finally he patted it, then let it go. “I am Damon.”

      “Is that Demon or Damien? ’Cuz I got problems with both.”

      “Day-MAWN.”

      “Oh.” He stuck out his hand and she shook it firmly. He watched their hands pump up and down, bemused. “It’s nice to meet you. Thanks again for the ride.”

      “You have but to ask if you desire another one. Come, I would like you to meet my father.”

      He hadn’t let go of her hand that time; instead he pulled her through the gigantic doorway, into the castle’s, er, yard, or whatever it was called. But before they could get very far, a short blond woman wearing what looked like a leather tunic and pants came racing toward them. Lois didn’t have a chance to see what she looked like before she skidded in the dirt before them, then hit the ground with her arms stretched over her head.

      “Forgive my impertinence, Prince Damon!” she cried into the dirt. “His Majesty the King has been asking for you all morning.”

      “Of course. Thank you, Rejar.”

      Damon charged for the inner door, pulling Lois so hard she actually lost her feet. “Whoa! Slow down. Or leggo and I’ll follow you.”

      “Forgive—I will be right back. Remain here, if you please.” With that he dropped her hand and was through the door in a half second.

      She rubbed her wrist—he hadn’t meant to hurt her, but the marks of his fingers remained—and stared at everyone staring at her.

      Two choices: hang out here and be gawked at, or follow Damon. Prince Damon. Did she say Prince?

      She followed.

      It wasn’t difficult to track Damon down. She followed the shouting. Two floors and five halls later, she figured out what the problem was. It seemed the king—Damon’s dad?—was as sick as a dog, and everybody was yelling at everybody else about what to do about it. From the fuss, these guys didn’t get sick very often.

      She peeked through the doorway—no doors that she had seen, just large archways that led from one room to another. The archways were tall—at least seven feet high—and so wide, four of her could have gone through them at once.

      She could see Damon and two other men standing around yelling. Well, they weren’t exactly yelling—they were sort of politely disagreeing with each other very loudly. At least Damon had put some clothes on—he was wearing a robe several shades lighter than his hair, with a blazing sun embroidered