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  Bloody Claws

  What Reviewers Say About Winter Pennington's Work

  "Winter Pennington's creative mind is a dark and gloriously erotic place. …The twists and turns of the plotlines are written with the ease of an accomplished author, while the balance of horror and humor is achieved with seemingly effortless skill. Blood, sex, fury, betrayal, animal instinct, true love…they are as intrinsically entwined as the lovers within the pages. It may just be time to go over to the dark side…"-Candia of Inkubus Sukkubus

  "[Witch Wolf] is a nice mix of urban fantasy with police procedural/ murder mystery. If Pam is your favorite vampire on True Blood, you're going to love Lenorre."―Rainbow Reviews

  "It's a testimony to the strength of Pennington's writing skills that readers never lose track of the plot even as new characters are introduced and others are more fully developed. What follows is an engrossing read involving vampires, werewolves, and some very hot, kinky sex and excitement!"-Just About Write

  "Kassandra Lyall is a likeable, sympathetic and frequently funny heroine, and Pennington sets her up well amongst a brace of other quirky, intriguing characters. Raven Mask an entertaining novel- highly recommended to anyone looking for a sexy, funny, escapistbit of fluff to bury themselves in for an afternoon."-The Lesbrary

  "Darkness Embraced is a sinfully sexy read. Pick up Darkness Embraced and be enthralled."-Bibliographic Book Blog

  "Pennington's novel is a fascinating look at the werewolf and vampire cultures. Witch Wolf is a rollicking story told with a wry sense of humor. It's an engaging read that leaves the reader askingfor more."―Just About Write

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  By the Author

  Bloody Claws

  Darkness Embraced:

  A Rosso Lussuria Vampire Novel

  Witch Wolf

  Raven Mask

  Bloody Claws

  By

  Winter Pennington

  2012

  BLOODY CLAWS

  © 2012 BY WINTER PENNINGTON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-624-3

  THIS ELECTRONIC BOOK IS PUBLISHED BY BOLD STROKES BOOKS, INC.

  P.O. BOX 249 VALLEY FALLS, NY 12185

  FIRST EDITION: JANUARY 2012

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR'S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT PERMISSION.

  CREDITS

  EDITORS: VICTORIA OLDHAM AND CINDY CRESAP PRODUCTION DESIGN: SUSAN RAMUNDO COVER DESIGN BY SHERI ([email protected])

  Acknowledgments

  A big thank you goes to my amazing parents and my wonderful wife for offering their patience and opinions and for beta reading when asked. Many thanks to Candia and Tony McKormack of Inkubus Sukkubus for their brilliant music, British slang, and for being some of the niftiest people I've had the pleasure of getting to know. Huge thanks also go to Sasha and Michi, for sending support in the form of chocolate, tea, coffee, and other goodies (which were very much enjoyed!). And of course, thanks to my wickedly awesome editor, Victoria, for her invaluable guidance.

  CHAPTER one

  spun in my seat, pressing the large black button on the wireless intercom. The intercoms were new and for the past several days, I'd entertained myself immensely by driving June insane with them. I didn't need to see her flying out of her seat every time the little box buzzed to know she still hadn't gotten used to them.

  "What?" she grumbled.

  "June?" I asked, waiting to see what kind of response she would come up with this time. The last time, she'd accused me of trying to give her a heart attack and threatened to throw the intercom systems in the trash. I was the boss, but June was my I-don't-givea-shit-what-you-think-of-my-attitude secretary. She was one tough broad. I respected her for that.

  "What is it, Miss Lyall?" Her words were polite. Her tone was not. I smiled to the empty room.

  "Seeing if you're still here."

  There was a long pause. "And where the heck would I go?"

  "I don't know," I said, aimlessly strangling the pencil on my desk with a rubber band. "There's a strip club three blocks away. Maybe there?"

  I waited. It wouldn't take long for her to lose her patience. I know it was petty of me, childish even, but a woman had to have some fun. June proved to be a good source of entertainment on a slow day at the office.

  "To see what?" she asked, exasperated. I bit my bottom lip, trying to hold in the burst of laughter that threatened to erupt. "If I wanted to see naked hillbillies, I'd go home and tell my husband to strip."

  I pressed the button and said, laughing, "Good one."

  Ten minutes later the intercom screeched like a little boxed banshee and I jumped, stifling a growl.

  "Ms. Lyall," June said in a voice that was way too nice to be authentic. "Your five o'clock appointment, Hunter Kinsley, is here."

  I slipped my stocking clad feet into the heels I'd kicked off under the desk. "Send her in," I said, trying to pull my attire back together. I took the black blazer off the back of the chair and slipped it on over the white blouse I was wearing. If it weren't for the wide legged black trousers and the heels, the suit might've made me look more like a Secret Service agent than a Preternatural Investigator. I was fairly certain Secret Service agents were smart enough to wear flats, though.

  I was wearing my gun, a Kimber Eclipse Lenorre had given me as a gift, tucked into the shoulder rig. The shoulder rig had been a late birthday present from Rupert. He'd said Lenorre wouldn't be able to rip it off me. I wasn't sure I believed it was indestructible, but Lenorre and I hadn't exactly tested the theory. Call me cautious, but I was reluctant to sacrifice another holster. I checked the mirror in my office, making sure the blazer hid the bulk of the weapon. I tucked the white streak in my long black hair behind my ear.

  Most clients tend to get uncomfortable around guns, but I was a cop before I was infected with the lycanthropy virus, and some habits die hard. I still work with the cops, but now I make my own schedule. I don't have to worry about the full moon interfering with my job and so far, I've done pretty good at keeping my secret from my ex-colleagues.

  There was the barest of knocks on the frosted glass door.

  "Come in."

  The door opened. "Ms. Lyall?" A girl stood in the doorway, casting an uncertain glance into the room.

  I went to the door and held it open. "Yes." I offered my hand. "I'm Kassandra. Are you Hunter?"

  "Yeah."

  She took my hand and gave it a firm shake. I motioned for her to take a seat and she did so, running a hand through her brown punk rock hair. The hair was cut short in the back, with the layers lengthening out as they arched toward her forehead. She'd styled the hair forward so that the longest layer veiled her brows but still left her vision free. Well, for the most part.

  Hunter Kinsley was an androgynous beauty. The hairstyle suited the square line of her jaw. Smoky eye shadow brought out the brown and green of her irises. Her lips had a natural sullen pout to them.

  She took off the jacket she wore. The buckles clinked as she draped it across the back of the chair. The pants she wore clung to her body with two bondage straps crossing over the
back of her legs. She'd tucked the pants into a pair of ankle high combat boots. The outfit was modern punk rock chic, which made me guess she was in her early twenties.

  I smiled, taking a seat. "What can I do for you today, Hunter?"

  Hunter stopped scanning the room to look at me. "I heard rumor that you're family."

  I blinked, leaning back in my seat, careful that my jacket didn't gape and that I didn't flash gun.

  "Family?" I asked. I understood what "family," meant, but was she talking witchy, furry, or lezzy?

  Hunter gazed at the painting of the wolf on the wall behind my desk, obviously a bit uncomfortable. The red wolf painting had been a gift from friend and beta werewolf of the Blackthorne pack, Rosalin Walker. I'd been surprised to find out that she was an artist. With the amount of artistic talent she had, she could've sold the sucker for a few hundred. I'd told her as much, but she'd insisted that I take the painting. The red wolf was also Rosalin's werewolf form. The gesture was sweet, and I wasn't sure of Rosalin's intentions with it, but every time I saw it, it reminded me that I'd accidentally claimed her. I really wished she'd sold the damn thing.

  "You play for the same team?"

  "What team are we talking about?" I asked.

  "The all girls team," she said.

  "Are you asking me if I'm a lesbian?"

  "Uh…yes?" She didn't sound very certain.

  "Then just ask."

  "Are you a lesbian?"

  "Yes," I said. "Is that what you came here for? To determine my sexual orientation?"

  Hunter's cheeks flushed a bright shade of red.

  "No, I'm sorry. I'm gay too and…and…I think my girlfriend is cheating on me."

  "You think?" I asked.

  Hunter picked out a corner of the ceiling to stare at while she spoke. "She's been acting really weird lately, telling me she has to work late, canceling lunch dates. We live together. Normally, she's home around midnight, but lately she hasn't been getting home until around two thirty in the morning. When I ask her why she has to stay late, she blames it on the new manager at work."

  "Where does she work?"

  "At a food joint," she told me.

  "Okay." I folded my arms across the desk. "You think your girlfriend is cheating on you. If you want to hire me to find out whether she is or is not, I need specifics. Is that what you came here for?" It was important to me that I repeat the client's words, not only to get the specific details I needed for the investigation, but to make sure what they intended to pay me for was perfectly clear. "Yes, that's why I'm here. Kamryn and I have been together for almost five years. This wouldn't be the first time she hasn't kept it in her pants." She held my gaze, looking uncomfortable and uncertain.

  "Do you know for a fact she's cheated on you before? Does she have a history of being unfaithful?"

  "Yeah."

  I fixed her with a blank look. "So you know what I might find on this investigation. Are you willing to deal with the outcome?"

  "Look," she said, sitting upright, "I'm not going to go psycho on her or anything. If she's cheating on me, I have a right to know. I told her last time if I caught her cheating again I'd kick her ass out of the apartment. I have a right to know. I intend to kick her ass out if she's fucking me over."

  For the first time, there was no uncertainty in her. There was anger in her tone, righteous anger. I agreed with her. She had a right to know if her girlfriend of almost five years was cheating on her.

  Hell, I'd want to know so I could kick her ass out too.

  I didn't often work on mundane, "I think my spouse is cheating," cases, and a part of me wondered if she'd paid any attention to the sign on the door that read, "Preternatural Investigations."

  I sighed. "All right. I'll do it."

  The whole spouse "might be" cheating thing could turn ugly really fast, but then, so did most of the cases I took involving the preternatural. At least this one had a sense of normal about it. Whatever normal is these days.

  Hunter spent the next fifteen minutes telling me what she knew and suspected. She thought her girlfriend was cheating on her with someone from work, which is where I came in. It was kind of like a true or false question I got to answer. Kamryn Sherman worked at Al's Diner, a burger joint in downtown Oklahoma City. Hunter gave me the address.

  I opened the top drawer on my desk and tossed in the notebook that I'd written Kamryn's name and work address in. I opened the second drawer and pulled out one of the contracts. The only time I'd actually let the contract slide was with Rosalin, because she was another werewolf, and she had wanted to keep everything on the down low. In all seriousness, it wasn't a smart move on my behalf. Fortunately, I still received payment.

  When Lenorre and her vampires couldn't find Rosalin's brother, Lenorre sent Rosalin to me. One night, my friend and licensed Paranormal Hunter Rupert and I were investigating a series of murders committed by a werewolf, and we spotted Rosalin near the crime scene and followed her back to The Two Points, Lenorre's club in the city.

  It was there that Lenorre offered her aid and we began working together and, well, dating.

  I was usually very strict on the whole contract thing. I took the case with Rosalin because she was a member of the local werewolf pack and wanted someone outside the pack to help her. The contract protects both the client and me. It states very clearly that even if I don't find any valuable information, I get paid for my efforts. If a client doesn't think I'm doing a good job, they can still try to take me to court based upon what they perceive as a lack of effort. It's important when working a case to be able to bring physical evidence to the table. If I couldn't prove that I'd done my research and my job, I could be in deep shit. Sometimes, the threat of deep shit is a good motivator.

  "I need you to read and sign this contract," I said. "It states very clearly that regardless of the outcome, I still get paid. If you don't feel I've done my part, you're welcome to challenge that. It goes over the privacy policy…"

  Hunter took the contract, leaning over the desk and mumbling as she read it. I always gave a person the rundown of what the contract stated, but I still expected them to read it very carefully to make sure they understood what they were signing.

  Hunter held her hand out and I gave her the pen.

  "Thanks," she mumbled, scribbling her signature on the line at the bottom of the page.

  I took the contract and signed my own signature on the other side of hers. I opened the bottom left drawer and took out the manila folder that had all her information in it. The information was basic: name, telephone, address, etc. June made my job easier by having a potential client fill out the document before coming in for an interview. An interview goes both ways, not only were we interviewing potential clients, but the client was interviewing us.

  "Do you have any questions?"

  She gave me a questioning look. "I just let you do your job, right?"

  "Yes, and if I find anything, I'll contact you." I pushed a black and white business card with my cell number on it across the desk. "If you have any questions you're welcome to call me."

  Hunter stood and took the card then slipped it into her pocket.

  I walked around my desk, offering my hand again. "Have a good evening, Hunter."

  "If you call a client by their first name, does that mean they get to call you by yours?"

  "If that's what you prefer," I said, smiling, hand still hovering in the air.

  In the heels, she was only an inch or so shorter than I was. Hunter took my hand. A sudden burst of energy, almost like an electric shock, jolted between our clasped palms. Goosebumps crawled up and down my flesh.

  Hunter jerked her hand from mine, a little too late.

  I felt the wolf rouse inside me, raising her snout in curiosity, ears perking in interest.

  "That was weird," Hunter said, rubbing her hand on her pants.

  "Yes," I said, taking a step closer to her. My nostrils flared slightly. "It was."

  Hunter Kinsl
ey's scent hit me. She smelled of grass and rain and something not human. Humans have a different scent, sometimes sweet, sometimes salty, and sometimes downright putrid. The scents vary, but they're distinctively human. Mingling with the scent of rainwater, Hunter Kinsley smelled like fur.

  Hunter took a step back, trying to put some distance between us. I followed her movements. She shot a worried glance toward the door.

  "Hunter," I said gently. She took another step back. "Hunter," I tried again. The blood had drained from her face in a rush of fear. She glanced at the door again, and that one gesture of fear sent a tremble of excitement through the wolf, through me.

  "Hunter," I said, "don't."

  Hunter moved, lithe and agile. I moved with the quickness of the wolf, blocking her way, somehow managing not to trip in the high heels.

  I barred the door, watching her, anticipating her next move. Hunter sank back. Her lips curled in a hiss that revealed elongated canine teeth on both upper and lower jaw. Black markings rose to her face, decorating her brow and cheeks like some Egyptian tattoo. Her skin took on a golden shimmer.

  A rumbling growl beat like angry wings against my ribs. Hunter's pupils were too large to be human, too large and oblong to be wolf. I took another step forward, driving her further into my office. I was fairly certain if June saw her, I couldn't explain the marks on her face.

  "Hunter," I said, "I think there's something you forgot to mention."

  She backed into the client chair, sending it wobbling and crashing to the floor as she tried to get past it.

  I stopped, trying to cage my instincts. If I kept moving toward her, she was only going to keep backing up until she had no other place to go, and neither animal nor human likes being backed into a corner. I tried to breathe past the scent of fear and adrenaline.

  Hunter stopped, chest rising and falling quickly and jerkily.

  "What are you?" she asked, voice trembling around the edges.

  I pulled the jacket of my suit down, focusing on pulling the energy of the beast back into the core of my body, focusing on my shields, the metaphysical walls that kept the beast at bay.