“Come on, Larissa,” Janie pushed. “I can count on one hand how many times we’ve been out since it happened.”

Larissa flinched when Janie mentioned it, but tried to cover her reaction by raising her coffee to her lips. The bombings had changed both their lives, but in such different ways.

“We’ve been out plenty,” Larissa countered, glancing over at the game on a nearby table. They’d met at an outdoor cafe in Harvard Square, Cambridge, and were people-watching a few tables away from the chess masters.

“Yeah, to the movies and shit like that. We’re in our early twenties, not senior citizens. When’s the last time we went to a club? Or stayed out past midnight?”

When Larissa opened her mouth to reply, Janie cut her off. “You working a double shift fighting crime doesn’t count.”

“Ugh, blocking my excuses before I get to say them.” Larissa leaned back at the cafe table and grinned. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

Janie raised her hands into the air. “Dance!”

Larissa stared at her, unable to find words. The shrapnel damage had left Janie with a permanent limp and many scars. Some pieces of metal were still lodged in her leg.

“Don’t give me that pitying look,” Janie said. “You know I hate that.”

“It’s not pity, it’s—” What was the right word? The players nearby engaged in a manic volley on the chess board, which helped her to find it. “—admiration.” Most people would avoid that kind of public scrutiny. Not Janie.

Janie shooed away the compliment with a wave. “Through all that physical therapy, that was my goal.”

“You never told me that.”

Janie shrugged. “I practiced in my living room as soon as I could bear weight on this leg. So now it’s time to give these babies a test in public. Go out and have fun the way we’re supposed to. Or we may as well play bingo in a senior center.”

Larissa’s jaw dropped. She’d had no idea how determined Janie was. “That’s—that’s incredible.”

“You can barely tell I have a limp when I dance.” She wiggled a brow. “Just looks like I have some bad-ass moves.”

“Well, you have a far better excuse than me not to go.”

“So, you’ll come?”

Larissa wasn’t big on clubs or dancing, but she’d be selfish if she didn’t suck it up for Janie. The chess master at the nearby table moved his queen and announced, “Checkmate.”

Janie couldn’t have choreographed her move with more finesse. Larissa exhaled. “Of course.” She took a sip of her latte, which she’d probably pay for by being up all night. What the hell, she prowled through her apartment most nights as it was. “When do you want to go?”

“This Saturday.”

“This Saturday,” she repeated. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into that red moon fever crap.” The local media had gone overboard, as usual, hyping up the eclipse of the Supermoon with a romantic plug. The night to meet your perfect match. Others had taken an edgier approach. Meet your perfect match—for the night. Plus the usual doom-mongering with prophesies of an apocalypse.

“Too many freaks will be out that night,” she added.

“That’s why it will be awesome. There won’t be anything like this eclipse for another twenty-eight years. Maybe even you, my cynical friend, will meet someone.”

Larissa leaned back in her chair. “Ha. Don’t push your luck, Janie, dear.”

An uneasy sensation rippled along Larissa’s spine, settling in her gut. Her face must have contorted, since Janie’s turned dark with worry.

“What is it?”

No, it couldn’t be like the other times. It was far too faint.

“Nothing.” She dismissed the question in an effort to force the discomfort away.

“Is it one of your—” Janie searched the nearby tables, although all the other conversations would drown out theirs. She whispered, “—feelings?”

“Relax, Janie. Nobody can hear you.” When they were kids, Larissa had made Janie pinky swear promise not to reveal her secret. “I think it’s just uneasiness, not a premonition.”

“Uneasiness about what?”

Larissa straightened and forced a smile. “You’ll be as graceful as a ballerina on Saturday. I, on the other hand, will be quite awkward.”

Janie’s eyebrows tightened. “Why?”

“Mingling in a club isn’t exactly my thing.”

“Oh.” Janie nodded before giving Larissa a knowing glance. “That’s because you can’t turn off cop mode and have fun.” She leaned back in her chair. “Follow my lead. It will be like the old days. You’ll have a great time.”

It was only one night. Besides, she was going for Janie. The last traces of the uneasiness evaporated. Perhaps it was social anxiety.

Or it could have something to do with the whole planetary shift thing after all. Didn’t the moon exert a pull on the tides? And humans were mostly made of water. Where the hell was she going with this? She wasn’t a damn werewolf.

Besides, she didn’t believe in astrology bullshit, so she wasn’t about to fall for the hype. Saturday would be just like any other night. No soul mate crap. No doomsday apocalypse.

* * *

On Saturday evening, Roman was patrolling the rooftop with his deputy, Arto. The open area of this club gave him the best tactical view of Boston, although with obstructions from nearby buildings.

The moon had reached its fullest potential, looming bright and large over the city. Soon the eclipse would begin.

They surveyed for signs of trouble below. It was risky to have all these humans being lured into Boston. Always was when humans converged for massive events. Yet they wandered, clueless to any potential danger around them; oblivious that they were protected by those of his kind.

“Look at them pouring into the city,” Roman said. “Without a care in the world.”

“Who can resist the draw of love or sex—or both?” Arto replied. “All this publicity is hard to miss. Especially the billboards.”

Roman exhaled. Prime view for a gargoyle on patrol. “It doesn’t help with these wannabe witches declaring the cosmic significance of the event, making it the perfect night to meet one’s soul mate.”

“I bet they’ll pocket a lot of money this weekend, helping people find the one.”

Roman peered over to the nearby buildings and spotted a few of the Stone Sentries, his clan mates, perched at various vantage points. Gargoyles under his command had taken positions all over Boston, either in their stone forms on the exteriors of buildings or patrolling the city in their human forms, the way Roman and Arto were now. His gaze shifted to the humans lining up below to get into the club. “Nights like this make me wary.”

Arto stepped closer, although they were far out of earshot, and it wasn’t likely anyone would hear them over the music. “Do you sense something is wrong?”

“Yes. But it’s nothing definitive. That’s what makes it so bothersome.”

Arto nodded. “I will ensure all are in position and on watch.”

“Remember—watch for werewolves.” Roman hadn’t seen any since he’d taken command of guarding the region after the bombings at the Boston Marathon, but that didn’t mean they weren’t around. They were adept at hiding. “A powerful moon like this could unravel even those with the utmost self-control. Not that I trust a werewolf to have any.”

“Will do.”

As they approached the other end of the roof, Roman scanned the pedestrian traffic on Tremont Street and Boylston Street before surveilling the Boston Common and Public Gardens. Something caught his eye on the Common. A dome-like structure, newly built, and appearing out of place in the expanse of grassy land below.

“What is that?” He pointed at the dome.

Arto followed the direction of his finger. “I don’t know. Never seen it before. It wasn’t there last night.”

“How did they construct it so quickly?”

“Prefabricated structure?” Arto suggested. “Must be a temporary exhibit. I can’t picture the city officials letting something like that be erected on the Common.”

“Money can convince humans to do many things.” He raised his chin toward the dome. “Have someone look into it.”

Arto pumped his fist across his chest and nodded to acknowledge the command, and then walked away.

Roman scanned those gathered up on the roof, using his acute senses to pick up on anything out of the ordinary. A sultry heat lingered in the late summer air, scented with numerous potted florals that masked the exhaust of car fumes downtown. Many of the women were dressed in tight clothing that attracted male attention and displayed an abundance of cleavage. Most of the men wore dark colors, which fit the theme of the club—an eclectic mix of gothic design and B-movie kitsch. From the bold or furtive glances cast at the opposite sex, many were seeking a sexual partner for the night.

An uneasy sensation crept up his spine, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck. Something bad was going to happen—he was almost certain of it.

He glanced again at the moon. Humans thought the red tinge gave the night a romantic element. Fools. Their ancestors had dubbed it a blood moon for a reason. Violence often occurred when the moon shone with such an ominous aura. Bloodshed followed.

All his sentries were on duty tonight. Vigilant for anything—or anyone— questionable.

* * *

Janie came by Larissa’s apartment to give her the once-over before they went out.

She’d approved the sleeveless black dress. “Sexy but not slutty. Not bad. But you need to do something else with your hair. And add more makeup. And accessories.” Searching Larissa’s bedroom, she added, “Where have you stashed your necklaces and earrings?”

Larissa arched a brow. “The dress is enough.”

“Nope.” She removed the clip holding back Larissa’s hair and fluffed it with a brush so it cascaded in soft waves around her face.

Larissa tried to keep still and listen to the playlist she’d created earlier that week, which now shuffled to Audioslave’s Like a Stone.

“Ah.” Janie eyed an owl pendant hanging from a long silver chain near Larissa’s bed. Her grandmother had given it to her after Larissa’s mother had died when she was five, saying it was a talisman for protection. Janie draped it around Larissa’s neck. “Cute. Wide-eyed and suspicious, just like you.”

“Owls are suspicious?”

“They look that way. How about spooky and mysterious?”

“Great. Thanks. I’ve always wanted to look spooky.”

Janie laughed. “Mysterious isn’t bad, though. Guys will flock to you tonight, wondering what it is you’re hiding under that reserved exterior.”

When Larissa straightened with obvious discomfort, Janie added, “I don’t mean that secret. Chillax. Here, put on this lipstick.”

“Road Rage Red. Are you kidding me?”

“To go with a blood-red moon. And don’t forget plenty of mascara,” Janie insisted. “You don’t emphasize your best assets enough. By the time we leave here, you’ll be a vixen no man can resist.”

After Larissa had followed her instructions, Janie admired her handiwork. “You look hot. Thanks to me.”

Outside Larissa’s apartment, Janie pointed to the sky. “Wow, look at the moon. It’s incredible.”

Larissa glanced at the bright orb above them. Janie was right. It glowed with a reddish hue that was striking on the clear night. The size of it made it even more remarkable. Yet the most impressive part was to come with the eclipse.

Janie hailed a cab to take them to Beacon Hill. She’d booked a hotel room to make the most of their girls’ night out. After they’d dropped their belongings in the room, Larissa reached inside to retrieve her gun. It wasn’t often she left without it. But they were going into a club, most likely with security checks, which would lead to questions and hassles.

“Ready?” Janie asked.

Larissa released her weapon with reluctance. “Yes.” As they exited the hotel, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“Someplace fun, don’t worry.” When she’d hailed the cab, she revealed the surprise: “Rue Morgue.”

Larissa turned to her after she’d climbed in. “Not the new club with all the skull-and-bone advertisements? The really weird one with a dungeon?”

“It’s not a real dungeon.” Janie patted her thigh. “It’s, you know, a gimmick or something. All Poe-esque and shit. Near the Poe statue. With Boston celebrating his birth here, the club owners saw an opportunity to capitalize on it.”

“In other words, a money-making scheme.”

Janie spread her arms wide. “Welcome to corporate America.”

“I don’t know if that’s my kind of place,” Larissa said. Why hadn’t she asked which club Janie had in mind?

“Too late, you already agreed to come with me. Besides, it’s more than a dungeon area. There’s a main dance floor and a rooftop garden.”

When they first entered the club, the many appraising looks unsettled her. Guys never looked at her like that when she was in uniform. Well, maybe a couple of weirdos.

They descended to the club’s dungeon area where a dark, gothic-sounding song pulsed around them. After scanning the cages with rubber rats and bones inside, Larissa fixed her eyes on the pendulum hanging from the ceiling.

“I don’t think I’m going to find my soul mate down here,” she muttered.

Janie laughed. “Probably not. But it’s entertaining nonetheless.”

“Come on. Let’s grab a drink. Want to go to the dance floor or the roof deck?”

“Roof. I think I need some fresh air after being down here.”

When they’d exited onto the roof and bought drinks, Larissa relaxed in the open atmosphere with a less intense musical sound. The odd prickling sensation hit her again, stronger than it had been at the café earlier that week. She tuned out the music and breathed in the city air, trying to get a read on the source. The problem was that she didn’t see anything, just sensed things. Besides the ambience of a typical nightclub, with the scents of sweaty bodies and alcoholic drinks, nothing came to her.

“I know that look,” Janie said. “Twice in one week.” She clamped a hand over her mouth, then dropped it. “What is it?”

“Not sure.” Searching inside herself for insight, the only word that came to her was change. “I don’t know. It’s just—something is—it’s about change.”

“What?” Janie asked, her face scrunching as she attempted to scrutinize the cryptic reply. “Or for who?”

Probing deeper, Larissa found nothing more. “No idea.”

Janie’s worried expression snapped her back to the present.

Larissa’s insights usually indicated that something was about to happen, which had saved her ass many times in her years as a police officer. And at other times…

This wasn’t the night to dwell on enigmatic physical twinges. Not after all the trouble Janie had gone through to get her here. After all, she didn’t sense any negative vibes. Change simply meant change. It could be a move, a promotion—anything.

“It’s probably all this talk about the moon freaking me out,” Larissa said to pacify her. “We came here to dance. Let’s dance.”

* * *

While surveying the city from above, a dark-haired woman on the roof caught Roman’s attention. She stood ramrod-straight and she fidgeted with her glass. Something about her discomfort triggered his gargoyle instincts, making him observe her more closely.

When he scanned her from head to toe, he didn’t gain any insight other than how attractive she was. Her hair was rich and lush, flowing in loose waves over her shoulders. It had a burgundy tone from the various lighting fixtures around the deck. Her wide eyes searched her surroundings. What was she looking for? His gaze traveled down her body, studying how well it was encased in a form-fitting black dress. He lingered on her killer curves, fueling his imagination with sordid fantasies of what it would be like to touch them.

He snapped his eyes away. He was supposed to be gauging what had set off his senses, not visualizing her naked body.

Seconds later, his gaze returned to her, despite his admonition to himself. Her expression turned troubled. A strong reaction rose within him, one he couldn’t read. He rubbed the back of his neck. Something about her put all his senses on edge; he had to keep an eye on her, although he had no indication why.

She spoke to a blonde woman next to her, and he turned his head to focus on their conversation. With all the chatter in the room, he couldn’t catch it, despite his acute sense of hearing.

What troubled the brunette? An instinct to protect her kicked in. The pull toward her was compelling, a sensual onslaught that overpowered him.

Remember why you’re here.

He stepped back, both mentally and physically separating himself from the woman, and shielded himself behind the bar. That compulsion was one he’d never experienced, and not knowing what it meant bothered him all the more. All the uncertainty about tonight had him on edge.

Turning away, he gulped in the cool night air. It invigorated him for only a moment. What hit him next almost knocked him off his feet—a sudden whoosh of energy. It blasted past him with immense force and power, indicative of dark magic.

A gut feeling made him turn to locate the brunette, and he scrutinized her. He sensed something unusual about her than the other humans on the roof. Was she the source of that dark magic? He opened a mental link to communicate with Arto.

There’s a woman on the roof I’m going to keep an eye on.

Is she in danger? Or is she dangerous? Arto asked.

Good question. That’s what I plan on finding out. I sensed dark magic and will investigate further.

His triggers were now on full alert. Whoever she was, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Not until he figured out who—or what—she was.

And why she had that effect on him.

Read Now

Darkness Rising

Antoine Chevalier harbors a secret. Born a gargoyle shifter, he wants nothing more than to cultivate his art. His hard work pays off the night he completes his greatest sculpture. But the excitement of his accomplishment doesn’t last.

He’s drawn the eye of the wrong group—a clan of vampires. Antoine wakes into darkness, changed. Shattered. His dream of becoming a renowned sculptor is destroyed.

One question remains—how will he ever survive an eternity of darkness alone?

Darkness Rising is part 0.5 of the Chateau Seductions series by USA Today Bestselling author Lisa Carlisle. Readers have requested more on the dark and mysterious Antoine. In this short story, Antoine tells his tale, which continues in the series with Dark Velvet. Dark Velvet is written from Savannah’s perspective as a newcomer to an art colony who is intrigued by the proprietor.