All Wrapped Up Vol. 3 (Box Set)

By Multiple Authors

hree vampires, a bounty hunter, and a marriage in crisis - these mates fight for a future together.

Bound to Please by Jade Buchanan: Melaina Carey’s life may have been saved when she was turned into a vampire, but it brought with it a whole new host of problems. Tristan and Dougal are determined to help, but there’s no way Melaina’s going to submit easily. Tristan and Dougal are going to have to prove they are man -- and vampire -- enough to control her every move.

Caught by Marteeka Karland: Zuri Starbreeze is a bounty hunter on the trail of a cold-blooded killer. What Zuri doesn’t know is that Cade is hunting her. He wants Zuri for his partner, all right. Flat on her back, writhing and screaming in pleasure… One thing’s for sure, no matter her choice, she won’t come out of this the same.

Bonds of Matrimony by Lena Austin: Million Dollar Millicent, real estate entrepreneur and all around bitch, books a fantasy vacation for herself and her husband Alex on a tropical playground planet. It’s a place where your deepest desires come true -- even if you’re not sure what they are.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Nov 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780513801646

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All Wrapped Up Vol. 3

Jade Buchanan, Marteeka Karland, Lena Austin

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2020

Bound to Please ©2020 Jade Buchanan

Caught ©2020 Marteeka Karland

Bonds of Matrimony ©2020 Lena Austin

BIN: 05138-01644

Formats Available:

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Mobi/PRC

Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

315 N. Centre St.

Martinsburg, WV 25404

www.ChangelingPress.com

Anthology Editor:  Margaret Riley

Cover Artist: Angela Knight

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

All Wrapped Up Vol. 3

Bound to Please (All Wrapped Up)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Jade Buchanan

Caught (All Wrapped Up)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Marteeka Karland

Bonds of Matrimony (All Wrapped Up)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Lena Austin

All Wrapped Up Vol. 3

Jade Buchanan, Marteeka Karland, Lena Austin

Three vampires, a bounty hunter, and a marriage in crisis -- these mates fight for a future together.

Bound to Please by Jade Buchanan: Melaina Carey’s life may have been saved when she was turned into a vampire, but it brought with it a whole new host of problems. Tristan and Dougal are determined to help, but there’s no way Melaina’s going to submit easily. Tristan and Dougal are going to have to prove they are man -- and vampire -- enough to control her every move.

Caught by Marteeka Karland: Zuri Starbreeze is a bounty hunter on the trail of a cold-blooded killer. What Zuri doesn’t know is that Cade is hunting her. He wants Zuri for his partner, all right. Flat on her back, writhing and screaming in pleasure… One thing’s for sure, no matter her choice, she won’t come out of this the same.

Bonds of Matrimony by Lena Austin: Million Dollar Millicent, real estate entrepreneur and all around bitch, books a fantasy vacation for herself and her husband Alex on a tropical playground planet. It’s a place where your deepest desires come true -- even if you’re not sure what they are.

Bound to Please (All Wrapped Up)

Jade Buchanan

Melaina Carey has a secret she’s desperate to keep hidden from her nest mates. Her life may have been saved when she was turned into a vampire, but it brought with it a whole new host of problems.

Her secret is about to be revealed and the two men she fears -- and lusts after -- most are about to put their centuries of experience to the test.

They aren’t going to let her hide anymore. Tristan and Dougal know there’s something wrong with her. When they discover what it is, they’re determined to help her.

There’s no way Melaina’s going to submit easily. Tristan and Dougal are going to have to prove they are man -- and vampire -- enough to control her every move.

Chapter One

The knife bit deep, cutting through skin. Blood gushed, falling to the ground like big, juicy red raindrops. The metallic smell permeated the air, filling her nostrils with the sickly sweet odor.

Melaina Carey dropped the knife, hearing the clang when it hit the floor and bounced once. She ran her fingers over the wound, painting her skin red. Disgusted with herself, she flung her hand out, spraying ruby liquid against the wall to her side. The drops clung tenaciously to the concrete, yet another colorful layer added to the stained wall.

She was sitting in the dark, surrounded by inky blackness. The red of the blood stood out, neon bright in the otherwise black pit. Underlying the metallic scent, there was an infinitesimal odor of decay. Rot and mold clung to the walls, resisting gravity’s pull, unlike the blood now dripping to the floor.

With a tired sigh, she lay down on the hard-packed dirt floor. Blood surrounded her, pooled around her. She was tired, unbelievably exhausted all of a sudden.

Ten minutes later, she got up reluctantly, slumping toward the tiny cramped bathroom. She picked up the knife on the way and slid it onto a shelf set just outside the door. The walls were tiled, chipped and spattered with something she didn’t even want to guess at. She peeled off her clothes once inside the narrow space, the black fabric soaked in blood. They fell with a splat, landing on a sheet of plastic that had been set out beforehand.

Stepping into the shower, she jerked the hot water knob. With a burping groan of protest, water started to spit out of the overhead nozzle. Moving into the spray, she let the heated water pour down on her aching body.

It was one of the reasons she came to this dilapidated building whenever the need hit her. Shitty environment, but the water was hot. It sluiced off her toned body, tinting the bottom of the stall crimson.

With a tired sigh, she dropped her head to the industrial grey tiles in front of her. Moving into the spray, she let it run down her back. It was always the same, the shaking, the headaches. The tension she desperately tried to hide from her nest mates. She always ended up here -- in this run-down building, in a run-down neighborhood on the edge of town -- covered in blood.

Her headache was leaving her. The tension that always seemed to fill her was dissipating. For this one moment in time, she was at peace in her own body. But, underlying that peace was the ever-present knowledge that this sense of calm was fleeting. The need would come back, it always came back. Whatever piss-poor attempts she made to alleviate it were never enough to make it go away completely.

Raising her hands, Mel inspected her fingers. A half-hour in the shower and they were still smooth and wrinkle free. Perfect. Her body was always damnably perfect. Too bad her insides were so fucked up.

She finally decided enough was enough and she shut off the water with a snap of her wrist. Her perfect wrist -- able to shut off a water knob and plunge a knife into a body with the same ease of movement. Snorting in disgust, she stepped out of the shower stall, shuffling over to the sink set half a foot away. Her change of clothes had been folded neatly on the edge of the sink, an exact match to the ones lying on the floor. With quick, brisk motions, she dried herself with the towel set on top, dropping it to fall on the growing pile of cotton on the floor.

Shaking out her jeans, Mel slid them up long slender legs. While smooth, they were saved from perfection by the light smattering of beauty marks interspersed like dark droplets of paint against a milky white canvas.

She wiggled her toes, hopping from one leg to the other to avoid the pool of thin, watery blood spreading on the floor. Her bra was next, a black scrap of lace, followed by her black, long-sleeved pullover.

Stepping up to the sink, she bent over, studying her reflection closely. Large copper-flecked hazel eyes stared back at her, rimmed in thick black lashes. Her nose was short, her cheeks full with pronounced cheekbones. They were pale, devoid of color, making her bright eyes stand out even more. Pallid, bloodless lips completed the picture, along with a thick black crop of pixie-cut hair. She looked fragile. She snorted. Appearances could definitely be deceiving. With a practiced twist, she lifted the corners of the plastic sheet on the floor, tying her ruined clothes inside.

Striding out of the bathroom, she surveyed the mess in front of her. It would be so much easier if she did this completely bare-assed naked, but somehow it didn’t seem dignified.

Stopping to pick up a lighter set aside on a shelf -- ignoring the knife beside it -- she touched the flame to the bundle in her hand, throwing it toward the worst of the gore. Mel watched it catch and spread flames along the blood-spattered floor.

Satisfied, she sat back to watch the flames flicker in front of her, careful to stay far away from the death trap it presented to her. The flames died out, extinguishing themselves in the concrete and metal room.

With one last glance, she left the building, gliding out into the night, stopping to pull on her boots. Her one vanity, the four-inch spikes had set her back a couple hundred bucks. There was no way she was going to see them ruined if she could help it.

Staying to the shadows, she surveyed the area. When she was certain that she was alone, she started walking. Four blocks over, she found her bike. The key was hidden inside her right boot, in a pocket sewn inside the leg. She started it, listening to the purr of the engine.

A half an hour later, she drove past a wrought iron gate -- a gate that was normally kept closed -- and stopped outside a large house. It sprawled over six lots, a rambling monstrosity set in the heart of the city.

Swinging her leg over the bike, she left it in front of the house, striding to the front door. Inside, she was greeted by three identical scowls of male ire, on three very different faces.

The entrance opened up into the living room, a stunning display of copper and black. Seated on the leather sofa was a man who looked like he was born in the room. Military-short black locks framed a rugged face, shadowed by the hint of a beard. His eyes were the color of a bright, shiny penny. They looked unnatural, but he was the only human in the room. His aquiline nose was narrow, highlighting the full mouth that was currently turned down in a frown. Malcolm Carey did concerned better than anyone in the nest. It was his job, so to speak, to make sure they were safe. He was also the only one who knew the truth about Mel.

Tristan Donovan was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His long length was propped up against the wall, his lean frame giving him a harmless appearance. The scowl on his face was at odds with his Botticelli looks and his baby-blue eyes. His face was framed by tousled blond hair, currently pulled back in a short, sloppy ponytail.

The other occupant was set back in a shadowed corner, sprawled in a black, suede recliner. The long fingers of his right hand smoothed along the arm of his chair, petting the leather like it was alive. It was the only movement on Dougal’s otherwise still body. She could just make out the raven mane spilling over his shoulders.

Tristan started forward, stepping in her path when she tried to go around him. What the fuck are you looking at? she snarled.

Come now, Mel, don’t be like that, he said, holding out a long-fingered hand. He looked down at her. Standing just shy of six feet, Mel normally towered over men, but even in her spike heels Tristan was still bigger than her. She stepped past him, trying to get to her room without anyone stopping her. She really didn’t want to deal with them today.

Where have you been? he asked.

Mel hated that she could hear the concern in his voice. Tristan was like that, he was always worried about everyone else. Had to make sure that they were all living peacefully. Chalk it up to the fact that he’d reached adulthood amid death and devastation. The one time she’d thought to ask him why he was always mediating between the others, his reply was that he’d seen so much destroyed in his life that he never wanted to go back to that again. She could understand that. Her life had been on the verge of destruction once.

It’s none of your damn business, Tristan, she replied with a grimace.

Where have you been, Melaina? Dougal asked, his smooth voice containing a hint of danger. And do not try to give us excuses again.

I was out, she snarled, trying to step around Tristan. A part of her was horrified with her behavior, but she was feeling too vulnerable to deal with them. Any hint of concern and she might just break down and tell them her secret.

Come on, guys. Cut her some slack. It can’t be easy living with all this testosterone. If she wants to have some girl time, then let her. What’s the harm? Malcolm asked, glancing uneasily between the two men.

Mel tensed, waiting to see what their response would be. Thank God for Malcolm. He understood her, he would know how tense and on edge she was right now.

The problem, Malcolm, is that she is a half hour ahead of the dawn. If she had been delayed for any reason, she wouldn’t even be here right now. If Mel wants to play chicken with the sun, that’s her prerogative, but she damn well won’t do it as long as she is living within this house, Tristan said, a rare hint of steel infused in his voice.

Mel glanced at him, startled at the thread of dominance she wasn’t used to hearing. It was normally Dougal who came down hard on her for anything. Tristan was a hell of a lot easier to wrap around her finger. He just wanted her to be happy. Normally, he let her off the hook as long as she was all right. She turned to look at Dougal.

Dougal flicked his dark brown eyes to the long windows flanking the door. We will have to continue this later. I will not be swayed, Melaina. Do not try to get out of trouble this time. You take entirely too many liberties, and we have been entirely too lax, Dougal growled softly, his words a caress along her body.

She suppressed a shiver, taking the avenue of escape presented to her. Walking quickly -- she refused to call it running away -- she fled to her room and the safety it presented to her in the coming dawn.

* * *

Mel studied her hands, flexing them tight into fists. Her palms stung, her nails embedding deep in the skin. She relaxed, releasing her tension and straightening her fingers. Raw gouges remained in her palms for a moment then the skin knitted together before her eyes.

Jesus, I hate it when you do that, Mel, Malcolm muttered, coming up on her left. He deftly swung up beside her on the table. I’ll never understand how you vampires can heal like that.

She ignored him, glancing around at the deserted playground. Of course it was deserted at this time of night. She was glad of it at this moment; she didn’t really want to be around anyone -- Malcolm excluded, of course. She’d skipped out as soon as the sun had set, sneaking away like a thief in the night. She needed to try and come up with some excuse to give Tristan and Dougal.

They’re gonna be super pissed, Malcolm observed, shrugging off the glare she sent him.

Well, what the hell do you expect me to do, Colly? she called him by his nickname. I couldn’t stay there and go through a repeat of this morning. They’re gonna want to know what’s wrong with me.

She shook her head, sliding off the picnic table to pace in front of it. A flash of blue and red caught her eye, the swing set beckoning her. Whispered promises of another time in her life, one where she wasn’t afraid. Back when she didn’t know anything about the monsters in the night. Back before she became one of them.

She could hear the sounds of children, screaming and laughing, flitting through her mind. The glorious, clean smell of summer. The exhilarating rush of running around the slide, desperate to be the next one to go down its heated metal length, wincing when it burned sensitive thighs under colorful shorts.

They would fight over who got to sit on the yellow, laughing duck. His orange beak a bright splash of color, a counterpoint to Mr. Frog with his red mouth on the other end of the teeter-totter. She and Malcolm had spent years here, always the same.

She sat down in one of the swings, the strip of blue rubber conforming to her hips. Pushing off with her feet, she swung back and forth slowly. When did it change, Colly? When did it become so faded, so rusty? she asked, contemplatively.

Malcolm shrugged, flicking his gaze around the playground.

The paint is peeling on the metal. The fence is five different colors from continuously having to paint over the graffiti. Was it always like this and we just didn’t notice it? she mused, kicking her feet up. Looking back at Malcolm, she saw him watching her, studying her.

Things change, Mel. He met her eyes. What are you gonna tell them?

Now it was her turn to shrug.

You have to tell them something, he said, a hint of impatience in his voice.

Cocking her head, she listened to the sounds of the night. The squeak of the chains as she pushed back and forth on the swing, the rustling of the trees, the slow inhale and exhale coming from her brother. I can’t tell them the truth.

Why not? he asked with a huff. Standing up, Malcolm placed both hands on his hips, glowering at her.

Seriously? You seriously have to ask me that? Uh, maybe because I’m a fucking vampire and I can’t even do the whole vamp thing normally.

They’re gonna find out one way or another. It might be better if you just tell them. I mean, c’mon! You can’t be the only person to ever have this problem. It’s not like it isn’t treatable and -- Mel threw out her hand, startling her brother and cutting off his next words. She froze, breathing erratically. Ten seconds went by, incredibly slow.

Well? Aren’t you going to finish your sentence, Malcolm? Pray tell, what exactly could Melaina have that is treatable? Tristan growled, his normally calm voice ragged. His accent roughened, becoming more noticeable.

They appeared out of the night, separating from the shadows that had kept them hidden from view. Tristan glided forward, followed by the dark, stalking figure of Dougal.

The two men separated, surrounding her.

Dougal slid up behind her, grabbing the metal chains of the swing in his large hands, halting her movement when she tried to get up. Tristan blocked her front, staring down at her fiercely.

Crap, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She hadn’t had enough time to come up with an excuse. Stalling for time, she remained silent.

Uh, guys… Malcolm said, trailing off when Tristan threw him a smoldering glare.

"Leave us," Dougal snarled.

Yeah, I’ll just be going then. Right… I’ll just be… Malcolm ignored her pleading eyes. Turning swiftly, he walked out of the park, leaving her with the two vampires.

Now, we can do this the hard way, or we can do it the easy way. But when we walk out of this park, we are going to know what is wrong with you. Is that clear? Dougal whispered, caressing the shell of her ear with his breath.

He jerked the chains of the swing, wrapping them once around her wrists where she was still hanging on. She yanked, trying to pull free but she was effectively caught. The chain rubbed against her wrists, bruising the tender skin.

Defiant, she glared up at Tristan, determined to ignore Dougal at her back. Tristan was the easier one to deal with. He always had been.

"Don’t give me that look,