His Fiery Kiss: Real Men of Wildridge

By Celia Kyle and Marina Maddix

She's looking for a story. He's hunting a criminal. Somehow, she's become both.

 

Panther shifter Elissa Malkin lives her life on the straight and narrow, always on the right side of the law, never a step out of line. So how the hell did she end up being a getaway driver for a cat burglar? The best she can hope for is to not get caught. Then her boss assigns her to report on Wildridge Security, the very firm tasked with finding the thief. Crap!

 

After sitting behind a desk for far too long, Ragan DeFever is finally in the field. So what if he has to babysit a reporter while he investigates a break-in? The delectable curves, flowing black hair, and violet eyes that call to his inner dragon are just a bonus. He can't wait to solve this case so he can get to know the woman who makes his heart blaze with endless flames.

 

But all isn't as it seems, and with Ragan by her side, Elissa is a wanted woman...in more ways than one. Now how the hell is she going to get out of this?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summerhouse Publishing
• Release date: Mar 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215322932

Celia Kyle

Ex-dance teacher, former accountant and erstwhile collectible doll salesperson, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Celia Kyle now writes paranormal romances for readers who: 1) Like super hunky heroes (they generally get furry) 2) Dig beautiful women (who have a few more curves than the average lady) 3) Love laughing in (and out of) bed. It goes without saying that there’s always a happily-ever-after for her characters, even if there are a few road bumps along the way. Today she lives in central Florida and writes full-time with the support of her loving husband and two finicky cats.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Elissa Malkin stared out the front windshield, head tilted back against the headrest as she listened to the engine idle, a mix of pure boredom and annoyance coursing through her. She heaved a sigh, so bored she stared at the reflection of the moon in a puddle a few yards from where she’d parked. Could her shifter-enhanced eyesight allow her to see the movement of the moon as it crossed the sky while hours passed? Watching the moon—the shifter version of watching paint dry. Ugh.

One fifteen in the morning, according to the glowing green digital clock mounted in her dashboard. Was this the time people considered the witching hour? It certainly didn’t feel extra-magical to her. Not right now. Not while everything was too still, too expected.

The neighborhood was one of the nicest areas Elissa had ever set foot in. Tall, broad, majestic houses that had spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean loomed on either side of the street. Every yard was impeccably manicured with vivid flower gardens and grass so pretty and healthy it looked almost fake. Elissa thought that was a fitting description for the people who lived in Malibu—too perfect to be real. Of course, in the city of Los Angeles, what else could one expect?

She’d come into the evening anxious and excited, but as the minutes ticked by waiting for her father’s contact to show up, she’d grown irritated. This little excursion was proving to be a huge waste of time. She gripped the steering wheel, trying not to let her frustration get the better of her.

Too late.

Where the hell is this guy, Dad? she asked, lolling her head over to give him a weary look. We’ve been sitting here with our thumbs up our butts for a half-hour already.

I don’t know, sweets, Cray Pardus said with a stoic shrug. When your friend asks for a ride because his car broke down, you give him a ride.

At one in the morning? Elissa asked, warily scanning the dark for movement. Besides, anyone who lives in Malibu can surely afford a rental car. In fact, I’m surprised you know anyone who lives here. No offense.

Real talk, this kind of swanky ‘hood didn’t usually welcome ex-cons like her dad, much less his nefarious pals.

None taken, he said smoothly, but a muscle in his jaw twitched at the almost-insult. Just be patient, sweets. He’ll be here any minute.

Better be, she grumbled, glancing at the clock again. One seventeen. Some of us have real jobs, you know.

Cray’s lips twisted in a sardonic smile, flashing a hint of fang. I thought you would have enjoyed this. Consider it practice for a real stakeout.

Elissa barked out a sarcastic laugh. Yeah, as if my editor would ever give me a story that required a stakeout. I wish. Sadly, he doesn’t think they’re necessary for me to puke out a ‘Community Happenings’ article.

You don’t sound happy about that.

Elissa shrugged and went back to watching the moon continue its trek. Trust me. It’s all puff pieces about cats getting stuck in trees or promotional articles for advertisers, like this mind-numbing spotlight on Wildridge Security.

Isn’t that why you’re here in the first place? You’d think a graduate of journalism school would be thrilled at finding her first informant.

She shot her father a dubious look. Do you believe him? Do you really think he has dirt on Wildridge?

If Buddy says he has dirt, he has dirt, Cray said, leveling a confident look at his daughter.

Elissa dropped her head against the head rest again and sighed. "But what kind of dirt?"

All news is good news. Right?

Elissa shook her head. That’s not how the saying goes, Dad.

Eh, close enough. Besides, you’re the writer, not me. He flashed her a smile and winked.

Oh, so they didn’t teach you journalism in prison? She sounded snarkier than she’d intended, but she was tired. And annoyed.

"Hardly, though San Diego at least offered some educational opportunities. Glad I was sent there instead of LA. That’s where they send the real degenerates.

"Yeah, and we all know you’re not a degenerate," Elissa quipped with a twist of her lips.

Her father snorted, well accustomed to her sass. Burglary is hardly first-degree murder, Elissa. But I’m reformed now. Going straight.

So you’ve said, she deadpanned, her lack of confidence obvious. Not to mention well-earned.

Nothing would please her more than for her father’s claims to be true, but a lifetime of experience told her otherwise. The man had been in and out of jails and prisons since her mother’s death when Elissa was ten. Since her mother had been the primary breadwinner, Cray had resorted to a life of crime to keep them afloat. Petty theft, burglary, larceny. Nothing major—that they’d ever popped him for, that is. Elissa had learned long ago to not ask questions she didn’t want the answers to.

Still, he was her dad, the only true family she had left in the world—apart from crazy Aunt Sanne, her dad’s only sibling. Elissa had been shuffled off to live with Aunt Sanne every time her father went to jail. It had been hard enough to say goodbye to him so many times throughout her childhood, but to then live with a grown woman who had an unhealthy obsession with boy bands and a fondness for Chardonnay—or maybe it was the other way around—was the rotten cherry on top of a shit sundae.

That’s why, when Cray had been released this last time, Elissa had invited him to stay with her until he got back on his feet and figured out a new path. That seemed less and less likely, though, especially when he still palled around with his criminal cronies. And she could only assume Buddy was one of them.

So why the hell was she sitting here waiting for the guy in the middle of a fancy neighborhood at one—no, make that one twenty—in the morning? The answer was, of course, that the chance to write an explosive exposé on the company of dragons responsible for enforcing shifter law in Los Angeles far outweighed any concerns over her own safety or her father’s promises to clean up his act. Good thing it was dark or Cray would have seen her blush.

The dark was blasted away by the overhead light when the rear passenger door of her car was jerked open, blinding her momentarily. Buddy must have finally arrived. Squinting and blinking against the light, Elissa only caught a glimpse of the man in her backseat before he slammed the door shut, blinding her again, but this time with darkness.

Adrenaline shot into her system, sending her heart thumping in her chest. The man was dressed from head to toe in black with a ski mask covering his face. Except his eyes. His wild, feral eyes. He looked a helluva lot more like a carjacker than an informant, and his shouts confirmed it.

Drive! the man screamed as he slid a heavy black duffel bag onto the seat next to him. The bag could easily have been filled with enough weapons to take out a couple of unarmed panther shifters. Go! Go! Go!

Elissa’s fight or flight instinct took over. Throwing the car into Drive, she mashed the gas pedal all the way to the floorboard and peeled off down the street at the speed of a souped-up DeLorean.

Maybe if I get the speedometer up to eighty-eight miles per hour, her panicked brain thought, I can go back in time and tell my dad no for once in my life.

Elissa’s wide eyes watched in the rearview mirror as the carjacker peeled off his ski mask to reveal a middle-aged dude with short salt-and-pepper hair and an equally speckled goatee. Her sniffer told her he was also a big cat shifter, but the smell of her own fear hid which kind.

The man frowned at her in the mirror but then turned his attention to Cray. What the hell, Cray? You were supposed to come alone!

Buddy, this is my daughter, Elissa, Cray said smoothly, totally unfazed by what had just happened. Because why would he be? This was his friend they’d been waiting on for what seemed like hours. Now, would you mind telling me exactly what the hell is going on?

Buddy shook his head. Oh, is that the game you’re playing? Don’t want to look bad in front of the kid?

Elissa gripped the steering wheel and tried not to look at her father. She knew the expression he’d be wearing—one of stunned surprise, total bewilderment, and utter innocence.

What are you talking about, Buddy? Cray snapped, keeping up the show for her sake.

Psh! Man, stop pretending you’re something you’re not. You knew the deal when you took my call. I’m the muscle. You’re the driver. Just like old times.

Cray twisted in his seat to glare at Buddy. "I most certainly did not know that was the deal. I just thought you needed a ride and that this might be a good opportunity for you and Elissa to meet."

Buddy snorted and turned to stare out the window, wholly unimpressed by Cray’s excuses. So was Elissa, for that matter.

She shot a sideways glance at him, noticing the way the occasional streetlight illuminated the craggy lines and creases on his thin face. He’d lived a hard, brutish life and it showed. More than anything, Elissa desperately wanted to believe he was reformed, a changed man. She’d been dreaming of it her entire life, but now it was clear he’d never change, and that broke her heart.

As her heart rate slowed and the panic eased, so did her foot on the accelerator. No need to get to eighty-eighty miles per hour. No use fighting a losing battle. She pegged the needle at the speed limit and kept it there, praying her tail lights were working and all the cops in the city would be too busy to pull them over.

Fantastic, she muttered, just loudly enough for Cray to hear. Now I’m a getaway driver for a thief. I think they call it ‘accessory after the fact.’

Her dad winced and gave her a sheepish smile. Well, you said you wanted a story…

Last One to the Meeting wasn’t a title Ragan DeFever especially wanted to earn six months into his job at Wildridge Security, the prestigious firm entrusted with the safety of the shifter population in Los Angeles. As the newbie at Wildridge, he was under a microscope, but LA traffic could be brutal—even for a dragon.

Balancing a to-go box of coffee on top of a box of bribe-doughnuts, he pushed the door to the conference room open with his butt. Six thick folders were tucked under his arm and a pen sat tucked behind one ear. At least the last two items made him look somewhat professional. No one needed to know he’d accidentally stolen the pen after scrawling his signature on the doughnut receipt.

…occurred last night, Ragan’s boss, Charlie Volant was saying as Ragan entered, pointedly ignoring him. The victim was none other than Stark Bradford.

Murmurs erupted around the