Ace of Diamonds: The Complete Series

Copyright

Diamonds & Dust, Diamond Draw, Diamond Edge, Diamond Flush, and Diamonds Down & Dirty are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyrights © 2015, 2016 by Laura Harner

Cover Art by Laura Harner

Formatting by Author.Services

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Hot Corner Press.

Ace of Diamonds: The Complete Series ISBN: 978-1-941841-43-3

Diamonds & Dust ISBN: 978-1-941841-08-2

Diamond Draw ISBN: 978-1-941841-09-9

Diamond Edge ISBN: 978-1-941841-10-5

Diamond Flush ISBN: 978-1-941841-11-2

Diamonds Down & Dirty ISBN: 978-1-941841-12-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Contact the publisher for further information: Hotcornerpress@gmail.com

Contents

Diamonds & Dust

Diamond Draw

Diamond Edge

Diamond Flush

Diamonds Down & Dirty

About the Author

About PF 2015

Other PF Titles Available

About Pulp Friction 2015

Lee Brazil ~ Havan Fellows ~ Parker Williams ~ Laura Harner

The Pulp Friction 2015 Collection. Four authors. Four Series. Twenty books. One out of this world finale.

Spend a year with men who go bump in the night…a diverse group of friends trying to find their place in an ever-shifting landscape of a post-Revelation New Orleans. One thing is certain—now that the world knows preternaturals exist—keeping the innocents safe in The Big Easy has never been so…hard.

Although each series can stand alone, we believe reading the books in the order they are released will increase your enjoyment.

Round One

Drawing Dead (Jack of Spades: 1)

Blind Stud (King of Hearts: 1)

The Devil’s Bedpost (Four of Clubs: 1)

Diamonds and Dust (Ace of Diamonds: 1)

Round Two

Dead Blind (Jack of Spades: 2)

Stud Player (King of Hearts: 2)

Up The Ante (Four of Clubs: 2)

Diamond Draw (Ace of Diamonds: 2)

Round Three

Dead Button (Jack of Spades: 3)

Blind Man’s Bluff Playground (King of Hearts: 3)

Devil’s Playground (Four of Clubs: 3)

Diamond Edge (Ace of Diamonds: 3)

Round Four

Dead Man’s Hand (Jack of Spades: 4)

Blind Hearts (King of Hearts: 4)

High Stakes (Four of Clubs: 4)

Diamond Flush (Ace of Diamonds: 4)

Round Five

Dead Money (Jack of Spades: 5)

Under the Gun (King of Hearts: 5)

The Devil’s Due (Four of Clubs: 5)

Diamonds Down & Dirty (Ace of Diamonds: 5)

Diamonds and Dust

Ace of Diamonds One

PF 2015 Collection

By

Laura Harner

Copyright

Diamonds and Dust: Ace of Diamonds One 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, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Laura Harner

Cover Art by Laura Harner

Edited by Jae Ashley

Formatting by Author.Services

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Hot Corner Press.

ISBN: 978-1-941841-08-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Contact the publisher for further information: Hotcornerpress@gmail.com

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my Pulp Friction family: Havan Fellows, Lee Brazil, Will Parkinson, and Tom Webb—I count on you more than you know.

A very special thank you to Mardee Barnett, Christy Duke, Mary Wallace, and as always, Jae Ashley.

I couldn’t have done this without all of you. Thank you, for all of the ways you help.

Trademarks

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Armani: Giorgio Armani, SPA

TNT: Turner Network Television LP

Turbodog Ale: Abita Brewing Company

Twister: Hasbro, Inc.

Diamonds and Dust

As the time for Jamal ‘Jet’ Gorman’s first official pack meeting as the de facto Alpha nears, there are rumblings of others who would fight him to the death for the position. Jet isn't certain that's not a fitting way to exit this world...even if it puts the werewolves he's sworn to protect in the hands of a ruthless killer. A trip to the bayou with the ancient and enigmatic new vampire in town changes everything—in ways Jet would never have predicted. Now his new mission is safeguarding his late partner’s secret.

Nicolino Sanzio da Urbino—Nico to his friends, if he had any—has been undead for centuries, and given the betrayals in his own past, it shouldn't surprise him the depths some will go to in order to seize a power to which they have no claim. His new position with the Odd Squad provides a lot of latitude to dispense justice, so when he discovers a plot to rid the local pack of their second Alpha in as many months, Nico decides it's time to go hunting. That is until he meets Jet and everything gets…personal.

With hearts as hard as diamonds, neither man is seeking the odd connection that seems to flow between them—but the winds of change blowing through the Crescent City seem to have everyone on edge—and not all challenges are as simple as they seem. With more and more monsters coming out of the closet, only time will tell if these two survive long enough to play the hand they’ve been dealt—before they become dust in the wind.

Chapter One

Nicolino Sanzio da Urbino emerged from death, blinking to clear his vision and discover something familiar about his surroundings. He noted the blackout curtains, the flattened shadow of a built-in wardrobe, and a glint of light shining off the mechanical locking mechanism on the door. A cloying scent filled his nostrils, and Nico turned his head to the right where the small dining room table held the enormous vase of lilies that had been refreshed every night since the cruise started. The dark room stewards on Tri-Omega cruise lines obviously had a sense of humor.

Sitting slowly, allowing his life force to fill his limbs, Nico yawned and stretched, all unnecessary motions, but oddly comforting all the same. At over five hundred years old, he was perfectly capable of functioning on either side of twilight, but he still preferred some of the habits formed in his too brief human existence. Funny how these waking rituals were so firmly ingrained.

A soft knock drew him from the bed, and he pressed the combination lock that had kept the stateroom secured from any outside interference during the day. Opening the door to admit Pierre, Nico stepped back and allowed the man to enter.

Good evening, sir, I trust your sleep was restful. As he spoke, the man started moving around the stateroom to unlatch and push back the blinds.

Yes, thank you. Have we arrived? Nico asked, despite the fact he could see the twin spans of the bridge crossing the Mississippi River.

Yes, sir, first thing this morning. Departure is scheduled for twenty-two thirty. Would you like a car to take you to… he trailed off, no doubt hoping Nico would reveal his plans.

Although his passage had been arranged privately, as a former enforcer for the Vampire Council, Nico’s intended destination would no doubt be worth something to the human, either in cash or trade.

No matter…the word Nico had defected from the Council and joined the ranks of the American government—and their Odd Squad—in a similar position would spread soon enough.

No thank you, Pierre. He paused, then with an air of someone imparting a great secret, he added, I would like you to have my bags sent to this address once I depart, he said and handed the steward a card.

Moonshadows Used Bookstore? Pierre said, studying the French Quarter address.

Yes, thank you. That will be all, he said. He shook the man’s hand, slipped a sizable gratuity into his palm, and had him out the door before another question could form.

As soon as he was alone, Nico engaged the electronic lock before showering and dressing in his customary Armani casual wear. Thirty minutes after awakening, and a full two and a half hours before the scheduled departure time, Nico stood on the small balcony outside his stateroom and visualized the map he had memorized of the region. With his bags taken care of for now, he intended to spend his first night in New Orleans—at least in this century—familiarizing himself with the supernatural landscape.

First stop, he thought as he faded to nothing more than a wisp of smoke, would be the bayou just outside the region’s childlike—and childish—Master vampire.

Reappearing at the edge of a water-logged stand of trees, Nico remained close to the trunk of an enormous cypress. Although not yet full, the moonlight was bright, and the tree cast a deep shadow, allowing Nico to remain unobserved as he took stock of the property.

Unlike many of his European counterparts, the New Orleans Master vampire lived in a modern style structure. Ranch style? Was that what these American’s called the single story house with rooms on both sides of the main social area? No matter, but it was curious, with all of the old mansions and plantations, the Master would choose to live in such a characterless pile of bricks.

At a hairsbreadth over three hundred years old, the style of housing wasn’t the only oddity about Henri du Champ that drew attention, both from the Council and the vampire elders. They blamed the American vampire community for the first global breach of security, exposing all supernatural beings to the human population. Under an emergency plan designed to limit the damage caused by the revelation, the Council directed all Masters to remain vigilant in protecting their cities.

Not only did New Orleans continue to draw publicity on a national level, du Champ lived beyond his city’s boundaries, and actively sought increased media attention for his political ambitions. Quite simply, the Council and elders thought him a fool.

Of course Henri’s actions were of no concern unless they resulted in an additional burden to the Homeland Security team that was now Nico’s employer.

Movement from the rear of the house drew his attention. As Nico watched, clouds skittered across the moon, creating a dappled shadow effect, obscuring the details of the two men who stood talking in the distance. Or more accurately from the smell of them…two werewolves in human form. They stood in front of a large warehouse-style building that carried the scent of wereanimals, vampires, sweat, and blood.

You should have killed him, too, a man said, his harsh whisper carrying on the heavy night air.

Believe me, Martine, if Jet had been there, I would’ve. Unfortunately, the Beta was away the night we killed the Alpha…Russ. No doubt distracted by all of his non-pack police business. I owe the little bastard an ass kicking, the second man growled.

Ahh, that’s right, Connor, you used to be the pack Beta before Jet came along. But tell me—this is pack business—why do you care who they select as their leader? If, as you claim, someone is willing to fight Jet to the death in order to gain control, doesn’t that suit your needs? Martine said, his voice sliding like oil over the distance.

A growl spilled out, and the man’s bitterness was palpable. "Two reasons. The challenge that is coming from within the pack is going to be issued by Walker—another wolf with a lack of skills necessary to maintain his leadership role for long. Which will only lead to a string of challenges in the coming months. Such turmoil is bad for the men and women in the pack—which makes it bad for everyone.

"Henri would prefer to have an experienced Alpha—one who is more knowledgeable in the ways of werewolves around the world. New Orleans is about to become far more…important to the supernatural community in America and the world to rely on the vagaries of self-selection within the local pack. We need an Alpha willing to work with us in our extensive business enterprises, not against."

The men moved away from the building, and for a moment, the filtered moonlight gave Nico a flash view of two faces. Although it was hard to be certain with werewolves, particularly at this distance, one man appeared to be in his mid-forties, while the other looked to be several years older. The younger wolf had alabaster white skin and blond hair that raised Nico’s interest a notch. Something about him was familiar.

The older man waved an arm, pointing in Nico’s direction, although clearly unaware he was being overheard. "I’m not sure if you already know…but there is a large rogue population of pups—runaways—living in one of the nearby bayous. Despite several attempts, Russ was unable to control them. Jet doesn’t even make an effort. They are a source of interest to Henri, and he would express his gratitude in a very profitable way, should the new Alpha exert his leadership and send them to serve the city’s Master, as is his due.

Defeat Jet and assume the duties of Alpha and work with me to align our strengths.

I have a better idea…I think I’ll let the challenge proceed as expected. Then regardless of who wins the coming fight, that leaves me a clear path to remove the remaining threat and claim the pack as my own…

Connor clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Have no worries, many people are unhappy with Jet’s lack of interest in maintaining the pack, but are equally unhappy with Walker. They will actively support your challenge. I can assure you, Henri is most grateful…

Nico could taste the lie on the air, but wondered exactly where the untruth lay. Given the location of the meeting, Henri du Champ knew of his henchman’s treachery. Nico had read the reports. Henri was also directly responsible for the previous Alpha’s death. It didn’t bode well for the city if the Master Vampire and his people were actively involved in taking control of the local werewolf pack.

Nico shouldn’t care. This was not related to the enforcement duties he had been hired to carry out. Besides, he had seen enough betrayal to last all of his immortal lifetime. The internal struggles of local supernatural politics held no interest. Yet, without even meeting the Alpha, something about the situation grated. Perhaps he would seek out this Jet and make his own assessment.

Chapter Two

Sitting at the big oak desk in the back room of Fangs, Jamal Jet Gorman rubbed his hand over his close-cropped hair and stared unblinking at the computer screen. His pulse pounded in his ears as his blood pressure spiked and the muscles rippled and twitched underneath his skin. He sucked in a big breath and forced himself to remain calm. Nothing would be gained by letting his wolf emerge. Yet.

When he’d received the email from Talon asking him to order more liquor for the bar, Jet had immediately realized something was wrong and left the compound for Fangs, the pack-owned French Quarter bar. As one of the first supernatural establishments to operate openly after the Revelation, Fangs was always busy with a mix of wereanimals, vampires, and other beings—and the bouncer at the door limited the number of humans allowed in order to maintain a healthy human to non-human ratio. Habitual fangbangers were generally sent elsewhere, since the vamps who preferred their meals live also preferred not to share. Their food and beverage inventory was extensive to meet the tastes of all the customers.

Two years earlier, an enterprising start-up created commercially available synth-blood, and adding the bags to the menu created a storage problem, even with the oversized walk-in fridge. The Alpha added a climate controlled outdoor storage unit to increase the available square footage, and as head of security at the time, it had been Jet’s job to arrange the protection protocols—a camera and an electronic combination lock.

Now, according to Talon’s email, there were fewer than fifty cases of liquor where there should be over two hundred remaining. If the reported quantities were accurate—and there was no doubt in his mind Talon was correct—then this was more than a minor annoyance. Most of the missing bottles were the top shelf brands, and the losses would run into the tens of thousands of dollars.

Suppressing a growl, Jet hit print, waited through the whirring and clicking until he had a paper record of what should be in the unit, then stood to go outside. As he opened the door to the office, the pounding rhythm of rock washed over him and followed him into the night.

When he stepped outside, he noted the alley was dark as usual, and the door to the storage was dimly lit and the wall-mounted camera remained in place and functional. From the outside, everything appeared as usual. A blast of cool air hit him full in the face as he stepped inside and flipped on the switch.

Thirty minutes later Jet had conducted his own count and confirmed the inventory provided by Talon, and there wasn’t a damn thing to see on the security camera. The ‘how’ of avoiding the camera wasn’t hard to figure out, since it was a technique he’d used himself to circumvent a private security system in a case he’d worked with the Odd Squad the night Russ had been killed. Someone had most likely bypassed the camera feed with taped coverage from a previous day to hide any signs of an unauthorized entry.

Given Jet’s sense of smell, it wasn’t difficult to figure out ‘who,’ either. The room carried the scents of all of the bar staff members—as it should. Additionally, there was still a hint of Russ lingering on a case of Jose Cuervo 1800 Tequila tucked into the back corner. But under it all was a scent of someone who shouldn’t be here. Lance Walker. Pack member and wannabe Alpha.

The ‘when’ was only slightly more problematic to figure out, but to Jet’s way of thinking, even more troublesome.

As part of his daily routine, Jet checked the security feeds for the pack properties every morning. The only time in recent memory he’d missed the daily check was during the two weeks following Russ’s death. Someone—Walker—had taken advantage of Jet’s grief. Or maybe he considered it a test of Jet’s ability to maintain total focus on the welfare of the pack. As a born werewolf, Walker had always objected to Jet, a made werewolf, as the pack Beta.

Well, it looked like this coming pack meeting would be even more of a challenge than Jet originally anticipated. He’d thought the collective grief of the pack over the loss of their former Alpha would be the focus of the meeting and the hardest obstacle to overcome. Walker’s brazen theft was tantamount to a calling card. Stepping back outside, Jet locked the door then emerged from underneath the security light and camera lens.

For a long minute, he stood, letting the thoughts play out. Walker clearly intended to challenge Jet for the position of pack Alpha…and no doubt he’d insist on a fight to the death.

Maybe that would be a fitting end…

A whisper soft brush of a sultry breeze sent a flurry of leaves skittering over the cobblestones. A shiver ran up Jet’s spine as he was hit with a sudden sensation of being watched. Stepping farther into the shadows, Jet flared his nostrils as he searched for an unfamiliar scent. Slowly turning, he caught a hint of motion from the corner of his eye. Deliberately slowing his respiration, he searched with all of his senses, trying to identify who—what—was in the alley with him. The absence of breathing and the quality of the darkness from the other being gave him the answer he sought.

Identify yourself, vampire.

There was a pause before soft laughter echoed all around him, bouncing off the walls, pressing in on him. Jet was frozen in place, blanketed in a deep, dark masculine aura that compressed his lungs and left him aching. Just as quickly, the sensation passed and he knew he was alone. He sucked in a deep breath, feeling as if his blood had been heated to one degree below boiling. Goose flesh rose with the sudden loss of heat.

Feeling rather like a large shaggy dog, Jet shook his head, trying to clear his senses. Holy shit. What was that?

The door to Fang’s banged open and a familiar head stuck out through the opening.

There you are, Fido… Damn, I just got here—you smell like sex. Who have you been humping?

Laurant, Jet growled out between tight lips. For fuck’s sake, dial it down or you’re going to have every one of my customers naked and on the floor. He closed his eyes briefly and tried to rein in his rampant libido before turning to glare at his old friend.

Is that supposed to be a bad thing? Laurant asked with his customary grin.

I’m serious. Turn it down. What is it with you lately? How the hell did you do that woo woo thing a minute ago—wait. Don’t tell me. Let’s go to the booth…

The booth was code-speak among their friends for the table at the rear of the club reserved for the pack Alpha and company. For once Laurant seemed to have no response, he just stepped aside and let Jet lead the way through the back hallway. Once they reached the booth, Jet signaled Talon with two fingers, then slid in to sit at the edge of the U-shaped bench and Laurant took the opposite edge, both of them perched as if they might need to jump up at any minute.

What’s going on, Laurant? Why are you here?

Perfect bow-shaped lips turned down as the little demon mock-pouted, but his answer was serious enough. I came to ask if you were good to host the poker game on Wednesday. It’s your turn, but since you haven’t said anything and well…after all you’ve been through…

It’s my turn? Well…hell.

Years earlier, when Jet had been in college and long before the Revelation, he’d heard about a professor on campus who was obsessed with proving ghosts were real. Every semester, he offered a not-for-credit but very popular class called Physics of Manifestations. Curious to see what a human might have to say about a supernatural being that even his fellow werewolves knew next to nothing about, Jet registered.

After the first class, the line of people waiting to talk to the professor was long, but Jet joined the two men at the end of the queue. They fell into the casual sort of conversation that often happens among strangers, and by the time they’d reached the professor, they’d become so engaged in relating ghost stories, that it was a full five minutes before they realized the professor had joined them, avidly listening to every detail. From that first meeting, the four of them had formed a tentative bond…

A sharp whistle cut into his memories, and Jet’s gaze snapped up to catch Laurant’s blue eyes locked on him, the crinkles at the corners from his perpetual smile were missing. Welcome back. Everything okay? I told Artie and Sabine I thought this might be too soon for you… Why don’t we skip—

No, Jet rushed to say. It’s not that. I was actually thinking about how we all met. I don’t want to skip—I think—I might just need you guys. Sad as this is going to sound, I’m beginning to think these biweekly poker games are the most normal thing in my life.

Oh yeah…that is sad. Okay, we’ll be out at the compound at six—

No, not there, Jet interrupted. Not ready for that yet. Plus, Artie’s spending a lot of time at the hospital with that cop—Ben. I don’t want to drag him away for too long. How about we have it…here?

Hmm…a crowd of strangers, sexual tension running high, strip poker… Oh yeah, baby, I’m all in.

Chapter Three

Perching on top of a row of buildings in the French Quarter, Nico considered his options. So far this night, he had visited the home of the local Master vampire—even if he had not bothered to pay his…respects. He had met a witch in a bookstore who’d shown him to his room on the second floor of a charming town house on Burgundy. He had left his calling card on the conference table in a small office serving as the headquarters for the so called Odd Squad, and expended considerable energy re-familiarizing himself with a city he hadn’t been in since Antoine’s had been established and Martin Van Buren had been President.

What he needed to do was replenish his energy before the night faded to morning and he locked himself away in his new home.

Which explained what brought him to Fangs, because they were the most convenient source of willing sustenance.

What he had not expected was the encounter in the alley.

"Identify yourself, vampire."

Only time would tell the truth of their initial encounter, but now he had a choice to make. Did he risk going inside on his first night in the Vieux Carré or wait until it could no longer be avoided?

With a self-mocking grin, Nico dropped to the ground and straightened his clothes. He circled the building and passed the throng of humans waiting behind the brass stanchions and velvet cords. The werewolf at the door gave him a polite nod and stepped aside, granting Nico immediate entrance. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark shimmer of red sconce lights flickering at even intervals around the room. The more comfortable level of lighting was well-suited for supernaturals and probably gave the humans allowed in a thrill.

Stalactites and pillars strategically located throughout gave the place an underground grotto theme. A mass of people moved rhythmically in front of the DJ’s stand, and the smell of blood lingered on the air, making his mouth water. He was definitely going to need to feed soon.

Walking past the traditional long