Mallory of Strange Valley (Strange Valley Immortals #1)

“Fans of Kresley Cole (Immortals After Dark), Richelle Mead (Succubus series), and Tina Folsom (Scanguards Vampires) will love the Immortals of Strange Valley. This erotic series has characters with depth, an intriguing paranormal story, and sex scenes that will make you hot! Great new addition to the adult paranormal genre.”
– Author Maxim Fox

Mallory of Strange Valley

Strange Valley Immortals

Part One

Adult Paranormal Romance

Kassandra Coley

CHAPTER ONE

For Mallory Mackenzie, fall meant a new school year at Mead Community College. It also meant a new name and a new face. Last year, she was Gena Briggs, with straight blonde hair, narrow hips, and high cheekbones. This year, she was brunette, curvy, full-lipped Mallory.

If anyone was perceptive enough to notice that both Gena and Mallory wore the same shade of lip gloss - cherry red crush - and occasionally hummed Motown hits, well, it was unlikely that anyone would ever guess the truth.

That was the thing about humans. They had their ghosts, superstitions, and mythologies, but remained largely oblivious to the supernatural creatures that walked among them. Seduced them. Preyed on them.

Mallory traced the familiar route from the west student parking lot to the stately, red-bricked Harris Building. She watched the students filing along the sidewalks, and smiled at a trio  of freshman girls who were trying to stroll casually, but kept glancing around with that wide-eyed newbie gape. She’d done the same thing her first semester.

The familiar, primal awareness deep in her mind intensified, and her eye was drawn hawk-like to a tall guy with thick blond hair and a cute ass a few feet ahead of her. Fall not only brought a new identity, but also a new crop of freshman.

She pushed the metal bar belting the middle of the Harris Building’s heavy double doors. It was time to start another semester of Western Civ with Professor Kitson, he of the salt-and-pepper beard and corduroy jackets with elbow patches. What was this, her fourth year in his class? She kept coming back not because he was a great teacher, but quite the opposite. He hardly bothered to acknowledge his students, which gave her ample opportunity to scope out her classmates.

As at any community college, there were always a few older students—middle-aged mothers returning to school, retired people taking classes for fun—but Mallory zeroed in on the males who were straight out of high school. They were the easiest prey. And there was something delectably nubile about them, right on the tipping edge of manhood. Tight bodies and skin, still years away from the deteriorating effects of age. Awkwardness mixed with energetic egoism. And most important, sex drives that could satisfy even a girl like her.

She slipped into a chair at one of the tables near the back of the classroom, next to a girl with curly brown hair and stylish glasses. The brunette glanced up.

“Hi,” Mallory said. “I haven’t missed anything yet, have I?”

“Nope.” The girl tilted her head toward the front of the room where Professor Kitson was staring at his computer monitor, his eyelids heavy. “I’m not sure anyone has powered him up yet.”

Mallory snorted a laugh. “I’m Mallory Mackenzie.” She held out her hand and the girl grasped it.

“Brandy Hovencamp.”

With barely a glance at his audience, Kitson rose and launched into his usual opening day spiel.

“This is Western Civ, in case you’re not sure where you are.” He looked up at the words projected on the screen at the front of the room. “I’ve posted the syllabus online. We’ll have weekly quizzes, a mid-semester exam, and a final paper. . . .”

As Kitson droned on, Mallory tuned into the energies of the mortals in the room. Sensing eyes trained on her, she stole a quick glance to her left. A dark-haired guy who looked barely old enough to have graduated high school was doing the eye grope on her chest. Pretending she was absorbed in Kitson’s lecture, she folded her arms and leaned forward, pushing her breasts up and out. The v-neck of her lavender sweater pulled taut, revealing several inches of cleavage.

Mallory gave Mister Hungry Eyes a wicked little sideways smile, and his tongue darted out to lick his dry lips. She faced front again, but she wasn’t finished with him. Using her telekinesis, she feathered pressure across his crotch. She sensed him stiffen and he inhaled sharply. She bit her lips to hide a grin and sent firm, caressing waves over the growing bulge in his pants. The pressure of her invisible touch undulated rhythmically. He let out a faint groan and bent at the waist, and a couple of students shot him curious or annoyed looks.

She continued her game for a few moments, enjoying the way his distress and pleasure mounted, but stopped abruptly, well short of climax. She couldn’t have him prematurely expending the life force building within him. Not yet.

The throbbing between her legs reminded her that it’d been four days since her last conquest. She’d come to campus late in the evening and found the computer lab deserted except for a lonely work-study student.

She’d lured him to an office at the back of the lab—not that he’d required much persuasion—where she relieved him of his cargo pants and rode him until he came so hard his entire body went rigid. His face was a frozen, mute mask for several minutes afterward. He’d never asked her name. She knew his, though. Steve. She remembered all of their names. It wasn’t their fault they never remembered her later. That was just the way things worked.

Four days was a long time to go without getting laid. Not long enough to put her in peril, but still. She never let a full week elapse without a conquest. When her life force began to deplete, she felt like an addict trying to detox. Nausea, shakes, weakness. But instead of subsiding, it just got worse by the hour.

As soon as class ended, she sidled up to her new friend. He hadn’t moved, apparently not quite recovered enough from her stroking to stand up. He stared at her chest, wide-eyed. She brushed her index finger under his chin, tilting his face up.

“Eyes up, soldier,” she said. “I’m Mallory. Want to meet up later tonight?”

“S— sure.” He swallowed hard.

 “Put in your name, number, and address.” She handed him her phone and waited while he punched in his info.

“I, um, live with my parents.” His cheeks pinked as he returned her phone.

Mallory winked and licked her cherry red crush lips. He was actually kind of cute. “Don’t worry, we’ll be very quiet.” She patted his cheek and walked out of the classroom, swaying her hips.

Sometimes it was almost too easy.

She glanced down at her phone. Jared Labar. Address in a suburban neighborhood a few miles from the school.

She glanced at the printout of her schedule, which she hadn’t quite memorized yet. Next up, Art History across campus. A bit of a hike, with only fifteen minutes transition time between classes.

She started across the Green, a large expanse of lawn in the center of campus where students gathered to lounge, read, and play hacky sack or Frisbee.

Walking under the sun dappled oaks, her notebook pressed to her chest under her crossed arms, she could almost imagine that she was the normal, mortal early-20s-ish part-time college student she pretended to be. And except for the predatory sex and the shape-shifting, in most ways she was. But as with many things in life, it was those little details that made all the difference.

Her phone buzzed and then rang out the chorus of
I Heard It Through the Grapevine
.

“Hey, Claire,” she answered.

“How’s school?” Claire asked.

“It’s so strange,” Mallory said with exaggerated confusion. “It’s like . . . it’s like
I’ve done this all before
.”

Claire laughed. “You’re freaking hilarious. I’ll be off in time for lunch. Pick you up by the Green?”

“Sure, see you in an hour.”

Mallory slipped her phone back in her bag, and walked down a short flight of stairs to the basement entrance of Meyer Hall.

Professor Beasley, in a hippie batik skirt and Birkenstocks, was arranging the classroom chairs in a circle.

“Come in, come in.” She beckoned Mallory and a couple of other students into the middle of the room.

Mallory set down her notebook and pen, and helped the instructor finish moving the chairs as students trickled in and claimed seats in the circle. She picked a chair facing the door and glanced at the clock on the wall. Two minutes before the start of class, and so far only female students. If it was all girls, she’d have to drop this class. She wasn’t here for the enlightenment.

Professor Beasley closed the classroom door exactly at 11:15, and Mallory sighed. Still no guys. Now she’d have to stick out this session before she could go to the enrollment office and pick a replacement for art history.

“Let’s go around and introduce ourselves, shall we?” Professor Beasley beamed around the circle. “Give us your name, your major, and where you grew up. Let’s begin with you.” She nodded at the girl sitting to Mallory’s left.

“I’m April. I’m undecided, but thinking about communications. I’m from Long Beach.”

Communications? Poor girl. Her father or uncle had probably told her communications was a solid choice.

Professor Beasley nodded at Mallory.

Mallory took a breath and opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, the classroom door swished open. In strolled Tall, Blond, and Chiseled, and the estrogen-laden room seemed to collectively inhale. The new guy’s pale blue t-shirt pulled over his biceps and chest in a way that made Mallory want to run her fingers over the fabric so she could feel the firm contours of the muscles beneath. But this wasn’t just any specimen of male perfection.

Mallory’s fingers flew to her lips to muffle a gasp as she recognized the tell-tale tingle of Immortal presence.

What in the world was another Immortal doing here? And could he be a . . . ? No, it must be some mistake.

The instructor turned to the newcomer and went glassy-eyed as a lazy smile spread over her face. “Welcome to art history,” she said, her voice throaty and thick. Her eyes filled with such heavy-lidded lust, Mallory was actually a little embarrassed for her.

He nodded and flashed his dimples. “Apologies for my late entrance. I’m Asher Weston.” He pointed at the enrollment sheet in the instructor’s hand. “I should be on the roster, there?”

Professor Beasley’s lips parted, but she didn’t answer.

Asher’s gaze shot straight to Mallory and he winked. Her eyes widened as he flashed his true form—body smooth and flawless as polished gray granite, with leathery black wings spanning seven feet across.

Asher Weston was an Incubus.

It happened so quickly, she was the only one in the room with senses sharp enough to pick up his shift of form. A faint waft of charred sulfur and sex filled her nostrils. Her eyes flicked down to his crotch, but a tall brunette’s head and shoulders blocked her view.

Apparently Mallory’s days of being the only sex demon at Mead Community College had come to an end.

CHAPTER TWO

“An Incubus? At Mead Community?” Claire shook her head. “Screw me with a frosty mop.”

Mallory sighed. “I know.”

She spotted Brandy, her table mate in Western Civ, walking across the Green and waved. Brandy smiled and waved back.

Claire shifted her white VW beetle convertible into reverse and punched the gas. Mallory braced one hand against the dash and with the other hand she changed the radio to an oldies station. The raucous piano solo of
Great Balls of Fire
filled the car.

“Why here? And why now?” Claire asked.

“I dunno.” Mallory checked the passenger rearview mirror, praying there weren’t any oblivious college students trying to cross the lot behind them. “I assume the Council approved his move here. They could have at least warned me.”

Claire switched to drive and peeled out of the parking lot. She wrinkled her cute button nose. “Completely lame. I mean, I know you guys aren’t territorial like lycan packs or anything, but you still have to spread yourselves out. Can’t over-extend your prey population.”

“And unfortunately for me, he can go after the Mead girls
and
the guys.”

“Yeah, but only the gay guys, right?” Claire stopped at Alameda, a six lane road that led into downtown Strange Valley to the east and the suburbs to the west. She took a right, heading toward a cluster of fast food restaurants about a half mile away.

“Those ones will be the easiest for him to prey on. Sometimes an Incubus can persuade a straight guy. Especially the more inexperienced ones.”