The Beginning

Shelby’s Angels Stephanie Burke All rights reserved. Copyright ©2004 by Stephanie Burke An Authorized Excerpt

Prologue

Once upon a time, there were seven not-so-little boys, each one different and unique in his own way. Let me introduce you. There’s Adan, the fiery Spaniard with shoulder-length onyx locks and flawless olive skin. His accent is so sexy but can disappear in a moment’s notice. His cerulean blue eyes seem bright as marbles and sparkle with his every emotion like water on the sea. Which is appropriate, because I think that his thoughts go out with the tide. But every so often they make a return visit, and that in itself is a reason to celebrate! Adan is my chameleon. He can charm the undies off of a vice cop, something that he has done before and is very proud of. He’s my face man. He can pull any information from any person and assume that identity. He calls it good acting skills. I call him an idiot savant. He has yet to figure out what that means. Next is Barika, an African Bloom of the most high degree. His flawless cocoa complexion, deepest brown eyes, and the thin, red-brown dreads that flow in an ethnic waterfall to his tight, rounded rear are definitely a treat to behold. I find it simply amazing that someone hadn’t tried to chain the wild lion down. Now I have my collar around his neck, and believe me, it’s a choke-chain. Barika looks like pure sex, and that’s a good thing because that’s what dominates his mind. That and where to find the best foods! How does he stay in shape when all he does is eat? Must be all the sex-ercise that works it off of him. Rika can make a computer do anything, which is good because we hardly ever have to pay for Internet porn. If he ever decides to use his powers for good… He is deadly in a fight, using a bastardized form of several styles of martial arts, and, from the screams I hear coming from his bedroom, he is a lover with stamina. Must come from all that study of Tantric sex, but why complain? He gets the job done.

Then there is Shen, my deep thinker… Well, at least he thinks he’s thinking deep thoughts. But with his looks, it never matters if he has a thought anyway. He’s my golden skinned Chinese Warrior. Well-versed in the martial arts and knowledgeable of at least four languages, Shen is truly intelligent. But most people take one look at his beautiful hair flowing to the middle of his back, the momiage that frames his face, and forget how to speak. (Momiage is ear-tails, or the fringe of chin-length hair that frames the sides of the face of a lot of Asian actors, for those who are not up on the language. Think of it as having pageboy sides with long hair in the back. An Asian mullet if you will! But don’t tell him I said that. He would practice on the more vulnerable parts of my body!) Add the large, almond-shaped black eyes that dominate his delicate face, and it’s easy to forget there is a brain in that body. He loves to be pampered but doesn’t want to be put up on a pedestal for worship. My sensitive baby. Then there is Blain, thin as his name (it means thin in Gaelic) and quite insane, with the bright red mane! Hey, I am not a poet so can the unkind talk before I start to sing -- then you will have a reason to wrinkle your nose and roll your eyes. Blain is my red-haired Irish poet, and he’s never more poetic than when he’s in love, finds a new styling product, or is drunk. Not to play into stereotypes here, but Blain loves Irish music, was an Irish step dancer in his previous life, and holds the record for drinking shots of whiskey nonstop while waxing poetic about his sexual organs. Talented guy. His explosion of red curls frames a face that’s too strong to really be called delicate but holds a singular masculine charm. His bright, Kelly green eyes can smile at you like a long-lost relative while he attempts to pound your face into so much haggis, and, being Irish, he has no use for haggis at all! But his voice is a wonderfully deep, mellow tenor that never fails to bring a tear to my eyes. His thin frame hides the fact that Blain packs a powerful punch and is not afraid to use it! But he tends to rush into things without thinking them through. A sad habit, but that’s why he needs a keeper, namely me. What can I say about Nalu? Damn, that boy is fine! Picture long curly black hair with golden highlights, and yes, they are natural! Picture a tall, muscular, thick, golden-brown body that flows with the grace of the ocean at high tide. Sigh! Picture a pair of golden amber eyes that shine with the light of the sun. Then picture the thick, black tribal tattoo that encircles his left bicep, and the matching pattern on his back. Nalu is a wet dream come to life and never a more fanatic bodybuilder have I seen. He knows nutrition, the muscle groups, and how far to push them to achieve adequate and symmetrical mass -- he even knows the correct way to care for skin, and some major emergency medical treatments. Pity that’s all he knows. The good Lord giveth and the good Lord taketh away… like his brain! Can’t have it all, but what he does have is absolutely devastating. And speaking of devastation, that leads me to Delsin. Del is just as his name means. He is so… Place anything you want there and it will fit! Beautiful is not a strong enough word. His hair touches his ankles in straight, inky black waves. His skin is bronze and flawless, soft to the touch yet firm. His eyes are black with an intriguing purple undertone he says entered the family gene pool when one of his ancestors screwed around with a minor war god. If you ever see him move, you’ll agree. Tall and filled with lean muscle that takes little work to maintain, Del is sure of himself and aware of those around him. Pity that that awareness is lost somewhere between his eyes and his brain.

Del is sweet and compassionate, has a way with numbers that would make Einstein drool, and has absolutely no clue. He is lost in his own world, and it must be a happy place, because several of my Angels visit there with him from time to time. I’ve been there, but only after a massive head injury or a judicious application of drugs, and that was following the massive head injury. I think the sky is purple there, but that may have been the painkillers. Then there is Raidon, named for a Japanese thunder god -- though he should have been named for the lightning one. Raidon has pure white hair, and ladies -- this is not a dye job. His skin is a pale cream tinted in gold and his eyes a pale white blue. He keeps his hair in a short spiky ‘do that hangs long in his face, but can be persuaded to let it grow out. When he does let it grow, it gets long incredibly fast and is stick-straight and silky to the touch. His body is lithe and small -- he is, by far, the shortest of my Angels -- but what he lacks in height, he makes up in stamina. That man has more energy than anyone I know! Even standing still, he gives the impression of perpetual motion. He is quick with a smile and even quicker with a joke, but it is unwise to get him mad. It took three arresting officers and a sedative to get him to calm down after his last assignment, and frankly, I just can’t deal with the paperwork. He is skilled in several forms of fighting, including dirty street, as he calls it, and has no qualms about kicking a deserving ass or two. I point out the asses and he kicks. It’s a good arrangement for someone with more guts and brawn than brains. Not to say that he doesn’t have them, but he rarely uses them to his advantage. That’s where I come in. Me? I am the coordinator of this little circus here. I started out life as a mild-mannered writer of erotic literature. The hours were great and I got lots of research done. Then one day while I was researching at an all-male strip club, it all came to me in a flash of light -- and I do mean all. The lighting system fell and landed on my head, which explains the massive head injury. When I woke up from my coma, I discovered that my lawyer had sued for… let’s just say a lot of cash! And because one eccentric Las Vegas billionaire owned the club, by a lot, I mean I never have to work a day again in my life. But that meant that the club had to be shut down and a lot of my favorite research materials, the walking, two-legged kind, were out of a job. That’s where I met my Angels. See, my Angels have not a lot of brainpower, but they are pretty powerful on looks. They were all models and very popular ones at that. But the ideal of male beauty changes constantly and that meant that my beauties had a short shelf life. What’s a male model to do when he is not perfect for that book cover or that shoot anymore? He turns to stripping to keep his gorgeous body in sunless tanning oil and his hair in the right conditioners.

So I opened the club again, but I knew that it was only a temporary stop for these beautiful yet - let’s just say, confused -- men. There had to be a way to help them! After talking to them, I discovered that there was more going on in the world of high fashion and beauty than I ever thought! Who would think that people who argue over the best-holding hair spray could plot some of the nefarious schemes going on behind the wings and dressing rooms of the hottest shows and companies? After extensive training and complaining, and the addition of a “leash” things are looking up. The leash is named William (don’t call him Bill), and he was once the most sought after male model in the industry. He actually has a brain, and he dropped out while he was still hot to pursue his dream of becoming a PI. He manages the club on the side. He’s perfect for all my needs, and I do mean all! Will is tall and muscular, with dashing salt-and-pepper hair that hangs in waves to his ass. But he is a model. Sometimes I need to use the leash. Still, things are working out. Now they all work for me, when I can prod them out from in front of the mirror or away from skincare websites, or the porno racks, or… Sigh… My name is Shelby. And these are my Angels.

copyright 2007 Changeling Press, LLC