Edge of Darkness

by J. A. Saare

  There was the crux of the matter.

  I'd stopped referring to Gabriel as Disco at some point.

  It had hit me before we'd traveled to The Razor.

  When it had been the two of us on The Minnow, I called him both names all the time. It was natural because I was privy to both sides of him. Much like our lifestyle and the way things had been, circumstances beyond our control changed things. The carefree vampire I'd fallen in love with was still there, but he'd only ever be evident to me in private.

  "I'll always be him for you. You only have to ask." He lifted his hand and cupped my face, running his thumb across my cheek. "Give me a kiss before I go."

  I did, but it wasn't sexy or erotic. The kiss had a deeper and more profound meaning. Our lips meeting was a promise that even if we had to part for a time, in a few hours, we'd be together again. Nothing in this world or the next would keep us from each other. The minute he pulled back, I felt the painful rending of separation. I also knew I had to endure it.

  It didn't matter if I couldn't see, feel, or touch him.

  He was always there.

  We both knew the way things had to go and went through the motions. He held my hand as we went down the stairs and came to the backdoor. He pressed another kiss to my head, reminding me everything would be fine, and stepped through the steel door to venture to the armored vehicle waiting outside. I remained where I was, closing my eyes. Through our connection, I watched him striding toward the transportation that would take him where he needed to go, smoothing a hand over his jacket, ever aware of his appearance when he assumed a position of power. As soon as he climbed inside the SUV, I opened my eyes and gave myself a shake.

  I wasn't in fucking La-la land and had shit to do.

  Gabriel was far stronger and more powerful than me.

  He could handle himself.

  "Always feel free to look." His deep and husky baritone whispered through my head, reminding me the connection went both ways. He wanted to reassure me. "But I can't promise you'll like what you see."

  Knowing he meant it, I did what I usually did. I stopped viewing his thoughts, turning to my own, and got to work. "I'll be here if you need me."

  Although he could handle my emotions, I wasn't as prepared when it came to his. I'd tested our limits a few times and quickly learned things that upset him affected me for days. I had to be cautious when diving into his head. I was drawn in too deeply sometimes and had a hard time pulling back.

  I decided to take Lavinia out, easing her from the satchel, feeling a rush of heat against my hand as I pulled her free. Corey and Landon were in the very front room of the building, but even if they came looking for me and saw her, it wouldn't matter. They didn't seem to mind the orb as much as everyone else, shrugging it off because, for some zany reason, they trusted me. No one else was allowed inside the actual club, office, or bar. The guards Gabriel hired were to secure the perimeter. They'd been instructed not to enter unless I asked them to. I hiked the ball into the air and she circled my body happily, rotating around me in oddly shaped turns and circles, glowing all the while.

  I started in the place I knew best, going to the area behind the bar, wanting to take a look at the shelves and mark inventory. I grabbed a nifty tablet that allowed me to track things easier. Technically, vampires could drink beverages if they wanted to revisit certain human flavors. They just had to be sure to do so in tiny amounts. Some enjoyed concoctions comprised of expensive liquors. I had to keep those kinds of costly items around. The primary customers were human, however. That meant stocking up on water, beer, cheap whiskey, vodka, and gin.

  When I heard the door to the front open, I looked at the clock on the tablet. The first person I needed to hire was a general manager. I could bartend, look over inventory, and request changes if necessary. That stated, I was shit at scheduling. My previous boss, Hector Fernandez, had made it look effortless.

  That had been a ruse. The man busted his ass.

  He'd earned every single cent he made.

  I missed him, as well as the Black Panther. Working at that club had been my entire world for years. The people there had become a form of family, even if I hadn't realized it at the time. I'd thought the annoyances, interruptions, and stupid shit I dealt with each night were things I didn't need. I'd taken each aspect for granted, unaware I'd started to rely on those very parts of the job to keep me centered and in control. I hadn't realized how much I'd needed a schedule and normalcy until both were gone.

  Giving myself another shake, I attempted to focus.

  I had four applicants for the job, all loyal members of connected vampire houses. It appeared the first one had arrived twenty minutes early. That wasn't a bad thing since I'd allotted thirty minutes for each applicant. If this one went quickly, it would give me a bit more time to sort through inventory. I put my hand in front of me, wanting to tuck Lavinia away.

  The people applying for jobs at The Razor were aware the staff remained armed. Only vampires and a few servants were allowed to seek employment. Gabriel had laid everything out for me when I'd agreed to take over, explaining that humans were the primary visitors but could never work in the place. If they became curious or noticed something they shouldn't, they'd have to be dealt with. Paine had been extremely strict in the policy. Preternatural employees, on the other hand, would expect their bosses to be prepared for conflict. I didn't have to remove my gun or blades since those were normal weapons, but a mysterious floating crystal ball might freak them out.

  She didn't want to be tucked away, circling faster.

  "I won't bring you back to this place if you don't listen to me," I warned, knowing I was addressing an orb with its own mind and feelings. We didn't understand each other yet. It would take time for us to do so. But she knew I meant what I said. "You'll stay at home." Her motions slowed, and she came to my outstretched fingers. I wrapped both hands around her, rolling my thumbs over the smooth surface, and said, "It won't be long. I promise. Once interviews are over, I'll let you out again."

  I slid her inside the satchel, feeling her warmth, knowing she felt rejected each time I hid her from sight. I cupped my hand over the form in the leather, holding her tight, wondering if my grandmother could sense me through the object.

  Maybe she could. Maybe not.

  Since she was gone, there was a chance I'd never know the truth.

  I lowered my hand, getting back on track.

  "Give me a minute," I hollered and snagged the applications I'd placed by the sink. I slid the tablet onto a shelf, gazing around, making sure I had everything I needed. I went through the narrow corridor, slid around the corner, and moved in the direction of the bar. "Be right there."

  Several LED bulbs for service had to be replaced, meaning the primary light sources came from the back of the bar and the light over the dance floor. There was enough to allow me to see, which sufficed for what I had to do.

  I noted the applicant had taken a seat on a stool and was thrumming his fingers on the surface of the wood. He didn't seem eager or enthusiastic about the job he'd applied for, merely sitting and waiting for me to come to him. Due to the angle in which he sat, I couldn't make out his face.

  A part of me came to life, telling me to proceed with caution.

  I didn't go to the man, venturing to the small fridge beneath the bar. I tossed the applications on top of the device, got my beverage of choice, and kept my head down. I hadn't seen Corey or Landon. Although I hadn't told them to announce each applicant, I thought they would have.

  "Would you like something to drink?"

  "No, but thank you."

  A shiver went up my spine, and I almost dropped the bottle of water. I recognized that voice, aware of it in the depths of my very soul. A tremor shot through me, and I clasped the amulet resting against my chest.

  It shouldn't have been possible.

  Marigold removed every ounce of him from the talisman. He couldn't touch me in my dreams anymore, and he couldn't take m
e over.

  In this reality, I was safe.

  At least I thought I was.

  I slowly gazed up as that dark head turned. I said I prayer I was wrong, that I'd drifted into a memory and wasn't in my right mind.

  Then I gazed into the face I'd hoped never to see again.

  He was more beautiful in my reality, something men or women would never turn away from, a creation that could only come from God. His dark hair was smooth as a raven's wing, straight and thick, draping against his shoulders. The vibrant grass green eyes he turned my way were so pristine and clear they shimmered like carefully painted glass. He'd dressed entirely in black, from his shirt to his jacket. Except for the immaculate red tie at his throat, he blended perfectly with the dark.

  "Hello again, Rhiannon Murphy," Lucifer said, grinning at me, revealing sharp and lethal fangs that rested against his full pink lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows against the bar, cocking his head and sliding his tongue over one of his lethal canines for a brief moment. When he repeated the words he had the first time he'd addressed me, I accepted I wasn't hearing or seeing things. "So very good to finally meet you."

  I wanted to fade away and vanish.

  Rhiannon's Law #88: Never get too compliant or comfortable. As soon as you do, something will fuck you over and turn your world upside down. You never know when the devil will slide up and take a seat at your very fucking table, so remain on your toes.

  Why had he come here? What did he want?

  What in the fuck have I gotten myself into?

  Excerpt: PERFECT DARK, The Company of Wolves

  Sickness has a scent.

  The heady musk of illness is heavy and hovers over its victims like an invisible cloak. Death, while impossible to predict, remained a hidden promise. Upon arrival, it was impossible to deny. I tried to push aside the putrid smell as I inhaled and came to awareness. I nearly gagged, overwhelmed by the stench of alcohol, saline, blood, and bleach.

  Death surrounded me, but I wasn’t dead.

  Not yet.

  The past rushed back, thoughts tumbling through my mind. Another scent—one I’d never forgotten—zinged through my nostrils and went straight to my head. For a moment, I wondered if I had died. Maybe this was the fate I’d be given following my demise. Then I realized I’d never be that lucky.

  Unlike death—which signaled the end—life didn’t have guarantees.

  I considered feigning sleep, concentrating not on the unexpected earthy scent I knew all too well, but rather on the strong and intrusive aroma of sterile fluids and bedpans overflowing with bodily waste. The world was less complex without the complication of pack. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hide behind weighted lids forever. I was ousted, thrust back into the open. Revealed as exactly who and what I was.

  Loup-garou. Shifter. Lycanthrope.

  Werewolf.

  The hustle and bustle of nurses speaking privately with doctors and families were muffled, the clicks and staccato of multiple heels and plastic soles drowning them out. I tried to piece together the block of time I’d lost, unable to recall anything other than the bloody massacre that followed my shift during the robbery. The noises, sounds, and combined scents told me I had landed in the hospital, which made sense. I’d taken multiple rounds of buckshot and ammo to various parts of the body in the chaos. My right leg twitched involuntarily, and I grimaced, biting back the yelp that threatened to break free. The dull ache was centered in my upper thigh, radiating from the bone.

  Then I remembered.

  I’d also broken a leg.

  "Raven, are you in pain?" His voice hadn’t changed in seven years, and neither had my reaction to the alluring and husky southern baritone. The honest answer to his query was yes, but allowing Noah Cameron to know I was in absolute agony wouldn’t do.

  I answered simply, "I’ll live."

  "Still stubborn," he muttered gruffly.

  I refrained from denying or endorsing the sentiment. My thigh was throbbing mercilessly, and with the necessary movement of my diaphragm to speak, my chest decided to protest as well.

  "I’ll get the nurse," he said in a gentler tone.

  I heard shuffling footsteps, the squeaky cackle of rubber soles on linoleum, and Noah calling out, "She’s awake and she’s in pain." A loud squawk followed, footsteps approaching rather than departing. I winced at the sharp shrill of metal chair legs scraping across the floor. Taking a quick look, I saw Noah had taken a place beside me. His clothing rustled as he took a seat at my side.

  "What you did was completely reckless—brave and ballsy, without question—but absolutely foolish."

  Although speaking hurt, I managed to wheeze. "How is the little girl?"

  He released a heavy and uncertain sigh. "She received the vaccine within the first hour of contamination."

  The relief that came courtesy of his answer was short-lived as my thoughts drifted back to the hours I’d spent in terror and fear. The bank wasn’t crowded when I'd darted inside. Only a handful of people waited in line to withdraw funds on a bright, cloudless, and otherwise mundane Wednesday afternoon. I'd gone there during my lunch break to cash my last check.

  There'd been no need to see the ski masks obscuring the faces of the men that entered to know they were trouble. My nose caught the bitter tang of gunpowder the instant they came through the doors. Everyone was forced to the floor, and they instructed the cashiers to empty the registers. Somehow the police managed to get wind of the robbery. They'd converged on the building and trapped everyone inside.

  When the agreed-upon deadline for transportation wasn’t met, the men turned their weapons on a child. They'd ripped a girl that was seven or eight years old from the protective shelter of her shrieking mother’s arms. They said several things the moment they turned on one another, but one threat I heard loud and clear. I had come directly from the leader, who'd covered himself in camouflage.

  "I’ll cut out her heart and throw it through the door."

  He reeked of stale cigarettes, body odor, fear, and desperation. I knew he meant exactly what he'd said. I could hear the sincerity in his words. I could also sense the finality of what he was going to do. The little girl would suffer before she died. The way he intended to kill her wouldn’t be pleasant.

  The change had come quickly, my instinctual drive to protect overpowering the self-preservation that came from my more docile human half. The terrified victims were focused on the child being manhandled by a crazed lunatic with a hunting knife. They'd been too aware of the danger he represented to worry about the one among them who wasn’t entirely as she seemed.

  They hadn’t seen me transforming, which gave me an advantage.

  I’d lunged for the man, teeth and claws bared. He placed the little girl into my path, shielding his body with her tiny frame. I’d lunged for his arm but inadvertently pierced her soft hand with my teeth, breaking tender skin in the process. The images were muddled and disjointed—flashes of blood, breaking bone, and gunfire—mixed with the recollection of excruciating pain.

  "Shh," Noah soothed, reminding me of just how perceptive he was to my emotions. "It’s over and done. You did what you had to do. The PBI wasn’t thrilled to discover a rogue wolf was living packless and unaccounted for in New York. But Michael managed to create a story they accepted and smoothed things over. With the circumstances involved and the lives you saved, they are willing to make certain allowances.

  I groaned.

  If the PBI was involved and Michael was here, my little transgression was national news. When vampires came out to the public fifty years ago, it was romanticized. Eternal life by way of drinking blood was considered sensual and highly erotic. Ten years later, werewolves decided to come clean, and shortly thereafter, an epidemic called AIDS struck the nation. Vampires lost their appeal, becoming scapegoats for a virus that killed indiscriminately, and werewolves became the next big threat Uncle Sam needed to contain. Preternatural creatures were the latest and greatest global menace, somet
hing that needed to be monitored. Fittingly, the Preternatural Bureau of Investigation was created. A branch of the government intended to keep supernatural kind under wraps, and more importantly, under control. I sensed someone enter the room.

  "I have your Demerol," a woman informed me in a brisk, unfriendly tone.

  A throaty sound penetrated the air—Noah’s growl.

  I felt him pressing closer to the bed, the heat of his body and his familiar, woodsy scent filling my nose. The wolf under his skin rose from beneath Noah's skin and wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, surrounding me in waves of reassurance and security. I didn’t open my eyes to see if the threatening noise did the job after she’d administered the drug, uncaring if the woman who reeked of disdain and fear walked or ran from the room. It had been so long since I’d felt the reassurance of my own kind, and this was Noah.

  As if he sensed my need for touch, he draped his palm across my forearm. My anxiety and unease settled with the contact of his skin upon mine, the raging beast within me contented and soothed. Wolves responded to the touch of their own kind. It was needed and often times welcomed.

  "We’re taking you home."

  "No." I swallowed and cleared my throat, grateful for whatever concoction was zinging through my veins to dull the pain. "This is where I belong."

  He exhaled wearily and released my arm. "That’s non-negotiable, for numerous reasons. It was Michael’s pack you deserted, and because of that, he’s being held accountable. I don’t have to tell you what that means."

  I stifled another groan.

  Michael Preston was one of the oldest werewolves existing in modern-day, an Alpha of one of the two packs located in Rhea County, Tennessee, and one of the few werewolves who spoke openly about what we were. He was also the United States official pack representative, appearing at summits and briefings on behalf of all the packs in the Continental US. I wasn’t surprised PBI contacted him after my rampage. When wolves went rogue, he was the one who disposed of them.