The Slaughtered Lamb Bookstore and Bar (Sam Quinn Book 1)

by Seana Kelly

  “Do you know which one?” I asked.

  He shook his head. His skin lost its brown glamour and turned its natural dark red as he walked in. “Multiple deaths in here. It’s been cleaned up, but there’s blood trace from…five to seven.”

  Clive and I had followed, waiting at the open doorway to watch Dave but stay out of his way. The shack looked old and dirty. There wasn’t much to it. A rickety table and chairs sat in the corner. A bare, stained mattress lay in the other. Studying the setup, I wondered if the ones waiting their turn sat over in that corner watching.

  My stomach revolted. I reared back, racing around the corner to the nearest tree and heaved. I had nothing but bile and spit in my stomach, but it couldn’t stop convulsing. Was that the party he’d planned? Big, greedy eyes taking it all in, leering at the scarred, naked wolf, waiting to be the next to make her less than human, to make her a thing to be used and thrown away.

  A hand settled on the back of my neck, calming my stomach. Straightening, I found Clive, handkerchief in his hand, wiping away tears I hadn’t realized I’d been crying. He clutched me to him, my head in the crook of his neck, as tears continued to flow, sopping the collar of his shirt. I’d killed my rapist. I’d stopped him and his friends from ever taking another person into that shack to make them nothing, disposable. We are—none of us—disposable.

  Clive held me so tightly it hurt.

  “Ow.”

  His grip loosened. “I have an overpowering need to kill the men who took you, who wanted to—who would have taken you away from me forever. But I can’t, as you already have.”

  Sniffling, I said, “I’m kind of a badass.”

  “Dave was very impressed with the beheading.”

  “Damn right. He should remember that the next time he thinks about giving me any lip.” I felt Clive’s chest shake and knew we’d be okay. My kill count had gone from zero to…we’ll go with between a few and a lot in the last twelve hours, but I was still me. And they had it coming.

  “In your dreams, Sweetheart.” Dave walked around the corner, saw us, and paused. Instead of coming closer, he leaned against the side of the shack. “I don’t recognize the demon’s scent. I certainly don’t know them all, but I know the high-ranking ones.” He gestured to the front of the shack. “This doesn’t seem like demon shit to me. My vote is for a sorcerer calling up one of the lower-level demons for an exchange of blood and power.” He looked at Clive. “There was a vampire in there.”

  Clive’s body tensed. I knew he wanted to investigate the cabin, but he also wanted to stay with me. I made the choice for him, extricating myself from his arms, taking his hand, and walking back to the cabin.

  When we got back to the doorway, he murmured, “You can wait out here.”

  “No, I can’t,” I said, and walked in. Breathing deeply, my brain began categorizing the scents. There’d been a long period of disuse when the one-room hovel had served as a nest for various animals. I smelled opossum and badger, rat and raccoon. Many had taken their turn in this cabin before humans had reclaimed it. Randy? Yes, his scent was all over the room.

  I stepped closer to the mattress without looking at it and inhaled again. Blood. Sex. My nose couldn’t parse out the blood into individual scents as Dave’s could.

  “Randy, Ethan, Joe, Cam, and one of the wolves from the cemetery,” I said as I stepped out of the shack and breathed in clean air.

  “Two,” Clive said. “And Leticia.”

  “Who’s Leticia?” I didn’t remember that name.

  “One of mine. You saw her. She was one of Ethan’s guards. I thought she was better now.” He shook his head. “The unrest, the visiting vampires, the scheming. It all makes sense now. She must have been planning her revenge for years.”

  “Revenge for what?” I asked.

  “Étienne. He disregarded my orders because he hadn’t agreed with them. You almost died as a result.”

  Fucking kelpie!

  “I delivered his final death. Leticia was Étienne’s mate.”

  I flinched at the word.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. It’s just…you said mate. I thought vampires didn’t mate, not like werewolves.”

  “I don’t really know, never having been a werewolf. We can and do have mates when we choose. For us it is a true partnership, a companion with whom to spend eternity. We experience no biological imperative to procreate, so that is taken out of the equation. When we chose a partner, we perform a binding blood ceremony, and it lasts until our true deaths. Why?”

  “Someone…” I glanced at Owen, who grimaced. “I just heard that you guys didn’t do that.”

  Clive glanced at Owen, as well, before focusing back on me. “I’d prefer if you have questions about vampires, that you come to me. I’ve been one longer than all the people in this clearing—” He paused. “Than most of the people in the clearing combined have been alive.”

  Wait. Who else in this clearing was super old?

  “As I was saying, after I delivered Étienne’s true death, Leticia raged. It was to be expected. Some mates cannot move on and must be given their own true death. I believed this was the case with Leticia.” He gave a barely perceptible shrug of one shoulder. “And then she started to get better. I remained wary for a few years, but she appeared completely restored to her former self.”

  “Because she’d put her plan for revenge into motion,” said Dave.

  Nodding, Clive replied, “That would be my assumption, as well.”

  “That explains why I keep getting a hint of vampire in odd places, like Schuyler’s shop. But how do they all fit together? Randy and the wolves, Leticia, and Abigail? How would they even know each other?”

  “Who’s Abigail?” Dave asked.

  All eyes were intent on me. Right. I hadn’t told them that part yet. “Abigail is my mother’s younger sister. According to Owen’s mom, there is a homicidal strain of black wicches in the Corey line. She said they’re a really old and powerful wicche family, and that white wicches sometimes die at the hands of their relatives.”

  I looked at Clive. “She’s the one who’s been trapping me in those visions.”

  Clive took my hand. “How do you know?”

  I went back over the night in my head and tried to put the events in order. “You were called away to make sure I was alone.”

  Clive’s eyes turned vamp black.

  “Not Russell. I heard her talking about you killing him for what they’d done. They laughed about it.”

  The black bled from his eyes and his hand relaxed on mine. “Go on.”

  “My wards were torn down and wolves busted in through the tunnel we’d used earlier. I hid on a bookcase in the bookstore—”

  “On it?” Owen interrupted.

  “I got jump.” I grinned. “Anyway, my auntie sauntered in and started ordering people around. When I tried to run, I got slammed with electricity. It broke my brain.”

  Clive looked at me sharply. “Meaning?”

  “It felt like it was raining glass in my head.”

  They all stared for a moment. “Brain hemorrhage?” Dave asked.

  “Well, that might explain why blood was dripping from my nose and ears.”

  Clive’s grip increased to just this side of broken bones.

  I caught his eye and said, “I got better. When my brain was raining—or bleeding or whatever it was doing—I remembered something. My aunt had been at my mother’s funeral. She was raging because the name Quinn had been put on my mother’s headstone. She was super pissed about a high and mighty Corey ‘befouling’ the family line with werewolf blood. Apparently, I’m an abomination. Which, I think, explains why she’s been trying so hard to erase me.”

  Dave snorted. “Your family is as fucked up as mine.”

  “True dat.”

  “The question is, though, did Abigail’s attack backfire?” Clive asked.

  Dave nodded. “My thoughts exactly. She tries to kill Sam and ends up un
locking memories.” Dave studied me. “They could come back on their own. If you want help rummaging around up there and finding them, let me know.”

  I didn’t have to think about that one. “Yes, please. Do you know someone who can help me?” I needed those memories in order to protect myself and the people around me. Before this was done, I had a feeling I’d be joining a long line of homicidal Coreys.

  “Me,” Dave said.

  “You what?” Had I missed something?

  “I can help you find your memories, if you stop making me do bullshit chores like picking up people’s dirty dishes. I’m not a fucking busboy.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I hate that shit,” Dave said.

  “No, I mean about recovering my memories. Can you really do that?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

  Feeling better now that I had a way to recover what Abigail had stolen, I turned my attention to the elephant in the room and his boyfriend, Owen. “You brought a dragon.” I stood in awe. “He’s incredible.”

  “Don’t I know it. Coco said she heard you calling her name over and over.”

  “It worked.”

  “It did. She ran downstairs to the shop and put her hands over the metal and stones she’d used in your necklace, trying to open a link. She did, figured out where you were, and told us where to look.”

  “Sam?” Dave stood next to the handcuffs I’d been trapped in. “These are silver.” His voice betrayed confusion and more than a little speculation. “They’re still locked and there’s fur caught in the hinge.” He grinned. “You shifted while touching silver.”

  “I know. I was there.” I shrugged. “I was wicked pissed. I guess that overrode the silver.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he shook his head, grin widening. “That’s not a thing. Wolves can’t shift when they’re touching silver.”

  Everyone in the clearing was staring again. Their scrutiny was making me itch. “Well, clearly some of us can.”

  “He’s right,” Clive said. “The studies on this have been conclusive.”

  Tension skated up my spine.

  “It’s going to be fun to see what else that wicche blood of yours allows you to do that other wolves can’t,” Dave said.

  Clive exchanged a look with Dave and nodded.

  “New question,” Owen piped in. “Do you have a black wicche on retainer who can overpower this Abigail?”

  Clive tore an assessing look from me, answering Owen. “Possibly. We’ll need to see who our allies are. Speaking of which, thank you both for coming so quickly.”

  Owen eyed Clive and almost bowed. I could see his body twitch as though he wanted to. Instead, he nodded and pointed at the bloodstains on the tee I was wearing. “I don’t have healing magic like my sister, but I can try.”

  “I’ve got her,” Clive said. Owen retreated back to George, leaving Clive and me alone.

  I met Clive’s concerned gaze. “More scars.”

  He reached up and held my head in both his hands, his thumbs skating over my sore face. “I thank all the gods and goddesses that you’re alive.” He leaned in and gently kissed me. “Besides, you know I think scars are sexy.”

  I choked out a laugh, grimacing in pain. And then it was gone.

  Leading me a short distance, we disappeared into the trees. He pulled off George’s shirt and studied my wounds. Blood seeped through cuts beginning to heal. Bruises bloomed along my ribs.

  “Can I seal your cuts?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Grinning, he dropped to a knee and lazily dragged his tongue up my stomach. I clenched, pleasure overpowering pain. I closed my eyes, my head dropping back as he licked every drop of blood, closing my wounds and making me desperate for him.

  He breathed in, the scent of my arousal replacing the stench of fear. He rubbed his nose along my abdomen. “Soon.”

  Standing, he unbuttoned his shirt.

  “Dude,” I whispered, glancing around. “We’re not fooling around with three people twenty yards away.”

  He smirked. “I’m giving you something to wear.”

  I snatched up George’s tee from the ground. “This is fine. Look, it’s already bloody. Your shirt is pristine and probably costs more than my whole wardrobe.”

  “That’s not saying much.”

  “Hey.”

  “Hush,” he said while putting my arms through the sleeves. His eyes were vampy black, but his touch was gentle. “Wolves aren’t the only ones who respond to scent. You’re not walking around in clothing carrying George’s scent.” He was careful not to brush against my freshly scarred skin while buttoning the shirt. Breathing deeply, he said, “Much better.”

  Hmm, I guess I was going to have to start learning vampy stuff. How often did he feed? Who did he feed on? Was it sexual? Because I was not down with him getting blood with a side of hand job from random folk, from anyone. Questions for another day, though.

  Releasing a sigh, I led us back to the clearing. “I still can’t believe it. A real dragon. Right there!”

  I felt Clive’s hand go around my waist, unerringly finding a part of me that didn’t hurt. “He is hard to miss.”

  I moved closer to George. “Can I touch?”

  George blew air out of his nostrils and nodded his head.

  In his dragon form, George was breathtaking. He was huge, dark green scales glinting in the early morning sky. The talons on his feet were almost as long as my legs. His tail snaked out into the forest, too large for the small clearing. The poor guy probably had trees jabbing him all over. He lowered his head so I could see him better. His eyes were a bright, glowing red. They should have been terrifying, but his kindness shone through. I leaned forward and kissed him.

  “Thank you, George,” I whispered against his jaw. I checked over my shoulder. Clive and Dave were talking near the shack. “You guys get to see a shirtless Clive. Your day’s looking up.”

  Owen grinned, then turned and whispered something to George. It looked as though the dragon blushed.

  The sun crested the tall trees. “Clive!”

  He spun, eyes black, fangs extended.

  “The sun.” I pointed up, in case he didn’t understand the emergency.

  He gave his head a quick shake. Eyes gray and fangs gone, he grinned while Dave chuckled.

  “I don’t understand. How are you out while the sun is up?”

  “Do I sparkle?” he asked, causing Dave to snort a laugh.

  “Ha ha. Seriously though, why aren’t you dead?” He looked fine. Gorgeous, really. No scorch marks on his perfect skin.

  “I am dead.” He walked toward me, but there was a strip of sunlight piercing the clearing between us. Stopping right before the beam of sunlight, he winked and then turned invisible. A moment later, he was standing in front of me, dropping a kiss on my nose.

  “Thank you for the concern, but I’m fine.”

  “Some kind of vampy trick, huh?”

  He held my gaze, joy alight in his eyes. “Something like that, yes.”

  “I knew it!”

  Thirty-Four

  The Aftermath and New Beginnings

  My home was trashed. A river of alcohol had been soaking into the wood floors for hours. The etched mirror behind the bar was smashed. Jagged pieces of glass were everywhere. The bar itself should have been more difficult to damage, as it was constructed from thick slabs of mahogany. Damage it, though, they did. Never underestimate a riled-up werewolf.

  A few of his wolves must have stayed to play when Randy, Cam, and Joe carried me off. Chairs broken, tables cracked, lamps shattered—the utter devastation made my throat tight. They didn’t care about who they hurt. It was the id in unrestrained glory. They were the only ones who existed. Their needs and desires, the only ones that mattered. They took, defiled, and destroyed because they could. That wasn’t the wolf coming to the fore. That was the human.

  Holding in a sob, I ran my hand alo
ng the edge of the bar, wanting to comfort an old friend. My hand came away bloody, a fine dusting of glass fragments now embedded in my palm. Pushing through the door to the kitchen, I headed for the sink and found more destruction. Holding my hand under the faucet, I assessed the room. Appliances crushed, refrigerator doors hanging open, spoiled food cascading out onto the floor. Picking glass from my hands, I had trouble breathing, the hurt weighed heavily on my chest. I wasn’t sure I could take much more.

  Ignoring the sting in my palm, I made my way to my apartment. I’d felt less afraid facing a demon than I did my own home. Blowing out a breath, I stepped in. The stench made me gag. My couch had been shredded and used as a urinal. My books! A tiny gasp escaped before I locked it down. My books had been ripped apart, pages scattered, stories stolen. Little treasures I’d collected over the last seven years—nothing anyone would care about but me—were lying broken on the ground.

  Steeling myself, I stepped into my bedroom. This was the main source of the stench. One of them had defecated on the bed. Drawers had been pulled out, clothing torn. The closet door was hanging off its hinge, boxes of books tossed around, and urinated on. Holes punched in walls.

  I stood stock-still, stunned by the chaotic rage required to do what they had done. A fire would have been better, cleaner. I would have mourned the loss, but I wouldn’t have felt violated, as well.

  They’d slashed the overnight case Clive had given me. It was just a bag, and yet my heart hurt almost as much as when I’d seen the books. I picked up the beautiful, floral bag and hugged it to myself, grieving for my home of the last seven years.

  “Sam?”

  I turned to find Owen and Dave standing in the doorway. I didn’t know what to say. My heart was breaking.

  “Come out of there, sweetheart.” Dave waved me to them. “You don’t need to see this.”

  Tears streamed down my face as I went to them, Clive’s bag still clutched to my chest. “Why would they do this?”

  “People are fucked,” Dave said. “I tell you this all the time.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam.” Owen reached for the torn bag. “Honey, you don’t need that. It’s ruined,” he said. “And you can stay with me until all this gets cleaned up and fixed.”