Four Moons: The Complete Collection: (Books 1 - 4)

by Amos, Richard

  Messy…

  I rested my head on the glass.

  So messy. You treat him like shit.

  I closed my eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

  There was no label for this relationship we had. Maybe it really was time to speak to my dad, tell him to let G off the hook, to put someone else on the case who could stay the hell out of my way, so I didn’t have to get involved at all. Weren’t bodyguards, or whatever G was, supposed to be all silent and scary-looking with shades and black suits? Like those guys hanging around my dad all the time. Yeah, distant, no involvement other than jumping into a fight to take a bullet.

  I didn’t want a bodyguard. I didn’t want this headache blooming in the base of my skull. All I wanted was to live my life how I wanted to live it—hunt and bake and fuck. What was so wrong with that?

  Whatever had happened to get G and me tangled up, it was a bad thing. He needed to go live his life. No matter what, he was my friend, and I wanted the best for him. Maybe if we had some distance, we could be better friends without the button-pushing.

  My stomach did a weird flip at the idea of distance.

  What the fuck?

  Man, this was all doing my head in so bad.

  Movement. I turned as G came down the stairs again. He’d been up there for three hours.

  “You can go now. There’s a car waiting for you downstairs. They’ll take you straight home.”

  “Thanks. I—"

  He didn’t give me a chance to say anything, didn’t say another word as he went back up to his room.

  I didn’t go after him.

  Quentin appeared, giving me a flickering bow. “Your vehicle awaits in Parking Bay 5, Mr. Murakami.”

  “Cheers, Quentin.”

  “You are very welcome, sir.”

  * * *

  Now, this was more like it! Two big, burly geezers with buzz cuts and no personality.

  Boom!

  No chitchat in the blacked-out SUV. Just me and the air-conditioning, trying not to think about G.

  My phone buzzed.

  It wasn’t him.

  “Alright?”

  “I have intel on that job, sweetheart,” Mama Rita said.

  “Okay.”

  “We’re on a secure line.”

  I mean, obviously! “Awesome.”

  “So, Daria will be having dinner tonight with some friends at White Star in Mayfair. Got reservations for nine. Perfect opportunity for you to wait in her house.”

  “What about the security system?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll have you covered.”

  She defo would. “Cool.”

  “Anyway, let me send you the details. Get to her house by nine-thirty, wait, do your thing.”

  “Not really much of a hunt.”

  “Three grand for you.”

  That got my dick hard more than a hottie with his arse in the air, ready for me to tear it up all night long. “Lucky two days.”

  I’d defo keep half of it for my savings, which was doing well for an emergency fund.

  “Yes. I’m moist just thinking about it.”

  “Nice.”

  She chuckled. “What is it with people and that word?”

  “I don’t have a problem with moist. I like a moist sponge.”

  “Ah, and lovely and moist, they are, sweetheart. No one can beat your cakes.”

  “I know.”

  “Love the modesty.”

  “Message me, yeah?”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “Is it G?”

  “Why would it be G?” I felt myself scowl.

  She laughed again. “No reason.”

  I told her about my bike.

  “Oh, no!”

  “I know.”

  Okay, it was a mixture of G and the theft of my Cindy—but I couldn’t have her thinking she was so woke to all my shit and that it had to be a Gabriel problem that had me all moody in the back of this car, my hand not holding this phone so tight that my nails, which were short, were still managing to dig into my palm.

  Yeah, she didn’t need to know any of that.

  “Bastards!” she yelled.

  My poor ear! “Yep. I’m out for blood.”

  “When aren’t you?”

  “Rude!”

  “True!”

  “Anyway, thanks for that.”

  “You need me, call me. I’m here to talk.”

  “Thanks. You seen any dodgy fucks hanging around your place?”

  “No. But then they don’t want me, do they?”

  “Funny.”

  “You know I’d tell you if there were.”

  “I know.”

  “We should do something Friday. I’ll cook your favorite and bring it over. Your place is better for cozy nights in.”

  “Cool. That’ll be nice.”

  My two fave things—chocolate raisins for the sweet tooth, and beef lasagna served with a big helping of chips for the savory needs. Ah, couldn’t beat it. Best dinner ever!

  “Brilliant. I’ve booked you in for Friday night at seven. We’ll do dinner and movies and too much junk food. You didn’t have plans, did you?”

  “Would you care if I did?” I was smiling.

  “No. I was going for polite, but really I’m a selfish bitch when it comes to my favorite boy in the whole wide world.”

  “What you after?”

  “Your soul, sweetheart.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I know.”

  “Speak later, yeah? I’m almost home.”

  “No problem. Chin up, sweetheart.”

  “Bye.”

  “Toodles!”

  The call was over just as the car turned onto Grays Inn Road.

  * * *

  I’d just finished baking another round of brownies, without the raspberry, when Bob and Rose hit the jackpot.

  Unfortunately, my gorgeous girl was right in the middle of Violet’s territory.

  Fuck!

  As enraged as I was, I also wasn’t reckless. If I went in there with a hot head swinging my swords, I’d get myself killed. This shit had to be planned out.

  “Come back,” I told my babies, wiping my surfaces down.

  At least I had some info. Wouldn’t be easy getting in, but I’d figure it out.

  “Poor Cindy,” I said aloud.

  Bob and Rose appeared in the kitchen. I crouched down to their level and fussed them, rubbing Rose’s belly first until Bob could take no more and threw himself down for a turn.

  “You crazy git.”

  I kissed them both on the tops of their heads, and then they went back inside me, happy and chilled out.

  Lucky them.

  Mama Rita messaged through the details on Daria the banshee’s address.

  Cool. At least I could burn off some energy tonight. Hopefully, Daria would put up a bit of a fight. I did love a good old duel.

  I opened my cupboard. Fresh out of chocolate raisins.

  Shit! But I couldn’t be bothered to go to the shop.

  More baking it was, then.

  Chapter Eight

  Daria Krystal had a house in Kensington, so I was back on the skytube again, heading over there, staring at a message from G.

  I’ve got the night off. Beth will be stalking you.

  Was this the beginning of the end? The untangling of Gabriel and me? Had I really pushed him to his limits by screwing that guy? Seriously? The straw that broke the camel’s back and all the other bones in the poor creature’s body?

  Man, that sucked. I mean, good for him for having a night off. But…

  I switched off my phone. Good for him. He needed a life.

  Stupid tummy in a twist.

  The carriage was fairly busy, but not sardine levels. I had space to not breathe in the toxic fumes of skanky body odor or bad breath.

  Oh, Cindy! Baby!

  The train stopped at South Kensington station, and I casually strolled along the platform,
hands in my pockets, keeping both eyes on any sign of me being followed. Which I wasn’t, for now. But that didn’t mean shit.

  The night was warm but cool enough for a jacket. The whole year seemed to be flying by before I could catch up with it, September almost here. It’d soon be Christmas again.

  There was a homeless guy sat outside the station, so I popped a tenner in his hand. Poor geezer looked half-dead.

  “Wow!” he exclaimed then proceeded to cough violently.

  I crouched down. “Easy, fella. You need something?”

  When he was fit to speak again, he said, “I need lots of things, mate.”

  “Can you get to Sanctuary? They’ll have some beds, some medicine for that cough. It’s not far.”

  “I know.”

  He didn’t seem too enthusiastic about going, so I left it. I didn’t lecture. It was his choice, and Sanctuary could get super-busy, despite how big the homeless shelter was.

  Hopefully, the five grand I’d send them would help toward funding the new build. I’d sort that this week.

  Dad used to pay me an allowance, which had gone straight into Sanctuary. I didn’t want his money. When he’d found out, he’d cut me off. We’d argued, and he’d told me tackling homelessness was the state’s responsibility. I told him he was talking bollocks. I gave as much as I could, but I had to keep stashing cash away, saving for when things turned sour. Call it paranoia, but if I ever had to run from a hunt gone bad, or whatever, I’d wanna be able to make a clean getaway. You had to have some cash saved to do it safely.

  Paranoia was a version of being smart, even if I wasn’t sure what’d really tip me over the edge to run apart from my dad.

  * * *

  I hit the posh locale of Daria’s home turf. Pretty houses all in a row, all brown brick with perfect little gardens and uniform facia that was way too clinical. But the buildings were old—proper old—and beneath all the homogenization, there were ghosts from the past that would never go away.

  Bet Daria didn’t appreciate that. Didn’t matter. She could kiss it all goodbye tonight.

  My instructions were simple: sneak in the back. No probz. I had myself a handy lock pick and was wicked at climbing fences, walls, whatever.

  The street was quiet, the night darker than I’d thought it’d be—which was handy. And it was now pissing it down. The stars were proper aligned for this shit.

  I took a walk down the road, hurrying along with my hoody up as if I were trying to get out of the rain. A woman passed me, mentioning the crap weather, I agreed, neither of us turning back to look at one another.

  Keep up the appearances.

  At the end of the street was a right turn, which led into another identical line of houses, and Beth, walking toward me.

  I stopped, waiting for her to come closer in her black raincoat, a lock of blonde hair poking out from the huge hood which swallowed most of her pale face.

  “Have a good one,” she said gently, not stopping.

  She’d have no clue what my job was, only that I was on one. Her orders were the same as Gabriel’s—babysit the High Alpha’s lad.

  Thunder rolled in the distance, the rain intensifying. Good, good. Storms were awesome cover.

  I was at the last house on Daria’s street, the side of it running along the perpendicular street that I turned into, the back garden protected by a high wall.

  The coast wasn’t clear, so I hurried along past an old man and woman who were going off on one about the rain, somehow the deluge being the fault of the wife. Was she some sort of weather witch? Was that even a thing? Not as far as I knew!

  I hit the end of the new street, reaching a busy main road with shops and traffic, a bus stop a few feet away. Taking shelter, I pretended to check the times, then my phone, then groaned, and darted back out into the rain.

  Made it look like I’d forgotten something.

  I ran back down the road I’d just come down, heading straight for the wall on the last house of Daria’s street. When there were only a few feet to go, I burst into a sprint, charging for the high hurdle and launched myself upward. I grabbed the edge and swung myself over before anyone could scratch their chin, timing it perfectly with a louder crash of thunder and a mighty blaze of lightning.

  I landed in the garden but didn’t fuck about. Like a squirrel, I cut across each back yard, flinging myself over walls, leaping over low fences, scaring the shit out of two cats, even clearing a small swimming pool which had pretty much replaced a back garden.

  Squirrels are pretty bad-arse critters with their ninja moves—as long as they don’t wreck your birdfeeder, or the gray ones weren’t being dicks to the reddies. I didn’t have a garden to have beef with them, so big up the squirrels.

  I landed in Daria’s garden of concrete and large flower pots, going into a crouch. Another cat sprang up the wall, getting the hell away from the crazy bastard who’d just touched ground.

  Daria’s drenched fluff ball?

  The house of the banshee was silent, all the lights off. No security light clicked on thanks to the yellow rock Mama Rita had sent over before I’d left. All I had to do was keep the rock on me the whole time I was breaking in, and the alarm system would be tricked into doing sweet fuck all.

  My bestie always had my back. Tenshi bless the elves and their sneaky toys.

  I looked around, sent Bob and Rose out in case there was anyone watching or if any bastard had followed. Nothing. Only Beth nearby in her car.

  Good.

  I picked the lock of the patio doors, and slipped into the house, dripping all over the stone floor of a dining room. Wouldn’t make a difference in the evidence department thanks to the ruby ring hiding my trace, but I wasn’t about to go traipsing through the house, leaving my wet footprints around to break the surprise early.

  There were some curtains tied back from the window. I drew them and then waited in the dark for the banshee to come home.

  * * *

  Yeah, I was one patient bastard.

  One o’clock came up by the time Daria’s keys jangled in the door, the alarm system chiming with a countdown to scream unless the passcode was entered A.S.A.P. I listened to the buttons being pushed, an action of normality. Nothing to make her suspect anything.

  Bob and Rose ran out to check if she was alone.

  She was.

  The storm had touched down properly an hour ago, thunder sounding like it’d tear this house in half. Rain was giving it some, banging on the roof and the windows in a wet frenzy.

  It’d be a fun journey home. Maybe I’d relent and get a cab. Nah, I wasn’t that desperate to navigate the city’s taxi service. Even with the money I’d made, I liked to hold onto it, not watch it drain away on some scamming driver’s meter.

  The room flooded with light, exposing a dining room, a living room down the other end, and a kitchen to my left—the space open-plan. It was done up in black floors and gold walls. The sofa was black, the cushions gold, and the dining table was black but blingy to the max with what looked like actual gold leaf swimming inside it.

  There were two glass doors—one at the far end of the room, one near the table closer to me. Daria came through the latter, staring down at her phone.

  She was done up in a red dress, her sun-kissed skin shimmering, her black hair sleek and long and expensive. And she still hadn’t looked up from her phone as she headed for a sofa.

  Seriously?

  I drew my katanas.

  That got her attention.

  She dropped the phone. “What the fuck?” Her eyes went from dark to pure white.

  “I was thinking the same thing. So dangerous being glued to that thing.”

  Daria narrowed her white eyes, curling her hands into fists. “I’ll tear you apart.”

  White streaks spread through her dark locks, her arms lifting in preparation for a scream.

  I charged forward, aiming to end this quick. The banshee was faster by a fraction of a second.

  She unleashe
d her almighty banshee howl, the force of it throwing me backward. I landed hard on the dining table as everything glass in the house exploded—windows, doors, the lightbulbs, a heavy explosion from the kitchen.

  That’d get the neighbors’ attention.

  Wind rushed into the house, whipping up the curtains, bringing rain with it. The thunder boomed some more as if setting the stage for a throw down.

  Daria landed on top of the table, standing astride me. Her hands were now bigger and clawed, her nails red talons. She went to rip off my face. I still held my swords, going for a non-killing blow.

  She leaped off, me missing her by inches, and let out a scream again.

  Fuck!

  I was sent crashing into the wall, my knees cracking on her stone floor. Whatever happened to carpet? Then she rushed me, tearing through my hoody, raking her nails down my back.

  Suppressing a roar as it stung like fuck, I swung my blade and took off her left hand.

  “Scream about that!” I yelled, leaping to my feet, my back wishing I hadn’t moved so fast.

  Daria staggered backward, blood spraying all over the place. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

  She wobbled, though, not quite ready to scream. My blade had already taken some of her power, the steel glowing white at the top with what it’d taken.

  Priding myself on not messing about, I lunged with my left sword, getting her in the shoulder. She screamed a normal, human scream, with the force of her banshee power echoing in her pain. But it was leaving her, flooding my katanas.

  Within seconds, it was done.

  She tumbled backward into the wall, sliding down to the floor, clutching her hand, sobbing, blood ruining her dress.

  “Why?” she managed.

  “Funny question, that.”

  I went to her kitchen, grabbing a tea towel.

  “Get the fuck away from me!” she yelled as I crouched down to her level.

  “I—”

  Daria took another swipe at me, then shrieked with pain. “Get away from me! Help! Help!”

  “Here.” I tossed her the tea towel. “For the injury.”

  “Help me!”