Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1)

by Carmen Caine

  No one ever took me by surprise. I always smelled their mana long before they even got close, even my mother’s—as unalive as she was.

  Yet Lucian sat there now, just an arm’s length away, and I smelled nothing.

  Nothing.

  I frowned.

  He looked terribly amused. “May I call you Cass?” he asked with a self-satisfied smile.

  “No,” I replied evenly and took a deep breath.

  I still smelled nothing.

  I knew very well that the striking man before me had the most powerful fragrance that I’d ever encountered. I’d picked him out from the virtual ocean of humanity on aroma alone just an hour before.

  “Well then, Cass,” he continued easily, sprawling back to extend his long legs and casually clasp his hands behind his neck. “I’ve come to offer you a position. A job.”

  I didn’t really hear him at first. I was extremely distracted. And I had questions of my own. Placing my hands on the table, I leaned forward and asked in a low voice, “Who are you?”

  “Lucian,” he answered simply. Smugly. He clearly knew I was rattled and was relishing every moment of it.

  Abruptly, I remembered that he’d called me by my name.

  “You’re full of surprises,” I said, suspicion growing. “How do you know my name?”

  I really didn’t expect him to answer—and of course, he didn’t.

  “The job pays well,” he continued pleasantly, but his voice had taken on a different edge, leaving me with the distinct impression that the pay referred to something other than money.

  I was intrigued.

  “Pay?” I repeated. What exactly was he offering me? Just who was he?

  I waited with bated breath.

  His lip twitched and then his gaze roved over my face in a lazy, slow manner and lingered on my lips before he lifted his eyes once more to mine. Taking a business card out of his pocket, he slid it across the table and stood up.

  “If you’re interested, come to my office tomorrow and we’ll have a chat,” he said, reaching for the shopping bag on the floor.

  A flash of red caught the corner of my eye, and I glanced down.

  The shopping bag contained a doll—a marionette. A female figure with a ghoulish grin, a bright red dress, silver heels, and a white fur stole.

  Staring at it, I recalled the woman who’d accompanied him before.

  My eyes widened in bewilderment, and I looked up.

  But he merely nodded and was gone.

  I leapt to follow him, but he was soon lost in the crowd. Searching in all directions, he was nowhere to be found, and not even the smallest whiff of his scent was left behind.

  One of the Damned

  With one foot still in the taxi cab, I inspected the modern glass office building rising before me—the epitome of big business—and glanced down at the card I held between my fingers.

  Lord Lucian Rowle

  Rowle Industries, Ltd.

  That’s all it said.

  Not even a phone number.

  When I’d searched for Rowle Industries online, I’d found a brief description of a privately-owned corporation that apparently had something to do with imports and exports. An official site consisted of a single page with nothing but the graphic of a family crest. Further research traced the coat of arms to a castle far away in Wales. Castle Llewellyn—a sprawling estate proclaimed as a Heritage Site and now under the control of the British Government.

  And that was it.

  I stood there, surveying the mirrored-glass-and-steel structure perched in the middle of a broad expanse of flawless green lawn. There wasn’t a single cloud in the bright blue sky behind it. The entire place looked surreal, like some photoshopped advertisement. It stood out like a sore thumb from all of the older, rundown office complexes clustered around it.

  “Hey lady, are you getting out or not?” the old, crabby cab driver barked at me from inside the cab. “I’ve got a job to do here.”

  I ignored him.

  As a rule, I identified all escape routes before entering a potentially dangerous place—in case I needed to make a quick exit. And if I really was dealing with another person like me—one of the Damned—I needed an extra dose of caution.

  I stood there—taking an inventory of exits—when a man stepped out of the building’s revolving door. He was your typical middle-aged businessman—wholly nondescript in a suit and tie. Gray pants. Jacket over one arm.

  But what dangled from his other arm entirely captivated me.

  It was a marionette, the one I’d seen in Lucian’s bag. The one in a red dress, silver heels, and a white fur stole.

  “How lovely the sun feels, doesn’t it, dear?” the man asked as he began to walk her down the sidewalk.

  Extending his hand, he rocked the puppet’s handles in a crude attempt to make it walk, but the feet instantly became entangled. With a grin bigger than the Cheshire Cat’s, he laughed and gave up to drag the marionette behind him. Striding past me without even once looking in my direction, he hopped into the back of a shiny black Mercedes that apparently had been waiting for him, and then they drove off.

  “Laaady, hey, lady!” the cab driver barked yet again, slapping his hand on the steering wheel and tapping his horn this time. “In or out? Cause I’m leaving now!”

  “Out,” I said, intrigued by the marionette.

  I glanced up again at the glass office building. I really didn’t feel in any particular danger. Lucian might be stronger than me—maybe—but I felt that I could hold my own, and my curiosity was overwhelming.

  Slamming the cab door shut, I headed up the sidewalk.

  It was time to find out just how Lucian had known my name, exactly what kind of job he was offering, and most intriguing of all, just who he was.

  As the taxi sped out of the parking lot, I walked up to the building’s entrance and inspected my reflection in the mirrored door. I’d ditched my usual black leather, opting instead for a crepe, cream-colored blouse and a short wool pencil skirt that highlighted my legs encased in long leather boots.

  I never went anywhere without my boots. They weren’t a fashion statement; they were a necessity. I hid my knives there. Silver-bladed knives, knives that could halt vampires in their tracks—or so I’d read. In any case, they were my health insurance plan.

  “What I won’t do for a job,” I muttered under my breath.

  Putting aside my interest in Lucian, I did desperately need a job. Since leaving my mother’s house, I’d had a variety of them. The only thing they’d had in common was their duration. Short. I was always on the move, and when I wasn’t working, I spent every free moment I had researching vampires in the hopes of learning more about Emilio. I’d been let go from a receptionist gig the previous month. But I’d been thinking it was time to leave Philadelphia anyway—only that required money. Money I didn’t have.

  I paused a moment, resting my fingers on the handle of the revolving door.

  It was one of those fateful moments in life, and I knew it. My gut told me that if I walked into that building, my life would change forever.

  It only spurred me on.

  It was time to see exactly what Lord Rowle had in mind.

  With a ripple of excitement coursing through me, I entered boldly.

  A cool, muted environment greeted me. Modern, metallic sculptures. Slate tile. A floor-to-ceiling saltwater fish tank. Potted ferns. Low, curving modern couches.

  There was no sign of security, a receptionist, or anyone else.

  There was only a door.

  Without breaking my stride, I headed for it, and I’d just reached for the handle when the door opened, swinging back silently.

  I didn’t see them at first.

  Seeing only the elegant simplicity of the room splayed out before me, I took a methodical inventory: a sleek glass desk with an Italian leather chair, a low, modern couch, and an exotic-hardwood conference table surrounded by twelve tall-backed chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows
covered two walls and a humungous slab ofCarrara marble spanned the other. It took me a moment to realize that the wall was actually a fountain and the source of the soft, bubbling sounds that whispered throughout the room.

  I only saw them then.

  I noticed Lucian first, standing in the corner to my left with his arms folded behind his back and with that same superior smirk hovering on his attractive face. He wore dark clothing. He oozed sophistication. Culture. And he’d drawn his long black hair back into a ponytail in a way that accentuated the hard line of his chiseled jaw. His unbuttoned collar drew my eyes to his Adam’s apple. He looked incredibly appetizing.

  I forced myself to look away.

  I couldn’t let myself care for men like that. I lacked control. I couldn’t even kiss them. It was too tempting. It took only a matter of moments before my interest shifted and I viewed the object of my desire as more of a succulent morsel than a passionate lover.

  Corralling my thoughts, I directed my gaze to the man standing behind Lucian.

  He could only be described as a surfer dude who appeared to be in his late thirties. Blond hair, white shell necklace, a faded Hawaiian shirt, and ripped blue-jean cutoffs. His jeans weren’t the only things ripped. His shirt was open, displaying his washboard abs for the entire world to see.

  He slouched against one of the windows, but he was ignoring me. His attention was focused on the small green lizard wrapped around his finger.

  A lizard. So I had seen a lizard the previous day.

  But I didn’t think much more about it, because I was distracted by the fact that Lucian had surprised me twice. Every living creature gave off a signature scent, its mana. And as a rule, I smelled every creature’s mana long before I saw what it was attached to.

  Except Lucian.

  Oh, I’d smelled him that first time. My mouth watered just recalling the deliciously intoxicating scent.

  But I could smell him no longer.

  And come to think of it, I couldn’t smell the surfer dude and his little green lizard, either.

  Humans couldn’t hide their scent. I’d never come across one that could, anyway.

  I decided to gamble. What could it hurt?

  Diverting my eyes back to Lucian’s cool, assessing blue ones, I said, “You’re a bit unusual. What are you?”

  His lip twitched an extra millimeter upwards as he bowed a little in my direction. “Oh, so direct and to the point,” he praised in a voice that just oozed charisma. “What am I? Well, my dear, I would ask of you the same thing. I would have thought you to be a Night Terror, only you’re not.”

  A Night Terror? Determined not to betray the fact I had no clue what he was talking about, I calmly meandered to the couch and sat down, crossing my legs and lacing my fingers over my knees. I took up a lot of space, my eyes not leaving his the entire time. It was a power move, and one that kept my fingers conveniently close to the knives tucked in my boots.

  I could tell that he wasn’t going to answer, so I switched subjects. “You invited me, Lord Rowle,” I challenged, lifting my chin a little. “A matter of a job?”

  “Lucian,” he said. “Call me Lucian.”

  He stayed where he was for a moment. I discovered then that I couldn’t read him anymore than I could smell him—another unusual thing. I was remarkably adept in reading human emotions, even the hidden ones. But the man before me could have been a robot for the lack of signals I was receiving.

  It made him even more captivating.

  “Lucian,” I agreed with a cordial nod.

  Turning slightly to the side, he waved a hand of introduction in the direction of the surfer dude still slouched behind him. “This is Heath,” he said.

  And that was it. No last name. No brief explanation as to why Heath was standing there with his eyes locked onto a lizard’s beady little ones.

  “Nice to meet you, Heath,” I said when he made no attempt to acknowledge my existence. “I’m Cassidy Edwards.”

  Heath tilted his head to one side, but that was it.

  “Now then, Cass,” Lucian inserted in a silky smooth voice. He stalked over to the conference table and leaned against it with his hands in his pockets. “Let’s continue to be direct, shall we?”

  “I’m a direct kind of gal,” I said by way of agreement. “It’s Cassidy, by the way.”

  He smiled, obviously bemused, but then his tone shifted. “It’s too late now to accomplish your original mission,” he announced as he peered at me from under his lashes. “And as we both know, Cass, the Terzi are less than forgiving.”

  I’d never heard of the Terzi, much less had accepted any kind of a mission from them. No, the only mission I’d ever accepted was the one originated by me—that of revenge. Vengeance against Emilio for converting my mother, robbing me of a normal existence, and condemning me to a life of hunger and isolation.

  I was going to spend my every waking breath ensuring the very same thing happened to him. Karma, it was called.

  Lucian was watching me. Waiting. He clearly expected some kind of response.

  I wasn’t one to play guessing games. I didn’t have the patience for it.

  “You might want to check your sources, Lord Rowle,” I said, stressing his title with a deliberate note of skepticism. “I’ve never heard of the Terzi, and the only mission I’m on is my own. So, these Terzi can be as unforgiving as they please. The only thing you’ve gotten right so far is my name, and hardly that. It’s Cassidy, not Cass.”

  No one called me Cass. Ever.

  I was distracted from Lucian’s reaction by Heath.

  “Profound, man,” the surfer dude exclaimed, and then tossed the lizard up into the air.

  To my utter astonishment, the reptile swirled into a human-sized tornado of green smoke, and out from it stepped a petite woman of apparent Asian descent, wearing a green sheath dress with black platform sandals. Her skin was porcelain white. Flawless. She’d combed her black hair dramatically to one side, obscuring one eye.

  The surfer dude had disappeared.

  “She’s not what you think, Lucian,” she said, her voice quite melodic but obviously upset. “It’s merely a coincidence. This is not a case of keeping your enemy close to your heart.”

  I just stared at her, astonished that the people in the room really weren’t humans. But they clearly weren’t vampires, either.

  What were they?

  Excitement rippled through me—excitement that perhaps I wasn’t as alone in the world as I’d thought. But consternation quickly dampened the thrill of finding possible kindred souls. I didn’t know who they were or what their motives were.

  “Please, take a seat, Cass,” Lucian’s cool voice intruded upon my thoughts.

  I glanced down to realize that I was standing, knife in each hand. As excited as I’d been, my body was trained to defend itself of its own accord.

  “Amazing reflexes,” the lizard woman observed, coming up to Lucian to slide her palm up his chest and rest her head against his arm. She was tiny. The top of her head didn’t even make it to his shoulder. “A Chosen One, perhaps?”

  “No, she’s not one of them,” a voice growled in my ear. “She’s something else. Something … I’ve never encountered. She’s alive.”

  I whirled to see a massive, musclebound brute of a gray wolf crouched behind me. His eyes were glowing. Yellow.

  “Cripes!” I swore, gripping the handle of my knives harder.

  I’d never seen such a beast.

  “Cripes?” the wolf repeated, tilting his head a little just like a dog does when it appears it’s trying to lip-read. “Are you British?”

  It was a little unnerving. “No,” I replied shortly. I’d heard the word cripes in a few movies and had just liked the way it sounded.

  “Ah, so you just prefer to use pseudo British curses?” the wolf asked in open curiosity.

  My “cussing” repertoire consisted of three expressions: “Cripes!”, “Hex it!” and “Crud!” I was picky. But it was ha
rdly the first topic I’d have thought to discuss with a werewolf. “I like to swear but with class," I said, not entirely certain I was really having this conversation.

  “I get that. Maybe it’s an old soul thing,” the wolf said, hunkering down on the couch and crossing his paws as if preparing for a long philosophical conversation. “Do you meditate, too? I’ve discovered—”

  I figured then that the wolf had to be the surfer dude.

  “Enough, Heath,” Lucian smoothly interrupted, confirming my guess.

  Heath obligingly wagged the tip of his tail and as I watched, his fur melted into skin and the body lengthened to stand upright, morphing back into the blond-haired surfer dude. Strangely, the first thought occupying my mind was the question of where he’d kept the Hawaiian shirt while in wolf form.

  But then a second thought came to me. If werewolves existed … then what else?

  I raised a curious brow at the ex-lizard woman still standing there rubbing her hands up and down Lucian’s chest. I don’t think he even noticed, but he did pick up on my unspoken question.

  Nodding, he supplied the introduction. “This is Tabitha. Tabitha is a firedrake.”

  I’d never heard of firedrakes. I’d have to google them later.

  Cocking a brow, I turned my attention to Lucian himself and repeated my query from before, “And you? What are you?”

  He gave a half laugh and with a low, sweeping bow, replied in a deep baritone, “Allow me to properly introduce myself, my dear. Lord Lucian Rowle, Warlock and Cursemaster of the Highest Order.”

  A warlock.

  Evidently, the world was a bit more complex than I’d given it credit for.

  They were watching me expectantly. I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t know a name for what I was, so instead, I shoved my knives back into my boots and announced brazenly, “Cassidy. Cassidy Edwards. I’m one of the Damned … a monster.”

  A Contract with a Handsome Devil

  Lucian’s devilishly handsome brow arced up a fraction of an inch. “A monster?” he probed. “You look quite human; it must be a masterful spell, then.”