Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1)

by Carmen Caine

  “Never!” she repeated, letting her dark eyes flash.

  This was going to degenerate quickly. Using my mother as the go-between was a bad idea. The worst.

  But then, I caught a distinctive whiff of a scent.

  Dorian.

  He was already here, and too early. He must have picked up on the fact that I’d detected him because only a moment later, I saw a movement by the gate. I turned just in time to see him step out of the shadows and into the dim circle of candlelight, resplendent in his bright green plaid clasped over his shoulder by an ancient brooch.

  My mother abandoned me at once, leaving me with him in the empty church courtyard. So much for motherly support.

  “The Witching Hour is nigh, lass,” he greeted me with a glint of mischief in his eye. “I take it that you’re now in yon warlock’s service?”

  Of course. Dorian wouldn’t be fooled so easily. I glanced down at my phone. It was 2:35am. Twenty-five minutes. I had to stall for twenty-five minutes. Could I? My mind raced quickly. “The Witching Hour?” I bluffed. “It’s almost 3:00am. It’s over already, everyone knows that.”

  Of course, Dorian knew better than I, and he didn’t fall for my diversionary tactic for a split second. He got right to the heart of the matter. “Stalling are you? Ach, so your wee warlock needs a nip of extra help, does he, no? Surely, you’ll not be angry if I deny the lad that unsportsmanlike advantage, now, will you?”

  Adopting a stern expression, I extended my hand and rattled the suitcase. “I brought what you wanted. But you’ll have to make me a few promises first,” I blundered ahead, deciding to make it up as I went along. I just had to last for twenty-five—now twenty-four—minutes.

  “There’s only one promise I’m going to make you, lass,” he said, his expression altering.

  One moment, he’d been walking slowly towards me.

  The next, he was right in front of me, flinging the suitcase out of my hands. I heard it crash against the stones. Sliding one arm around my waist, he crushed me against his chest as his other hand skimmed up my arm, my neck, to tilt my chin up.

  He kissed me then. Deeply. Passionately. Thoroughly. Stealing my breath entirely away and catching me completely by surprise.

  “She’s not yours,” Lucian’s cool voice sliced through the night air.

  I felt Dorian’s stomach muscles tense in surprise even as he continued to ravish my lips for several more seconds. And then slowly, he raised his head, a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

  My thoughts were hardly on the vampire kissing me, my thoughts were centered on Lucian. What was he doing here? It was too early. The Witching Hour was at least twenty or so minutes away.

  “So, caster, you’ve a hankering for the lass, then, aye?” Dorian asked, locking his arm even tighter around me.

  I frowned and struggled to push him back, but he was stronger than me. Alarmed, I realized there was no breaking his hold. It was like a band of pure steel around my waist.

  Lucian arched a brow and nodded at the suitcase with his chin. “A strange way to treat your clan,” he observed in a scathing tone. “Leaving them exposed. Helpless.”

  Throwing his head back, Dorian gave a loud laugh, and with a sudden jerk, he flexed his muscles crushing me even harder against his chest. “This, Lord Rowle, this is my clan now. I’ve no need of any other.”

  Mana. The aromas of Chosen Ones drifted towards me on the soft night breeze even as the scent of the Night Terrors faded away. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Surely, they weren’t leaving?

  But they were.

  The Night Terrors were moving away. And swiftly. My heart sank. Had Dorian bought them off?

  In moments, we were surrounded only by Chosen Ones. Terzi vampires.

  And Lucian didn’t even know.

  I swallowed, gaping up at Dorian smiling smugly down at me.

  Just whose trap had this been all along? Had I played right into his hands?

  Had I delivered Lucian to his enemy?

  A dark shadow of a werewolf appeared on the top of the wall, a mass of crouched muscle, ready to spring. Heath. Was he Lucian’s only loyal friend now?

  I then caught sight of a tiny pink lizard dashing across the courtyard.

  Tabitha.

  I knew she couldn’t care less about me, but there was no doubting her loyalty to Lucian.

  So, Lucian had two … no, make that three, I amended, catching sight of Ricky surreptitiously tiptoeing after Tabitha, as though that prevented us from seeing him. So Lucian had two loyal supporters and a turmeric-addicted imp on his side.

  It was a pitiful band to face the massive force that now surrounded us.

  No matter how powerful a warlock he was, it wasn’t going to be enough.

  I took a deep breath.

  It was time for me to make my choice.

  Whose side was I really on?

  Part of me responded instinctively to Dorian, I knew that. Part of me was truly clan-linked. But part of me had seen the pain in Lucian’s eyes, and that part of me had experienced something deep—profound.

  I made my mind up all at once.

  Following my heart, I placed my hands on Dorian’s chest and shoved him back, or at least tried to. He didn’t budge. It was like trying to move a mountain of iron. But I still had my voice, and just maybe that would be enough if I could gain Lucian some time. It had to be only fifteen minutes, more or less, before the Witching Hour struck.

  “I’m not your clan, Dorian Ramsey,” I growled low in my throat. “Your sister may have cursed me, but I’ve a mind of my own and I’m not yours.”

  He just laughed and, capturing my hand, kissed my knuckles. “A fiery lass warms a man’s heart as well as his bed,” he chuckled.

  “I’ll never be warming your bed,” I vowed.

  A fog slipped over the courtyard wall to drift into the courtyard. I fervently hoped it was Lucian’s doing and not Dorian’s.

  Apparently, it was, because the Scottish vampire turned to Lucian to ask in surprise, “Do you think to ensnare me in a spell? You’re dafter than I thought you to be, lad.”

  “By ancient right, I will win,” Lucian simply replied, his eyes glittered fiercely in the torchlight.

  Dorian chuckled. “I should warn you, Lucian,” he bantered in a light tone. “I’ve no plans to be bricked and staked this morn. I’ve only just awakened.”

  “Oh, you’ll not be staked this time,” Lucian promised in turn. “Have no fear.”

  Lucian stood just a few yards away from me. He looked impressive in his dark cloak with his black hair loose upon his shoulders. He looked dangerous, powerful, and beyond mysterious with the fog still pouring into the churchyard, wrapping the place in an eerie haze. Just what was his plan?

  But Dorian didn’t appear nearly as impressed with Lucian as I was. Cocking a brow at the small square church, he allowed his voice to soften in remembrance. “A fitting choice, this church. It was here that Lady Rowle fell under the Terzi curse that destroyed your family. A glorious day, that was. A day that I’ll never forget, to be sure!”

  But Lucian didn’t appear in the least rattled by this revelation. He just stood there, with his black cloak billowing behind him as our eyes caught and held.

  It was one of those looks worth a thousand words. I’d just been kissed by Dorian again, and I stood in the circle of his arms. He was powerful, brawny, and a master of seduction, yet, with a single look, my heart had responded to Lucian.

  “She’ll be your weakness,” Dorian cut in sharply.

  Lucian’s cool gaze shifted back to the kilted vampire. “I’m not one to be swayed by personal feelings. I’m here to set the past right. Nothing more.”

  “You lie,” Dorian accused.

  For once, I agreed with him. Lucian was lying. I’d seen behind his mask, if only for a moment. I meant something to him. There was no doubt. But now was hardly the time for such distractions.

  There was so much mist crowding into the courtyard
that I could no longer see Heath or the others. And then all at once, I realized that I couldn’t smell the Chosen Ones, either. Either they’d gone, somehow, or had the mist masked them? Were we being encased in some kind of protective fog bubble?

  I guess Dorian realized he’d lost his connection to his clan at the same moment. Or maybe he’d decided the Witching Hour was just a wee bit too near now. Whatever the reason, he shifted me to one side and freed his other massive arm to draw his sword.

  It happened so fast. A blur. A flash of steel. His sword arced up and then launched straight at Lucian.

  But the dark-haired warlock was just as quick. With near-vampire speed, he lurched sideways, succeeding in preventing himself from being skewered through, but not quite enough to escape all injury. The sword grazed his shoulder, biting deep before clattering onto the courtyard stones.

  Wincing in pain, Lucian clenched his jaw and sent Dorian a smoldering gaze.

  “Ach now,” Dorian began with a grin. But the mirth fled from his face the next instant to be replaced by confusion, and then, a startled look of outright alarm. “Sweet Mary! What—” he began, but he never finished the sentence.

  Tossing his head back, a primordial cry erupted from Lucian’s throat, a powerful thundering that bounced around in the mist in all directions. I didn’t understand the words. I imagine it was some ancient spell—a curse in a forgotten language.

  I just closed my eyes, fervently hoping that it would work. We had to be getting close to the Witching Hour. Surely, Lucian would be strong enough.

  There was a scream. Several. Some coming from the fog. The Chosen Ones? I didn’t know. But by far the loudest scream was Dorian’s, screeching as if he were being ripped apart.

  And then … he just melted away from me. All at once, he just grew kind of … lighter. The arm wrapped around my waist shortened. Grew harder. Smaller.

  Startled, I opened my eyes.

  Dorian was still there, dressed in his tartan with the ancient brooch still clasping it to his shoulder.

  But he was no longer the towering vampire.

  He dangled from my waist … as a marionette.

  Lucian or Lucifer?

  Subconsciously, on some level, I think I’d known all along that Lord Lucian Rowle had been turning real people into actual puppets. I’d suspected the shelves upon shelves of marionettes had been much more than voodoo dolls. I’d just never really wanted to acknowledge it.

  But there was no denying it now.

  Lucian swayed on his feet, grim-faced and pale. The gash on his arm bled profusely. With a gasp, he dropped to one knee.

  In an instant, Heath was there, morphing from werewolf to man in a single, swift stride. Pulling a yin-yang-embroidered handkerchief out of his pocket—yes, Heath was the kind to carry those around—he applied it as a tourniquet to Lucian’s arm, staunching the flow of blood before the rest of us had even moved.

  “But it’s not yet the Witching Hour,” Tabitha’s astonished voice sounded unnaturally thin in the billowing fog-filled courtyard. “How’s this possible, Lucian? How? A curse of this magnitude? Can this curse hold? Dorian will fight it, every minute of every day.”

  Lucian didn’t answer. I don’t know if he even heard her. He remained on one knee, pale, tense, staring straight ahead into the fog that still whirled around us.

  “Perhaps the Rowle curse is breaking?” Heath suggested with a hopeful smile, giving Lucian’s bandage one final pat.

  But Tabitha didn’t buy that. Drawing her brows into a frown, she looked straight at me. “Perhaps, it’s something else.”

  I just frowned. I didn’t have a clue what she was thinking about me. I stepped back, intending to put a bit more distance between us when I realized with a start that I still held the marionette. I shuddered at the thought of Dorian in there somewhere, locked inside.

  It was as if he’d read my mind. The doll’s lips jerked open. “Dinna worry, lass. I’ve nothing to fear from a weak fool of a Rowle,” it said, its mouth flapping up and down.

  With a startled gasp, I flung him in alarm. He landed with a clatter, his legs and arms entangled in a heap.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, shivering in the cold mist. “Let’s just go.”

  I still couldn’t smell the Chosen Ones. No doubt, the fog blanketing the entire area had something to do with that. But Lucian was injured. I wanted to leave before the spell broke and the vampires attacked.

  Lucian sighed heavily. Allowing Heath to assist him to his feet, he inspected the courtyard, or as much as he could anyway. The fog still rolled over the limestone wall, appearing to grow only thicker with each passing moment.

  “Enough, Cassidy,” Lucian murmured then.

  I arched a puzzled brow his way. Enough? Enough what?

  Locking his eyes with mine, he lifted a single finger.

  All at once, the swirling mist vanished. The scent of the Chosen Ones surrounding us filled my nostrils once more.

  “Why did you do that?” I gaped at Lucian in alarm.

  Ignoring me, he walked a few steps forward and, extending his arms, closed his eyes and raised his face towards the moon. What was he doing? Exposing his throat to all the vampires thirsting for his blood? All the soon-to-be-furious vampires?

  “Do what?” Tabitha hissed, grabbing my arm to give it a shake.

  I frowned, just because that was becoming my standard response to her. “This mist. The fog. You know,” I replied, and waved my arms at the now-clear courtyard.

  But she only looked completely confused. “Mist?” she asked slowly.

  Heath hung his head over her shoulder to echo in a bewildered tone, “Fog?”

  I blinked.

  Ricky shrugged in the background, sending me his I’ll-oblige-you-with-a-smile-because-I-think-you’re-barmy smile.

  I whirled on Lucian then, but he wasn’t paying any attention. I guess for a good reason. His piercing gaze had focused on the dark shadows slipping over the wall.

  Chosen Ones.

  And Gloria was among them.

  Lucian dared them with a single look to keep them at bay. They slowed their advance. And then upon spying the kilted marionette lying prone on the courtyard stones, they stopped altogether.

  “What have you done to my brother?” Gloria screeched from where she stood, wringing her hands.

  No one moved except Lucian. Slowly, he walked over to the marionette. He stood there a moment before picking the doll up by the ankle. And then in the same measured pace, he strode over to the suitcase to touch the clasp lightly with his toe, stepping back as the lid sprang open.

  Dolls.

  He really had turned Dorian’s entire clan into dolls.

  And now, Dorian himself.

  I couldn’t suppress a shudder. I’d always found dolls disturbing. Doubly so, now that I knew at least some of them were actually once, real people. I’d never be able to look at marionettes again without wondering.

  With a light twist of his wrist, Lucian dropped his newest creation on top of the others and closed the suitcase with a resounding bang.

  The Chosen Ones surrounding us made no attempt to attack. They remained where they were, frozen. Horrified. Afraid. Just watching.

  “What do you want?” Gloria finally asked in a wavering tone. “What do you want from us? What will it take to break his curse?”

  But Lucian wasn’t in the mood to converse. I imagine his injured arm had a lot to do with that. Already, Heath’s handkerchief was stained a deep red.

  “Tell me,” Gloria insisted, stepping closer.

  Lucian didn’t even look at her. Staring straight ahead, he answered in a low voice, “It’s too late. Be gone.”

  The others listened. They fell back and a moment later, fled

  But not Gloria. She stood as if rooted to the spot.

  The next moment, I found out why.

  “It was you,” she suddenly said in a choked whisper. “You. You’re the apprentice who betrayed me. Youmade me
your puppet. You’re Emilio’s warlock, the Marchesi warlock who betrayed my eternal love!”

  I didn’t react at first. It took a few seconds for it to even begin to sink in. Even longer for my mouth to drop open.

  Lucian whirled on her then.

  Gloria fell back, raising her fist, still shouting. I couldn’t hear what she said. I wasn’t even sure it was English. But right before she left, she devoted her parting words to me.

  “It’s true justice that you’ve been betrayed, Cassidy Edwards,” she hissed. “You betrayed my brother. Now it’s your turn. Suffer with the knowledge that you’ve been working for Emilio this entire time and for the very warlock who cursed you into creation!”

  Her words struck me like a wall of icy water.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. I didn’t believe her. I couldn’t.

  I stared at Lucian in stunned betrayal.

  And then I ran.

  * * *

  I wandered for the rest of the night and into the next day. No one bothered me. I guess maybe the Terzi were afraid of Lucian now, afraid of what he might do to Dorian’s marionette should they anger him. I was protected by default.

  Gloria’s words played continually in my head.

  How could I forget them?

  What twist of fate had brought me to Lucian? And how could I feel such a close connection with the very same warlock who’d brought on my hellish existence? What had been a spell? What had been reality?

  As the noon sun rose in the sky, I decided to face him. I’d get the answers straight from his own lips.

  Heath and Tabitha didn’t even try to stop me as I strode into the villa. They just watched as I stomped straight up the staircase to Lucian’s bedroom. The door was wide open. He stood looking out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. An empty wineglass dangled between his fingers.

  He was waiting. Waiting for me. And he’d apparently been waiting the entire time. His arm was freshly bandaged but he still wore the rumpled, blood-stained tuxedo from the night before.

  I felt anger. Scorching, violent sparks of anger. And I didn’t wait to spit my words out with venom. “You’re more of a Lucifer than a Lucian. You’re nothing more than a smooth-tongued snake.”