Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1)

by Carmen Caine

  As usual, he didn’t turn to face me. He just spoke in a soft voice, as if reminiscing. “I recognized you the moment you touched me in the mall. How could I fail to identify the signature of the curse? It was my own … coming back to find me. That’s the first moment … that I knew you existed.”

  “Is it true then?” I don’t know why I even asked that. I knew it was. “You betrayed Gloria and cursed my mother and me along with her.” It was his fault more than Emilio’s. More than even Gloria’s.

  “I was young. Very young,” he said in his own defense, still in his soft voice and with his gaze still focused out of the window. “And desperate. I didn’t know your mother was pregnant. Emilio hadn’t mentioned it. And I was too young to even consider such possibilities. I was scarcely more than a child myself. Thirteen. You were an accident, Cassidy.”

  Thirteen? How could I blame a boy not yet a man? And Cassidy. Not Cass. But Cassidy. Why did that wrench my heart?

  But the thirst for revenge burned deep in my soul, too deep to just let go. I held onto my anger, desperately. “You’re nothing more than Emilio’s pawn. And you used me. You’re hardly a boy now, Lucian.”

  I saw the outline of his jaw clench hard.

  “We’re all pawns at some point,” he said, tossing his head a little. “I was paid well. And I’d sworn to Emilio that I’d never let your mother’s mind link with his. She had to be turned by an opposing clan. Yes, I betrayed Gloria. I knew I could manipulate her. I couldn’t fail. There was too much at stake, even then. But even so, had I known you existed, I wouldn’t have done it. My heart wasn’t that black … not then.”

  I recognized the story. I’d heard it before. He’d been speaking of it with the Chosen One in the marionette room.

  His client.

  I closed my eyes, drawing a steadying breath.

  Emilio.

  I’d already seen him—spied on him, actually, while he’d chatted with Lucian.

  And I’d missed the perfect opportunity.

  He would have never seen me coming. Revenge. It had been so close. So very close.

  A fresh wave of anger churned within me as I again felt that deep sense of betrayal. “You knew I wanted Emilio,” I accused hoarsely. “And you knew the whole time that I was working for him. You knew.”

  Of course he knew. I just couldn’t get over how much he’d known the entire time.

  The entire time, and from the very first touch.

  He turned to face me then, absently twirling the wineglass by its stem. “Vengeance,” he said. “It’s a powerful motive. One of the strongest. I couldn’t let you walk free. I had to see where you were on that journey … and how much you knew. And if Gloria had sent you to kill me.”

  So, he’d suspected I was Gloria’s assassin?

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “I didn’t know you were just hungry that first day, Cassidy,” he said. “I thought she’d sent you to kill me. I had no protection against you then. I didn’t even know you existed. When you tried to feed off me, I was defenseless. You easily could have taken my life. I didn’t understand why you didn’t, at first.”

  I caught my breath. I didn’t want to be reminded of the ultimate power I had yet to tame. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” I shot at him angrily.

  His head snapped back. And judging by the line of his jaw, he was maybe even angrier than I was. “The dark underbelly of the Charmed world isn’t a pretty place,” he fired back in response. “Your motives aren’t any purer than mine, Cass.”

  So, we were back to “Cass”. I decided to focus on that more than what he was saying, because what he’d just said was just a bit too logical for my taste. And I knew that it was more than true.

  “My wards are activated now,” he said with a shrug. “A warlock knows how to protect himself from his own curse. You can’t harm me or mine now, no matter how hard you try.”

  So, that was why I couldn’t smell him. Or Tabitha. Or Heath. He’d activated his wards against me. Strangely, I felt a vast sense of relief to know I couldn’t harm them, even by accident.

  But I didn’t like that I felt that relief, either.

  I was much better off angry. It was familiar. Holding onto it desperately, I continued my accusations. “You’ve been playing a game this entire time. Our contract. It meant nothing.”

  He didn’t answer.

  I waited. But the more I waited, the more confused I became. It wasn’t a definite black-and-white issue here. Just too many shades of gray. The longer I stayed, the more conflicted I’d likely become. No, it was time to go. Leave. Escape them all before I only fell further down the rabbit hole.

  “I’m done, Lucian,” I confessed, letting my shoulders sag. “I’m just tired of this whole thing. I’m leaving. I’m done.”

  I turned to go, but he was by my side in three long strides.

  “It’s not a coincidence that you found me,” he whispered harshly. “There are many sides to magic. Many shadows. The timing—we’re drawn together, Cassidy. It’s not finished between us. Not by a longshot. You can’t simply be done and go.”

  I looked up into his handsome face, so close to mine. “Just watch me,” I replied fiercely. “You cursed me. I never want to see you again.”

  He gave a scathing laugh. I could feel his breath on my cheek, almost feel the rumble of his laugh on my skin. “It doesn’t work that way with me, sweetheart,” he promised darkly. “You’re still mine.”

  I swallowed.

  We stared at each other with narrowed eyes.

  After a pronounced pause, he continued, “You’re still under contract. Contracts with me can’t simply just be broken.”

  I knew he meant so much more than that. So much more. And the odd thing was, part of me wanted it—wanted him to claim me. Kiss me. Make me truly his. But I squashed that part down as deep as I could.

  “Oh, you caught your man, Lucian,” I retorted. “Or, in this case, vampire. I fulfilled my mission to aid you. The contract’s done.”

  His dark lashes hooded his eyes. “The mission is far from over, my dear.”

  Oh, so he was playing that game, was he? A mission that would last however long he wanted it to. Well, I wasn’t going to play that game with him, and I certainly wasn’t going to stand there and continue this exchange. It was too dangerous. He was standing too close.

  No, it really was time for me to go, to think, to clear my mind—to decide what I really wanted.

  Lifting my chin, I let my eyes flash in challenge. “Well then, Lord Lucian Rowle. I guess I’ll just have to find out what happens to those who break their contracts with you.”

  He didn’t respond. He just stood there, holding the wineglass in his hand.

  At the door, I paused a moment. My heart lurched. Why hadn’t he just told me from the beginning? From the moment he’d discovered that I existed? I would’ve understood if he’d just come out and said he’d been a thoughtless teenager dabbling in things too big for him to really understand.

  “Why?” I whispered. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  To my surprise, he lifted his eyes towards mine, dropping all masks. I saw the pain there. The guilt. And something else. Fear?

  “Why else do you think?” he asked in turn, his voice thick with emotion.

  My head was beginning to pound. Rubbing my temples, I frowned. “I really don’t know.”

  His jaw clenched. “I saw your unquenchable thirst for revenge. No one could miss it. It’s too deep. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t even tell you anything about Emilio.” His fingers flexed on the glass. “I knew the moment you found him that you’d learn the truth—that you’d learn that it was me you should’ve been searching for all along.”

  The glass he was holding in his hands suddenly shattered.

  I stumbled away.

  I’d started out on a mission of revenge. I’d ended up opening a Pandora’s box full of pain and misery.

  I really had to leave.

 
Home

  I found myself a nice apartment in New York City, not too far from my Times Square feeding grounds. A pretty tidy sum of money had been deposited into my bank account, and I’d used it to rent a tiny studio on the second floor of an old townhouse, accessible only by its own flight of dangerously narrow, steep stairs. I liked the place. I even had a small balcony—big enough for a table and a chair. The place was quiet. Peaceful. Well, for The Big Apple, anyway.

  The neighbor had a fat orange tabby cat that I petted at times, but only because I wanted to stay on its good side—just in case it turned out to be a sidekick for a Charmed witch or warlock. It reminded me of Ricky, who I’d left behind in Venice.

  I hadn’t even told him goodbye. I’d deleted his hundreds of selfies from my phone, all but one. For some odd reason, I couldn’t get rid of the last one. I don’t know why. It wasn’t even a flattering picture of the little miscreant. He’d smashed his face into the camera lens, shaping his body into a complete circle that ended up making one of his eyes ten times larger than the other. It was more of an eye-selfie than anything else. But the picture made me smile. At least a little.

  Weeks passed.

  I felt listless. Edgy. Almost as if waiting for closure, I guess. I tried not to think of Lucian, but it was hard. Much harder than I’d imagined it would be. I’d returned to the states, fully expecting my lust for revenge to transfer solely onto his broad shoulders.

  But that didn’t happen.

  Instead, I found my hatred for Emilio only doubling. A secret part of me considered Lucian more victim than perpetrator. But I didn’t let that part out of its box very often.

  Fall approached. I spent a lot of time walking through Central Park, kicking the many-colored leaves. On such occasions, I caught myself wondering what they were all doing.

  Was Ricky driving everyone crazy? Had he gotten into the spice drawer? And Lady Rowle in the portrait, who was she talking to now? Had Heath’s sense of smell completely recovered? And Tabitha … well, I didn’t really wonder much about her. She’d decided she didn’t like me. I felt much the same way.

  I didn't let myself think of Dougall at all.

  But as always, my thoughts ended up with Lucian. Had he finally gotten the painting he’d wanted? Was he still fighting the Terzi? Or most importantly … was he suffering?

  Once I’d realized where my thoughts had gone—yet again—I’d quickly shake them off and head for Times Square for a snack.

  Time passed, and in much the same pattern.

  Once or twice, I thought I spotted a colorful lizard perched on a street vendor’s umbrella, but I figured it had to be a trick of the light. Tabitha wouldn’t likely waste her time on me.

  Several weeks later, I could have sworn I heard the howl of a wolf, but then … it was New York City. It could be anything.

  The weather grew colder. Snow fell. The holidays approached.

  And then one day, I sat outside on my balcony, zoning out and admiring the sporadic snowflakes drifting down from above. After some time, I noticed a movement from the corner of my eye.

  A puff of black smoke.

  I held still.

  A trace of mana, so faint, but there was no denying it.

  I suppressed a grin as a spindly, stick-figured shape tiptoed across the corner of the balcony.

  Ricky.

  “You’re not coming inside,” I said with a growl.

  He didn’t respond.

  So, he wanted to play hard-to-get, did he? Did he think I owed him some kind of apology for abandoning him with Lucian?

  The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I actually did.

  I sat there for a bit longer, catching him quivering against the bricks a couple of times, as if he were freezing, but I knew better. Smoke couldn’t get cold. His pitiful cowering was designed to instill guilt.

  It worked very well.

  Searching my mind, I recalled an imp’s love for peanuts, and after heading out to the nearest convenience store, I returned home to set out a bowlful near the door just as the sun went down.

  Ricky poked his head around the corner immediately, grinning mischievously from ear-to-ear and licking his lips.

  “You’re not supposed to give in that easily,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.

  “So, you’re sorry, love?” he asked in quite the conversational tone accompanied by a very long, very nasal, and very, very annoying giggle.

  “No, not sorry at all,” I denied a bit more genuinely this time.

  Diving for the peanuts, he perched on the edge of the bowl. “Suppose you couldn’t add a dash of turmeric now, could you?”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not staying,” I snapped at him. “There’s a reason I left you behind.”

  He flattened his ears at me.

  Reaching over, I swished his head away from his body, just for old time’s sake.

  “What are you doing here—” I began, but I didn’t finish the sentence.

  A distinct scent filled my nostrils.

  I looked over my shoulder just in time to see my mother stepping lightly onto my porch, wearing a white stole, a matching hat, and a tight black cocktail dress.

  “Did you just fly down from above?” I asked, a bit surprised.

  She peered over my shoulder at Ricky, who was blissfully chomping his peanuts, and she arched a perfect brow. “Still keeping that thing?” she asked in disgust.

  I ignored her question. “You’re looking well,” I said. “What’s up? Who sent you this time?”

  I figured she wouldn’t have looked me up on her own.

  And I could tell by the way she quickly averted her gaze that I was right.

  “What are you up to?” she just asked awkwardly in response.

  “Really, Blair?” I asked, facing her and folding my arms. Judging by the way she was beating around the bush, I figured it had to be a message from Emilio. I decided to be blunt. “What does he want you to say to me?”

  “Don’t hate him,” she pleaded at once.

  I couldn’t prevent my eyes from rolling. They just did it on their own. “Is that what he said?”

  She looked like she wanted to slap me.

  I knew he hadn’t said anything of the sort, but I replied anyway, “Well, you can tell him that I’m only growing to hate him more each day.”

  “He wants to meet you, Cassidy,” she said then.

  Meet him.

  “No,” I said at once. “Not unless he’s going to hold still while I target practice with my knives.”

  She left after that. We both knew it would only go further downhill from there.

  I heaved a sigh.

  Of course, my mother would be on the opposing side. But then it was nothing new, we’d been on opposite sides my entire life.

  I stomped into my kitchen.

  Ricky followed. It wasn’t like I could really keep him out. He could suck himself under doors and through keyholes. Leaving him snuffling through the empty cupboards, I headed off to the shower.

  I figured since I didn’t keep any food in the house—i.e., turmeric—he really couldn’t cause me any trouble.

  When I returned, I saw that the little imp had opened the back door and had left it propped open wide. He was nowhere to be seen. Had all that moping around been an act?

  I should never have trusted the little beast.

  Annoyed, I reached for the door, but before I could shut it, a dark figure stepped around the corner.

  Tall. Broad-shouldered.

  I couldn’t smell him. There had been no warning.

  Lucian.

  I tried to slam the door shut, but he blocked it with his forearm before it could close. It must have hurt.

  And then Lord Lucian Rowle stood in my tiny kitchen, looking down at me with his piercing blue eyes. Dressed in a fine black suit and with his dark hair pulled back in a suave ponytail, he looked like anything but a destitute warlock.

  He was hot. Sizzling hot. Beyond sexy.

  Cru
d. I’d forgotten how physically overpowering his presence could be. And it only seemed to have gotten worse.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” I snapped. “Go away!”

  Crooking the corner of his lip into a smile, Lucian arched a brow and said, “Oh, Cass, when will you stop being so mulish?”

  That did it. I mean, that really did it. After all these weeks, to show up and call me “Cass”? Quicker than a blink of an eye, I had a knife unsheathed and pressed against his throat.

  Mistake number one: I was much closer to him now.

  I could feel the heat of his skin—the crackling energy that only seemed to leap up between us faster each time.

  Frowning in the effort to concentrate, I poked the base of his throat with the tip of my knife. “Should I bury the knife here?” I asked.

  He just stood there, as cool as all get out. “We both know that you can’t harm me, sweetheart,” he said in a pleasantly low rumble. With eyes soft as velvet, he asked, “But have you hired Terzi assassins to hunt me down yet?”

  Mistake number two: I shouldn’t have engaged him in conversation.

  “Oh please,” I snorted, “I wouldn’t sink that low, but I am plotting your downfall.”

  There was a gleam in his eye. I knew he was going to kiss me.

  Mistake number three: I let him.

  A kiss of raw, powerful mastery. Traitorously pleasurable. Startling. Memorable. Rivaling Dorian’s—no, exceeding it.

  Every cell in my being responded. After all, it was what I’d been wanting to do since I’d met him.

  So, for several long, passionately glorious, lust-filled moments, I kissed him, transported with sensations, as his tongue thrust between my lips to tangle with mine in a dance that only made me want more. All of him. There was passion in that kiss. Lust. Gentleness. Desperation. Complete abandon. His palms slid up my spine, scorching my skin.

  It was all so right.

  So right that it had to be wrong.

  The angry, wild beating of my heart tore me away from the heaven of his lips. My hand had whacked him across the face before I’d even realized what I’d done.

  He didn’t even really look startled. His lip lifted in a half-smile. “You’re no match for me, Cass. Why waste your energy?”