by Martha Woods
“Is Tessa going to be okay?” Calla asked Jared.
His hand rested on her knee, “She’ll be better than ever once she’s done with her transformation.”
“Does changing into a vampire hurt?”
“Why? Do you want to find out?” Jared asked, brushing his nose against the length of her neck.
Calla smiled weakly, “I don’t think so. At least, not yet. I’m just worried about her. She nearly died.”
“So did you,” Jared pointed out. “You need to focus on yourself. Kristian is caring for Tessa.”
“I guess you’re right,” Calla sighed, resting her head against his shoulder.
The group cleaning the field started to set up a separate pyre, one for only a single body. Calla felt sorrow radiate from Jared. Even if he was putting on a brave face, he couldn’t hide his hurt from her. “What about you, are you okay?” Calla questioned softly, looking up into his powder blue eyes.
Jared’s eyes were fixated on the single pyre, the body of his maker laid in the center. “Ally was a strong woman. She served this family well for centuries. I’ll miss her, but after so long of watching her nearly die because of the missions she would go on, I made my peace decades ago. I suppose it doesn’t make it any easier initially, but I know in a matter of time, the wounds will heal and she’ll only live on in our memories.”
Calla rubbed his arm in soothing strokes, muttering the mood altering spell under her breath. She wanted to help him through the grief, even if he expected it to be short lived.
“You don’t need to do that,” Jared whispered. He could hear her soft chanting.
“Sorry,” she muttered, biting her lip and ceasing her spell.
“It’s okay. I know you mean well,” he purred. “I just prefer to process my feelings alone.”
“Not completely alone, I hope,” Calla murmured, hugging to his side.
Jared’s cheek rested on the top of her head, “No, not completely. Just, alone in my head.”
“That I can do,” Calla promised.
They sat embraced and watched as Ally’s pyre was lit. Jared let out a pained breath, gripping Calla a little tighter as Ally was engulfed in flames.
“What will happen to the family now?” Calla asked. From her time around the family, everything had depended on Ally. No one made a move without her knowing, and she oversaw every task. Calla worried they would all be lost without her.
“Well, someone will have to step up and take charge. I would put money on Morgan taking over, with Veronica as his second in command. Morgan’s been in the family the longest out of everyone, he’s dependable and strong. People generally don’t have compliants about him. Veronica has a newfound passion for witch-hunting, which will make her a suitable mate for the leader of the family,” Jared hypothesized.
Calla looked up to him, “What will you do?” she asked. He had been serving Ally because she had saved his life. Now that she was dead, he had no obligation to stay with the family. What if he decided to go rogue? Calla was bound to Tessa for life… He could decide to move on and start a new life. One that couldn’t have Calla in it.
Jared was silent for a minute, watching the flames of the pyre as he contemplated his answer. When he finally had the words, his eyes met hers. A small, charming smile curled the corners of his lips, “I’ll do what I’ve been doing. Protect the family, and you.”
Calla’s heart pounded with excitement. He really did care for her. If she had just been a way to the pass the time, he would have jumped at the opportunity to get away from her. She had sinking feeling in her gut, something she was realizing was a fact. “I think I love you,” she blurted to Jared in a breathy voice, still shocked by her own realiztion.
His eyes twinkled with adoration, “I know I love you.”
He tilted her chin to him and gave her a loving, passionate kiss. Calla’s heart was exploding with excitement and newfound feelings. Even when nothing else made sense around her, Jared felt so right. Fate and destiny was weaved into Firehaven culture, but she had never bought into it completely. Jared, however, was making her a believer. She had no other way to explain how they found each other and fell in love the way they had. The odds had truly been stacked against Calla.
A throat clearing in front of them forced them to peel back from one another. A teenage girl with brunette dreadlocks and a black nose ring was standing before them with her arms crossed over her chest. Oh right, it was Charley’s new body. “Just thought you would want to stop sucking face long enough to find out the superhero witches are leaving now,” she informed them.
Calla looked to the side of the house, seeing her clan move toward the cars to leave. Looking up to Jared, he nodded at her to go after them. Calla stood from her spot, letting the blanket drop to the ground around her before standing up and heading their way. “Flora!” she called as she rounded the building.
The pack of witches all continued to move toward their mini-van, except for Flora. She stood still with her back facing Calla. When Calla caught up to her, she had to lean against a nearby car to catch her breath. “What is it, Calla?” Flora asked, looking anywhere but Calla.
“I… I just… I just wanted to thank you for saving my life. I can’t really describe how appreciative I am, but it’s more than you can ever know. And thank all of you for coming to protect Tessa.”
Flora crossed her arms and gave a slight shrug, “We had a job to do. We came to do it, and we really need to be leaving.”
“Can you please talk to me like I’m your sister for just five seconds?” Calla practically begged her sister. “What would you have rather me done? Die? I had to give Tessa my allegiance.”
“I know that,” Flora groaned. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re no longer in the clan, Calla. In the times we are in, we have to look out our own before worrying about anything else. You know that.”
“That’s bullshit,” Calla snapped. “If you were only looking out for your own, you wouldn’t have come to help Tessa.”
“Protecting Tessa is in our best interest,” Flora defended.
“Fine,” Calla grumbled, giving her that one. “Do you really not see my as family anymore because of all this?” she asked.
Flora was still unable to bring herself to look at Calla. “You’ll always be my sister, Calla… But I can’t associate with you anymore. I don’t want to be cast out through association,” she stated coldly. Calla knew her sister was putting up a wall, not letting herself, or Calla, feel Flora’s emotions. “Bye, Calla,” she muttered, turning to walk away.
“I love you, sister,” Calla called after her.
Flora paused midstride, finally glancing at Calla.
I love you too, Calla, Flora thought.
Letting out a breath of relief, Calla watched with sorrow as her sister and the others left. She knew that the chapter of her life being in Firehaven was over, but that it wouldn’t be the last time she would see her clan. Knowing her sister still loved her was enough for Calla to not lose hope. Maybe one day she could reconnect with them, see her parents and both of her sisters again. From where she was now, that would be a life time away.
Once the van was no longer in sight, Calla headed back to the porch and sat back down next to Jared. “How did it go?” he asked, looping an arm around her.
“Better than I thought it would,” Calla admitted.
“That’s great, Cal,” Jared purred. “I know your sisters mean a lot to you.”
She nodded, “More than they realize, but that’s alright. I know everything will work out for the best in the end.”
“What makes you so sure?” Jared questioned, amusement hinting in his voice.
Calla shrugged, “Call it a hunch.” Even though she would call it fate.
They sat in silence the rest of the time as they watched Ally be cremated, a thick black smoke rising in the air. Even though it felt like the end, Calla knew it was just the beginning of something new.
* * *
&nbs
p; Click Here To Read Book 4!
Bonus Book 1
The Vampire’s Desire
(Book 1 of the Fatal Allure Series)
Martha Woods
© 2016 Martha Woods
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
For permissions contact: [email protected]
Chapter 1
I am sitting at home sipping my glass of Shiraz and nibbling on cheese and crackers. I roll my eyes as the credits roll to a romantic comedy that ended with a stereotypical happily ever after. I scoff. I don’t know why I watched it. I knew the ending would be made up of a predictable plot where the characters’ love is the most important thing in this world and completely outweighed any rational logic for what would happen after the credits stopped rolling.
“Happily ever after.” I smirk. I know that there is no such thing. At least not when it came to romance. Why did a woman need a man to make her life complete?
What happened to self-esteem? To knowing that actually, you don’t need the stereotypical bad boy to change overnight and run off into the sunset with you? I always thought these movies would have a happier ending if right at the end, when the man had “changed,” the woman laughed and told him it was only ever about sex, and walked off into the sunset on her own.
Cara, my best friend, would describe me as cynical. She would say it’s a defense mechanism – if I don’t believe in love and romance, then I don’t have to admit that it’s just never happened for me.
I would describe myself as a realist. I just don’t think we’re programmed for monogamy, at least not long term. I have to agree with Cara on one point, though. It probably will never happen for me.
I’m a twenty-seven-year-old forensic scientist working for the LAPD. I am smart. I can hold my own in situations that would turn most people’s stomachs. Yet, here’s the kicker: whenever I find myself with a man who I find attractive, I turn into a clumsy thirteen-year-old who can’t string together a sentence. I’m the one who will trip up, knock something over, or say something really awkward.
One of my least disastrous recent dates, in fact, featured me getting so flustered when the guy had bought me a bouquet that I managed to knock over the entire display of flowers, causing who knows how many dollars of damage. There went that week’s pay. Needless to say, I declined a second date.
Maybe that’s part of the reason why I’m a cynic. Sorry, a realist.
But I’m not heartbroken about it or anything. I have Bella, my adorable and loyal puppy, and right now, she’s the only housemate I want or need. She’s been my constant companion since the day I picked her up from the pound. With my crazy work schedule, she’s really the best partner I could ask for, and she doesn’t mind a good long run. I reach out and run my hand over Bella’s soft fur. She wags her tail and snuggles closer to my side.
I reach for the remote and flick through the channels. I’m looking for a horror movie, maybe a sci-fi at a push. No more icky love stuff. Sometimes I’m in the mood to leer at a Rom Com, but the inclination usually doesn’t last long. I know it’s all totally contrived. Real love doesn’t exist. And commitment just isn’t in our DNA. I’ve had enough personal experiences to know that – and worked enough cases that reinforced the idea. People would probably agree with me about my “cynical” outlook if they knew how many murders were perpetrated by lovers. Cheating spouses, insurance scams, arguments gone horribly wrong…if that’s what love is all about, count me out. Something catches my eye, and I flick back a channel.
There. A good old fashioned newscast. No fairytales here.
“We can confirm that the body of an unidentified female has been found just moments ago in the parking lot of The Watering Well.”
Great, I think. I count to five, and sure enough, as I hit five, my pager lights up. With a sigh, I lift Bella off my lap and set her on the ground, reaching for my cell phone. I call in and let the dispatcher know I’m on my way.
I grab my car keys and my purse and lock the door behind me. I get into my car and set my bag on the passenger seat. My cell phone, I place on the dashboard. My pager goes in the little alcove in the center console, where I can see the screen clearly without taking my hands off the wheel to pick it up. I have a system. Some people might call me obsessive, but I prefer organized. Obsessive, organized. Cynic, realist. Cara would say I’m just trying to justify my personality flaws. She’s a lawyer, but she likes to think she’s also my therapist. I don’t mind, though. If nothing else, she keeps my ego in check. I chuckle a little to myself at the thought. Cara would keep anyone’s ego in check. She’s gorgeous, successful, always at ease, and always kind. It’s hard not to compare myself to her and come up a bit short.
As I drive towards The Watering Well, I sigh. I can’t believe a reporter heard about this before I did. I’m the chief forensic officer for the LAPD, and I found out about a murder through a newscast! Heads would roll of people found out about this.
I push the thought away. It’s not like Rick doesn’t already have enough on his plate without me making trouble for him.
I know before I’m even close to the scene that it will be Rick. Rick Gordon. And I know before I arrive exactly what I’ll find. Rick is the lead officer investigating a series of grisly murders in the city. They have happened over the course of the last month. All of the victims are women. All of them turn up in parking lots, alleys and other outdoors places. And all of them are mutilated.
The bodies look as though a wild animal has been on them, but there is never a trace of forensic evidence to back up such a theory. These murders are very much man-made. I find that fitting. The things human beings do to each other are far worse than anything a wild animal might do.
The public is becoming restless, spurred on by the unrelenting media coverage calling for action. A resolution. You know, in case the LAPD actually have solved the case but don’t want to reveal it until public pressure builds. Because of course, that’s how it works. Not.
It’s hard not to get irritated with the media during cases like this, but I know it’s not really them I’m frustrated with. I’m frustrated because my job, my purpose, is to find the evidence that will allow Rick to do his job, that will see justice done, that will give some measure of peace to the families of the victims. But the murderer is meticulous. He must be. I haven’t found so much as a hair, a skin particle, to trace back to the killer. I feel useless. And after seeing these women, bloodied and torn, I desperately want some closure for them. I don’t really believe in ghosts or spirits or even the soul, but I still feel compelled to help the victims, even in death. How can I do that if I can’t find a shred of evidence at the crime scenes?
I arrive at The Watering Well. I park on the curb side and get out of the car, quickly grabbing my kit from the trunk. I never leave it in the car – it looks too conspicuous and Rick worries it will make me a target. He’s overprotective. Usually that would drive me nuts. I don’t need anyone looking out for me, and I’ve worked hard to make my coworkers see me as an investigator, not some potential damsel in distress. But he’s one of the most important people in my life, so I cut him some slack.
The parking lot is full, even though it’s after 1 am and the pub has been closed for an hour. Even at a quick glance, this couldn’t be mistaken for revelers spilling out of the pub. The parking lot is also crawling with LAPD. The yellow crime scene tape flaps in the light breeze. The flurry of activity that would have arisen when the officers first arrived on the scene has died
down and most of the officers stand in small groups, awaiting further instruction.
Awaiting me. Once I have trawled the scene and collected the forensic evidence – not that there will be any, I think to myself – the officers will be able to have the coroner called to the scene and the body removed. Okay, maybe I am a bit cynical.
I cross the road and duck under the tape, making my way to the largest group. Rick spots me at the same time as I spot him. He breaks away from the group and heads towards me.
Rick is somewhere in his early fifties, although he looks younger. He’s tall and muscular. His buzz cut hair has the tiniest hint of gray at the temples, but other than that, it’s jet black. He cuts an imposing figure. Poised, mean. Until you look at his dark brown eyes. They sparkle with warmth. And when he smiles, his face changes. It becomes soft and kind.
“Amy,” he says. He isn’t smiling now.
I nod a greeting. Rick looks calm, yet I know that actually he’s anything but. Inside, he’ll be concocting a hundred different ways his team can solve this crime. A hundred way to find potential witnesses gather evidence. His mind constantly whirring, looking for the break this case needs. But on the outside, he’s calm. And his appearance of calm works on two levels. It keeps his team calm. And it gives the impression of a man who has everything under control. I personally believe that this calm exterior during the press conferences is the only thing that has given the public even a tiny hope that he is well the on the way to solving this case.
“Same MO?” I ask.
