Crimson Midnight (A New Adult Dark Urban Fantasy Series) (The Crimson Series Book 1)

by Amos Cassidy

  Well that was that. Sure it had been a tough call, her head over her loins, her mind over her heart, that kind of thing. But ultimately it was all about the not getting burned part and there was no way she was going to voluntarily get in line for heartache of the century. She took another calming sip, casting her mind back to Monday night.

  After Thistle had informed her about werewolf bonding she had sat in her room for a half hour thinking it all through. Finally, when she had fully processed it all, she had left her room in search of Roman.

  There was only one course of action in her mind and that was to confront Roman and come to a mutual agreement. The house had been quiet, everyone had left and Flo was already tucked up for the night. She’d rapped lightly on Roman’s door but getting no response had decided to search the house. She’d found him in the den watching some late night gangster movie and had felt a pang of longing when he had looked up at her, his eyes alight with joy.

  “Werewolves mate for life, don’t they.” She had said, challenging him to deny it, some part of her hoping that he would. As it turned out he hadn’t. He really was one of the good guys. He could have spun her some get out of bonding clause and she might even have let herself believe it. Thistle was a vampire after all– she couldn’t possibly know everything there was to know about werewolves. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a beat so long she thought he might have fallen asleep. When he opened them that light she had seen was gone. In its place was a deep darkness, the darkness of uncertainty and the knowledge of fate all rolled into one. He had invited her to sit and she had, and then he had told her basically what Thistle had told her. But aside from that, he confessed his fear of being bonded to someone he could never truly love, or never finding his mate, and being forced to exist without love in a waiting game that never came into fruition. Or not being able to truly be himself with a woman, of never being able to share his innermost thoughts for fear that it would invite too close a relationship, leading to something more than he was free to give.

  “Why me?” she’d asked. “Why let your guard down with me? You seemed to be doing so well.” She knew she shouldn’t ask that question, really, really didn’t want to know the answer but her mouth seemed to have a will all of its own.

  “Sometimes the heart takes over,” he had said. “And when it does it can be impossible to tame.”

  Suddenly they were sitting too close, the air around them too close, their breath mingling enticingly, and their hearts beating in sync. As if reading from a subconscious script, their bodies moved toward each other, a subtle shift which brought their lips together in the softest kiss, full of need and longing, a wish never to be fulfilled. It was a goodbye kiss of times not to be had, only imagined.

  They had broken apart slowly and Roman had gently caressed her face, his eyes full of sadness.

  They had said goodnight.

  “You want another?” Roman asked, yanking her out of her reverie.

  “Huh?” She quickly hid her shock and excitement, reorienting herself and realising he wasn’t offering to kiss her again.

  Roman held up the kettle looking slightly bemused at her expression.

  “No thanks.”

  He turned his back on her, placing the kettle back on its stand, then stood facing away from her, his hands on the counter, his head hanging. She watched the play of muscle under his T-shirt as he sighed deeply, and she tried to ignore the tightness in her chest. She realised then that he was finding this just as hard as she was– the acting normal around each other, the silent agreement on a no touching pact, the talking about the weather and coffee when all either of them wanted to do was wrap themselves around each other and never let go. She itched to run her fingers across his broad back, to grasp his shoulder and turn him to face her and bury her head in the hollow of his neck.

  “Stop it, Rose,” he said softly.

  “What?” Her voice was a rasp.

  “I can feel you…” His voice deepened, husky and raspy at the same time. “I can feel you all around me.”

  The air was suddenly buzzing with tension. Rose gripped the table edge, torn between tearing out of the room and rushing toward him. This couldn’t last, surely? Surely it would get easier with time?

  “Morning!” Flo entered the kitchen, her gaze flitting from Rose to Roman, quickly assessing the situation. “Rose, luv, would you check on Erin for me, make sure he’s brushed his teeth?”

  “Sure.” Rose exhaled, relieved to have the decision made for her. Tearing out of the room it was, then.

  Flo waited until she was sure Rose was out of earshot. “You alright, luv?” she asked tentatively. She wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. Until Harold’s crude outburst on Monday night, she had been completely oblivious to Roman’s feelings toward Rose. She should have really anticipated something. After all, Rose was a beautiful young woman. Her Roman had always been the playboy– so many girls, so little time. And then he had Thistle didn’t he? She really hadn’t anticipated the threat that Rose posed. She shook her head. What was the world coming to when the thought of your son falling in love could be viewed as a threat? She knew what he was, how things worked and she had no choice but to accept it. But she was also a mother and as a mother she wanted nothing more than for her son to be happy. Right now she could feel his pain as certainly as if she had borne him herself. “Roman, luv?”

  “I’m okay, mum, please just leave it.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No…I just want things to go back to how they were.” He turned slowly, flashing her a bright smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  In that moment she decided to play along. If it helped him to pretend everything was all right then so be it. He must have, however, picked up on the fleeting spark of scepticism in her eyes before she masked it because he threw back his head, exhaling heavily.

  “Rose and I…there’s nothing going on, there can’t be, so you don’t need to worry that we might…abuse your home.”

  Flo’s mouth fell open in surprise. She shook her head vehemently. “Don’t be silly, luv. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you.”

  He moved toward her gently, grasping her shoulders. “Seriously, Rose and I…we just need to spend some normal time together doing normal things. And it’ll soon be forgotten, just a silly crush.” He chuckled, a sound that sounded false even to his own ears.

  “Okay, luv, okay.” Flo patted his cheek. She really hoped that he was right.

  By the time Rose had urged Erin to get ready for school, Roman had already left for work. She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed that he hadn’t said goodbye. She’d just finished dressing warmly in a form-fitting crimson turtleneck and black skinny jeans. Autumn was definitely here. And from the way the rapidly browning leaves were blowing around on the trees outside, she knew it would be a blustery day. Her mobile phone began to vibrate on her bedside table.

  It was her dad. She flipped open the phone. “Hello, dad. How are you?”

  “Rose, it’s good to hear your voice.”

  Rose felt a pang of guilt. She’d only made two calls home since she’d arrived in London almost five weeks ago. She imagined she could hear the chastisement in her father’s tone. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been-”

  “Busy, I know, don’t worry. I thought I’d leave you a voicemail, thought you might be at work.”

  Shit! “Um, I’ve got a couple of hours off this morning. I was just about to call you actually.” She hated lying but what could she do? She could hardly tell her dad the truth, that she hadn’t called because she had been distracted by the revelation that she was a supernatural being and was in the subsequent adjustment faze. “Dad, I meant to ask you, um, do you know much about our family tree?”

  There was a slight pause before her father answered. “No, not really. I was never interested in that kind of stuff. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, nothing, I
was chatting to Faye and we got talking about relatives and ancestors and she can trace her family back five generations. It got me thinking about mine.” She forced a chuckle, which she hoped sounded genuine. “It got me wondering if we had any colourful relatives in our past.”

  “Colourful?”

  “You know eccentric…weird?” She held her breath, waiting for his response.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, Rose, if we have I can’t recall, but you never know.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You are a strange thing.” He said fondly.

  “I guess I am. I love you, dad.”

  “I love you too, hun. And I’ll see you soon?” He sounded hopeful.

  “Defo, I’ll come down as soon as I can get a Saturday off.”

  “You do that.”

  She made a kissing sound down the phone.

  “Okay, Rose. Bye now.” He hung up

  “Rose! Maxwell is here!” Flo shouted up from the bottom of the stairs.

  She pulled on her ankle boots and bounded down the stairs, stopping short in the hallway at the sight of her escort for the day. He was standing facing the stairs. His hair was tightly braided away from his face, allowing his caramel skin and chocolate brown eyes to draw full attention. Like her, he had also dressed for the windy day in jeans, a turtleneck and a light leather jacket. He looked like he had just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

  “You’re the hot barman,” she blurted, straight from brain to mouth. Sometimes she cursed her lack of a filter.

  Maxwell grinned. “I like that, might put that on my CV.”

  Rose felt instantly at ease and found herself returning the grin. “What, next to part- time warlock?”

  He chuckled, extending his hand. “As of yet we haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Maxwell Jones.”

  Rose took the proffered hand. “Rose Carmichael.”

  He cocked his head, studying her for a moment as if deciding whether to tell her something or not.

  “What?”

  “Manga Chick.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what I nicknamed you when I first saw you at The Whisper.”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “How original.”

  “Oh, and I suppose ‘hot barman’ is the height of originality?”

  “Touché.”

  Maxwell swept his arm out toward the door. “Shall we go?”

  Rose was suddenly apprehensive. She had been distracted by Roman this morning, then by Erin and finally, by her father. She hadn’t really had time to think about what she was going to be doing today. Now it hit her anew. By registering she was truly committing herself to a new life, there would be no going back.

  Maxwell, seeming to sense her hesitation, smiled reassuringly. “Trust me. You’re doing the right thing.”

  “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “This is where you register?” Rose stood staring at the small antique shop in Kentish Town with an incredulous expression on her face.

  Maxwell looked smug. “What did you expect? Bright green neon arrows pointing down toward it? It’s completely under the radar, and no one would guess it was a registration point.”

  “So how the hell do people, I mean, supernatural people, find it.” She was scanning the building, trying to find a sign that made it different from the average antique shop, some subtle thing that said “yes, this is the registration building.’

  Maxwell went to reply but Rose held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t tell me, you have a supernatural directory or something.”

  Maxwell’s eyes twinkled. “Most of what we do travels word of mouth throughout the community. There’s a registration post in every major town and city. Once people register, that information goes into a large database that can be accessed by a select few. Look up there.” He pointed to the right hand corner of the sign that read ‘Shoe Box’, the name of the shop.

  Rose studied the small area, stepping closer to get a better look. And then she saw it, a small upside down question mark. “I see it!”

  “That’s the symbol to look for.” Maxwell pushed open the door with one arm and stepped back to make room for Rose to enter. “I’ll be outside,” he said as she stepped in.

  She turned to ask him what she had to do, what she had to say but the door was already closed. She grasped the handle and twisted but it refused to budge.

  “Maxwell? Maxwell!” She peered through the window and could see him standing outside with his back to the shop. She raised her hand to bang on the glass to get his attention when something moved in the periphery of her vision. She spun round to see a spherical object flying toward her face. She reacted before she had a chance to think and then stared in awe at the golf ball in her hand only inches away from her face. Her legs felt suddenly rubbery. The tiny hard ball could have smashed her face!

  “Nice catch.” A stooped old man was standing behind the counter next to the ancient-looking till. His face was a weathered map of lines, his hair in contrast a thick white mop. He smiled toothily at her.

  “What the hell do you think you’re playing at? That was bloody dangerous!” She subjected him to her most punishing glare. She would have been more colourful in her language but the man was old, so in respect to his age, and obvious lack of co-ordination - he had probably meant for her to catch the ball with her hand not her face - she restrained herself.

  “Nice catch,” he said again.

  Rose stared at him. There was something odd about the man but she couldn’t quite place it. “I’m Rose,” she said.

  “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Rose stepped closer, her eyes scanning his face. Something was wrong. “So you own this shop?”

  “That’s correct.”

  He was watching her, really watching her. She could see his eyes moving in little dart-like motions over her face. As if he was cataloguing her every feature.

  There was something wrong. “So you know why I’m here?”

  “Oh yes, my dear. That I certainly do.”

  That didn’t sound quite right, even though it should have. Rose’s eyes widened slightly as she realised what was bothering her about the little man. It was his voice. His voice didn’t match his age. If she closed her eyes and just listened to his voice, the picture in her mind of the speaker would be a man at least three decades younger than the one before her.

  She closed her eyes. “Say something.”

  “I’m sorry, dear? I don’t understand.”

  And there it was. In her mind’s eye she saw a man about six feet tall, dark hair threaded with silver, startling blue eyes slightly crinkled at the corners, deep laughter lines framing his wide, generous mouth. The voice belonged to this man. She felt it with a certainty she couldn’t explain.

  She opened her eyes.

  The old man took a step back, his eyes widening slightly. His age spotted hand clutched the counter top as if for support.

  Rose blinked. He looked so blurry and out of focus. She rubbed her eyes, turning away. Her gaze fell on a display of silver cutlery, sharp and defined against the plush red velvet background they had been set on. She frowned, turning back to the man. She blinked rapidly trying to clear her vision. Then back to the cutlery, which she could see just fine.

  “What…what are you doing?” He sounded suddenly uncertain, afraid.

  Rose shook her head then stared directly at him. “I just…I can’t see you properly.” Her voice sounded as if it was coming from somewhere far away. “Why can’t I see you? I want to see you.”

  And then it happened, as if someone had lifted a gauzy curtain from between them. He came suddenly into complete focus. Rose slapped her hand over her mouth in shock. Six feet tall, dark hair threaded with silver, startling blue eyes slightly crinkled at the corners, deep laughter lines framing his wide, generous mouth. It was the man she had envisioned.

  It was a small consolation that the man looked just as shocked as she felt. He stared down at the backs of his hands as if looki
ng for the age spots that had decorated them only a few moments ago. A moment passed then he looked up at her, his eyes alight with a mixture of emotions, awe and excitement, and…fear? She couldn’t be certain.

  “You can see me?” His voice was a whisper. “My God, you can actually see me…the real me…how...”

  “You’re just how I imagined,” she said softly.

  “What?”

  “I closed my eyes and I saw you and then you were here.” Man, she was confused.

  He bounded toward the window and banged on it hard. “Maxwell!” he shouted. “Get in here!”

  A moment later, Maxwell entered the shop and started in surprise at the man standing before him. “What the fuck, Mick? You know it’s against the agreement for you to be looking like…like yourself.” He finished lamely.

  Mick shook his head. “It wasn’t me, she did it.” He jerked his head in Rose’s direction.

  Rose held up her hands defensively. “Wait a minute, I didn’t do anything.”

  Maxwell looked questioningly at the tall man.

  Mick sighed, rubbing his head in exasperation. “She reversed my glamour spell.” He said tightly.

  “What?!”

  “You heard me! So please don’t make me say it again.” Two spots of colour had appeared high on his cheeks.

  Rose resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Maxwell turned away quickly locking the door. “This is…I don’t know. How could she?” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, staring wide-eyed at Mick.

  “I don’t know. It’s never happened before. It shouldn’t be happening now.” Mick began pacing the floor.

  “How long before you can re-cast?”

  “A day or so. I’ll have to close the shop, or get someone to cover it. Shit!” He tugged at his hair.

  Rose, who had been watching the two men with barely restrained patience, felt the final thread snap. “That’s it! If someone doesn’t start giving me some answers right now I swear I’m going to have to go all ninja on your arses!”