Deep in Crimson (A Return to Sanctuary Novel)

by Sarah Gilman

  “He bit and killed two of my colleagues last night!” Logan shouted.

  Fuck.

  Emerson’s gaze narrowed and shifted to Jett.

  “Yes, I did, after they killed four of us, and were in the process of kidnapping a five-year-old boy. Your government recognizes the Guardians’ sovereign right on Sanctuary land to defend civilians.” Jett scanned the crowd, hoping these humans had some sense and the facts would turn the tide in his favor. “I only came here for information on his boss.”

  Someone in the crowd said, “I heard about the murders on the news. Three were kids.”

  “Demons,” Logan snapped. “Who cares?”

  “I do.” Emerson took a step forward as sirens wailed in the distance. “Put the knife down.”

  Logan spat on the floor at the serviceman’s feet.

  Jett cursed under his breath as the sirens grew louder, but the path to the door remained blocked. He couldn’t risk shoving the humans out of his way and get accused of attacking them. Devin appeared in the doorway.

  Get out of there, the Guardian mouthed.

  Logan pivoted toward Jett, leading with the knife. Jett moved to block, but Emerson grasped the poacher’s arm, twisted him around, and flung him. The crowd parted. Logan landed face first on the floor and the knife flew from his hand.

  “Trust me, you want to stay down.” Emerson leaned over the shock-faced poacher.

  Jett met Emerson’s blue gaze and nodded, hoping the depth of his gratitude showed on his face. “Thank you.”

  The serviceman motioned toward the door and the crowd shuffled out of the way in silence. Jett hurried through and joined Devin, a mix of fury and relief on the Guardian’s face. They hustled out the door and down the street toward the SUV.

  “Well, that was fantastic,” Devin snapped as they ran.

  “Where’s Gwyn?”

  “Henry took off in a car and she’s following him in ours, so I’m riding with you.” Devin pulled the passenger door open and got in. Jett pulled away from the curve just as the police stopped in front of the restaurant down the street.

  “Did you get any good info?”

  “No.” Jett forced the word through clenched teeth. “Logan knew who I was the whole time. But Lawrence is already planning another attack. Logan made sure to drop that bit of info without adding anything useful.”

  Devin cursed. “It was a damn good try.”

  “A good try doesn’t put Lawrence in the ground.” The sense of failure sat on Jett’s shoulders like the weight of a dead man.

  Chapter Nine

  Lexine made her way through the trees toward her parents’ home, hoping to avoid running into anyone, too preoccupied for conversation.

  Her heart stung like a raw wound from seeing firsthand the destruction caused by the poachers, but the idea of spending time with Jett quelled her panic. Maybe she had a chance for a future with a demon mate. But she couldn’t get ahead of herself. She’d dated a dozen demons, a range of ages and personalities, to no avail. She had no reason to think it would be any different with Jett.

  Except for the way he stole her breath when he stood close. Made her tremble. Turned her heart into a quivering mess. None of the others had prompted such a reaction, least of all just by their presence. But did Jett feel the same way, or was he simply trying to protect her, to help her change her fate? If he only sought to give her a different future, how far would he be willing to go?

  To avoid mating with a poacher, would she mate with a demon who didn’t love her? Who she didn’t love?

  Hell, yes, because as awful as that would be, it didn’t compare to betraying everyone she cared about. But it hadn’t been fair to ask others for such a mating. They’d been right to resent her for even suggesting it. Granted, she’d told none of them just how much she had at stake—avoiding a poacher—viciously guarding her secret. They’d have more likely turned her over to the Guardians than entered into a pity mating.

  The residence building came into view and everything else in her mind quieted and retreated. Her older brother, Jac, was murdered, and her family mourned. She couldn’t avoid that pain any longer.

  The scent of baking cookies filled the air as she opened the door and stepped inside the cozy foyer. To her left, her mother huddled in the living room with Bryce over a mess of wooden toys. To her right, her father sat at the kitchen table, staring at the fingerprints in the thin layer of flour on table.

  Despite what would be a cheery atmosphere any other day, the smiles that greeted her faltered.

  “Hey, sweetie.” Her father dusted off his hands and rose.

  “Hi, Dad,” she whispered.

  He pulled her into a tight hug, a shake to his breath in her ear. “Jac’s funeral is tomorrow night.”

  Her gaze drifted to the small wine rack that rested on the counter, filled with bottles of amber liquid. Jac’s apple wine and hard cider. No words came.

  “You can stay here until the rebuilding is done, or for as long as you want.” He released her and stepped back, his expression guarded. Her family knew well her tendency to deal with grief by sticking her head in the sand. By keeping busy. By doing anything but mourning. No doubt he expected her to decline the invitation and distance herself.

  She managed a smile. Time to grow a backbone and support her family. “I’ll stay.”

  “Good.” His shoulders relaxed.

  She did need to keep busy, however. Staring at the wine again, she said, “The market is tonight. Jac wouldn’t want us to miss it.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.” He sighed.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Her father nodded and kissed her cheek.

  She headed out with a crate of the apple wine on a cart. Darkness had descended and the colony’s businesses had opened for the hours the colonists preferred to be out and about. She made her way to Sanctuary’s market—the spacious pavilion between the grenade-damaged bakery and the tailor shop. Demon-fire lanterns lined the main paths and adorned the buildings, festive decorations as well as necessary illumination for the few humans who lived in Sanctuary, Lexine with her faulty eyes, and the archangels.

  She set up at Jac’s usual table, cradled between the jeweler and the poet, who also made chocolate. The romance corner, Jac had called them. Normally bustling with activity, tonight the crowd at the market spoke in dull whispers, their steps slow, wary gazes returning repeatedly to the forest. The market wasn’t as crowded or lively as normal, everyone still wary and weary from the attack. But because of the attack, everyone needed supplies.

  No money exchanged hands at the market, not even for the special, limited items—jeans, flour, tools, electronics, etc.—that Sanctuary received from human benefactors or in exchange for exports, such as the hardwood furniture made by the colony’s carpenters. The close-knit, isolated community needed everyone to pitch in, so anyone who provided to the whole received from the whole, not that anyone less physically able to contribute was ever left for want. They’d never survive if they adopted the human system that left some families better off than others. So, she didn’t need to stay at the counter to monitor her stock, but she did, anyway. The market was as much a social event as a means of distribution.

  Her supply dwindled fast, the procession past her table steady. Everyone extended their sympathies as Lexine greeted them.

  Perhaps she could keep the business going in Jac’s stead. For years, Lexine had maintained the cemetery, a place where demons visited the memorials above the ashes of their loved ones, putting her love of landscaping and her sun-tolerant eyes to work. That didn’t take up all of her time. Recently, she’d taken to helping Jac make the wine. They’d been talking about expanding to grape wine, and Jac would love it if she kept the little winery he’d put so much effort into alive and moving forward.

  It would be perfect, so long as she didn’t fall for a poacher in the future. But how could something she resented so much possibly come true? She lifted a hand to her chest. Was s
he really so weak inside? Her thoughts drifted to Jett and a tremor took over her fingers. She nearly dropped a bottle of wine.

  “Klutz. What are you doing? Thinking about boys?”

  A laugh mingled with a sob at the memory of Jac taunting her years ago.

  “Lex?” Ginger approached, a sack of vegetables in her arms, her shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair framing her face. “Are you all right?”

  “Hey, G, I’m…fine.” Setting the bottle down, Lexine leaned over the counter and pulled her friend into a hug. “How are you holding up? I’m surprised they let you out of the house.”

  Ginger nodded over her shoulder with a tight smile. A group of Guardians spread out in the crowd. “Some girls get roses. I get an escort of a half-dozen homicidal demons. Wren loves me.”

  “Ah, so romantic.” Lexine chuckled and handed the last bottle of wine off to an older demon. She left the counter, setting the cart aside to pick up later, and fell into step next to Ginger. They made their way through the market, more talking than shopping, the Guardian entourage pacing them.

  “The funerals are tomorrow night,” Ginger said, touching Lexine’s arm. “Really, how are you doing?”

  “You know me. I’m keeping busy, trying not to fall apart.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with falling apart for a little while. But I know how you feel. I’m making a dinner tonight that’ll take me hours to prepare, trying to keep my mind off what happened today. Making myself sick with anger won’t help anything, and the twins pick up on it and cry.”

  As Lexine browsed soaps and other toiletries to replace the ones she’d lost in her destroyed apartment, she leaned toward the other woman and murmured, “When things settle down, I hope to spend some time with Jett.”

  “Jett? Does he talk to you?”

  “Yes.” Lexine selected unscented soap. Jett was unconventional, for sure, but most demons hated perfumes that covered an individual’s natural scent, and he certainly didn’t strike her as a lavender-and-rose sort of male.

  “You’re blushing!”

  Lexine nodded.

  “Hmm.” Ginger grinned, pure feminine mischief glinting in her eyes. “Excellent.”

  You have no idea, Lexine thought as she steered them toward the tailor shop.

  …

  Jett turned onto Sanctuary’s access road and pulled over. He got out, tugged off his bloodied shirt, and tore long strips from the unsoiled sleeve. A stream ran along the side of the road. He climbed down, rinsed the blood from his skin, and wrapped the torn cotton around his wounded shoulder. A moderate healing fever would close the injury soon enough.

  “Fucking-A.” Devin came around the vehicle.

  “What? It won’t kill me.”

  “I didn’t realize they tattooed you.”

  Oh, shit. Jett hadn’t thought before pulling off his shirt. He growled and climbed back up to the road, speaking to Devin but keeping a wide distance. “Thornton never missed an opportunity to assert his control over me.” He scowled down at the scattered feathers and bloody knife etched into his arm, the poachers’ signature tattoo. Pale scars transected the image, from when he’d tried to claw the damned thing off. “That’s the reason I wear long sleeves.”

  “And the scars on your back?”

  “That was Lawrence.” Jett willed the memories of the whippings out of his mind. “It’s none of your business.”

  Devin frowned and shook his head, but didn’t speak any words of pity. Smart demon.

  “Should we go after Gwyn?” Jett moved back to the driver’s side door.

  “No. She just texted that Henry disappeared in traffic and she’s on her way back.”

  “Great.” He jerked the door open. Can anything go right?

  They got back in the SUV and continued toward the colony. Devin called Lark and summed up the evening’s events. When he disconnected, he said, “Lark wants to see us as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, goodie. This just keeps getting better.”

  Devin leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes, but his face remained tense. They drove the rest of the way in silence. Jett parked near the town hall, surprised at how much those working on the building had accomplished in only a few hours. Piles of debris burned a safe distance from the building and the trees, and plastic sheeting covered the gaping hole in the second floor.

  They traveled down the path to the archangel house and found Lark pacing near the edge of the lake.

  Jett ground his teeth and approached the Guardian, positioning himself so that neither of the other demons blocked him from leaving if he chose to. “I take full responsibility for what happened tonight, but I don’t answer to you and I won’t tolerate a lecture.”

  “You’re under the impression I intend to scold you?”

  Jett arched an eyebrow.

  “It was a damn good idea and stood a better chance of getting us precious information than anything else the three of you could have done,” Lark said. “But clearly, Lawrence has made your new loyalties public knowledge. From now on, we can’t assume there are any in his circles who don’t know.”

  “But how did Lawrence find out?” Devin folded his arms and leaned against a tree. “Have you spoken with anyone since the day you escaped?”

  “I’ve spoken to no one,” Jett said.

  “I didn’t think so. What the hell?”

  Lark drew a blade from a sheath at his hip, tossed it in the air and caught it by the hilt. Toss. Catch. “Lawrence is a scientist, so he is very observant and pays attention to the smallest of details.” He met Jett’s gaze, still catching the blade with ease. “He never completely broke you, and I’m sure he knows it. After the Guardians showed up at Thornton’s and you disappeared, he must have assumed you were brought back into the fold.”

  “That’s possible, but there must be more to it,” Jett said. “Anything could have happened to me after that day. I could have died with the others. I could have gone elsewhere. He wouldn’t have written me into his plan to weaken the colony’s defenses unless he was damn certain.”

  “Yes.” Lark frowned. Toss. Catch. “However, I think it was more a test than a crucial part of his plan. He couldn’t have seriously believed all or most of the Guardians would have left the entire colony for one child. I bet he simply wanted to see what you would do. He’s been studying you your whole life, after all.”

  “I agree, but that doesn’t explain how he knows I’m even alive, let alone here.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that all evening, actually, and I keep coming back to one theory.” Lark sheathed his blade. “Will you hold still for a moment?”

  “Why?”

  “So I can find out if you’re as free as you think you are.”

  Jett froze.

  Lark pulled a small electronic device that resembled a credit card out of his pocket. He held it an inch above Jett’s skin and moved it over his body, starting at his forehead and working his way down and around to his back. He paused, staring at the tattoo for a moment before moving on. At least he spared Jett any commentary on the damned thing.

  “What the hell are you—” A series of high-pitched beeps cut off Jett’s words.

  Devin cursed.

  Lark pressed his fingers into Jett’s skin below his right shoulder blade. He leaned forward and met Jett’s stare. “You have a computer chip of some sort, probably a tracking device.”

  Jett went ridged. “Take it out.”

  “Do you want to go to the town hall to get some local anesthetic and a proper doctor?”

  “Get the fucking thing out, now!”

  “Fine.” Lark extracted a blade and dug into Jett’s back with the tip. Jett fisted his hands at his sides, a growl ripping from his throat, the pain dull in comparison to the realization of what Lawrence had done. A moment later, Lark pressed a cloth against Jett’s skin and held out a blood-covered electronic chip the size of a penny.

  “Here’s how he knew,” the Guardian said.

  Jett rea
ched for the scanner. “I need to check Bryce. He was alone with them for hours.”

  Silent, Lark handed over the device and stepped out of the way. Jett sprinted down the path.

  Chapter Ten

  Lexine hummed to herself as she arranged her things in the spare bedroom of her parents’ apartment. Jett’s voice carried from the front of the dwelling and she jumped. She hurried down the hall.

  In the kitchen, her parents and Jett knelt around Bryce. Jett held a small, black cell phone-like device in his hand and swept it over Bryce’s back, his arms, and legs. Her mother sniffled and her father’s mouth was set in a thin line, but Bryce stared up at Jett with a faint grin.

  “What’s going on?” Lexine focused on Jett.

  A bandage made of a torn shirt covered Jett’s shoulder, just above a tattoo and a series of scars that covered his upper arm. Her breath deserted her.

  She stood, frozen, staring at the poachers’ insignia and the scars that crossed it like claw scratches, the unique markings on the man in her dream. The man she’d assumed was human, considering no demon had ever worn that accursed symbol. In the dream, the man’s face had always been in shadow, but the tattoo and scars had been as clear as day. Her ears rang, and it wasn’t until her mother’s face filled her line of vision that she realized someone had spoken.

  “Lexi?” Her mother’s hands gripped her arms. “Don’t worry. Bryce is fine. Are you all right? You’re so pale.”

  Lexine eased into a kitchen chair, her fisted hands in her lap. “What’s going on?”

  Jett mussed Bryce’s hair and stood. “A tracking device was found under my skin. I had to be sure Lawrence’s men hadn’t implanted one on Bryce.”

  “Oh.” She nodded at her mother. “I’m fine.” She got to her feet. “Jett, I need to speak with you for a moment.”

  Leading him into the living room, she rubbed her hands together, racking her mind for the right words.

  “You’re shaking.” Jett stopped near the fireplace. Covered in a sheen of sweat and sporting the stained, makeshift bandage, he contrasted with the cozy decor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”