by R. E. Carr
One
R. E. Carr
To Nancy, you’ve been here every step of the way. Without you, I might have finished this series even sooner…
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Obligatory Post Credits Scene
Acknowledgments
Second Obligatory Post Credits Scene
1
“I may not have known Georgia Sutherland very well, but I know enough that she would have wanted us all to drink a lot in her honor,” Paige DeMarco said, raising her glass. Rather than chug her whiskey as her companions did, she poured her shot on the ground. Their little band gathered around a picnic table, the sweet scent of barbeque wafting over from a smoker.
“To Georgia,” Paige’s friends replied.
“Poor Morgan,” Billy Black said softly. His brother, Sam, nodded in agreement. “God knows what’s happened to him. When we rescue him, we have to be the ones to tell him his little sister is dead. I mean, how much tragedy can one man take until he snaps?”
Paige averted her eyes at the mention of Morgan. The Black brothers leaned against the back wall of their new pack hideout—an old-school brick Italian restaurant in the outskirts of downtown Nashville. Next to them stood the other members of their old pack of misfits including their new members, Bernard and Wesley—all keeping a wary eye on the other group of werewolves.
On the other side of the table, the ever-stoic Nadia Volkov tipped back a fifth of vodka while the ginger twins, Kyle and Kayleigh O’Hara, alternated taking shots and neatly filling in the lines of their adult coloring books.
“Hey, Shorty Spice, you alright?” Toy Jackson asked softly as she handed Paige a lemonade, so she could join in the toasting. Toy followed up the gesture by giving Paige a one-armed hug.
“I’m starting to get why werewolves aren’t big on funerals,” Paige muttered as she watched the awkward attempts at talking between drinks. She furrowed her brows as she saw her mom poking at the grill with one hand and nursing an oversized chianti in the other.
Maria DeMarco let out a deep sigh. She took a few swigs before turning to smile sadly at Paige. Toy leaned over and whispered, “She looks pretty broken up.”
“What do you expect? Georgia saved her, and we just let her get kidnapped and killed,” Paige said softly.
Toy squeezed her again. “It’s not your fault we went up against a shapeshifting vampire bitch—”
“Who fooled us twice.”
Toy raised a brow. “As one of the victims, I get it. Everyone keeps looking at me like I’m going to turn into a raging bloodsucker at any second. If Bernard jabs me with one more security toothpick, there will be four-feet-eleven-inches of Atlanta-born solid-black werewolf sending his hairy ass back to Idaho.”
“I would pay to see that,” Kayleigh muttered from the table. “Someone get me a box of toothpicks.”
“Can it, Freckles,” Toy snapped. Meanwhile, Paige slipped away to the end of their little conclave, leaning her head against her mom’s shoulder and getting a better look at the funeral spread of pork roast and ribs. She stared at a lone black bean burger hanging out in the corner of the grill with the peppers and onions.
“I made one in honor of her,” Maria said. “Silly, huh?”
“It’s kinda awesome, Mom.” Paige eyed the sun growing low on the horizon. “I’m going to go get the others. It’s getting dark.”
“I don’t think Grandpa wants to join us,” Maria warned. “He’s . . .”
“Yeah,” Paige finished for her. “Don’t worry, I’ll at least make sure he’s not hurting himself.”
“Can you grab the buns and another bottle while you’re in there? I’d hate to think of this crew as being hungry and out of booze.”
Paige gave a little nod before slipping through the back door. She swooned slightly as the first blast of air-conditioning hit her and let out a deep breath as she steadied herself. Her belly responded with a flurry of kicks.
“Hey, you OK?” She heard a gravelly Southern accent ask. “Paige?”
“I got nauseous in AC even before,” she growled as she tried her best to wave the concerned Jonathan Dean away. The tall, dark, and handsome Texan was not so easily dissuaded, and he sauntered over, slurping a drink through an opaque straw. Paige wrinkled her nose at the faint aroma of blood as he approached.
Jonathan rested his free hand on her shoulder. He smiled what would have been a very reassuring smile, if his fangs didn’t protrude quite so obviously. “Hey, just looking out for you.”
“No, you are being an overprotective worrywart,” she replied as she looked in his direction with a somewhat sad smile on her face.
“An adorable, overprotective worrywart?” he asked as he lowered his gaze, so he could then peek at her with intoxicatingly bright-green eyes. Paige responded with an eye roll and a sigh worthy of Toy. “Come on,” he teased. “I’m pretty sure I’m at least adorable. I have a tail, after all.”
Paige leaned in closer and took a deep sniff of his travel cup. She raised a brow as she detected distinct notes of oak and alcohol over the coppery richness of the liquid still clinging to the straw. “Who made your magic shake this evening, Jonathan?”
“Oh, my bro, Steve, did. We might have jazzed it up a little, you know, considering . . .”
“That’s more than a little jazzed up,” Paige grumbled. “That’s a full orchestra of booze in there. You just got up, too.”
“I’m still getting used to the whole nocturnal thing. Hey, it’s totally five o’clock though. Pretty sure a little funeral drinking is allowed.”
“Just eat something,” she said with a sigh. “Is Steve—?”
Jonathan pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen. He remained planted firmly in front of Paige, giving her a concerned look as he reached back to her. She let out another sigh as her stomach growled audibly.
“You wanna go ahead and start eating? I can grab the other bloodsuckers,” Jonathan offered.
Paige bared her teeth. “I’m so tired of all this.”
“Well, you’re—”
“Pregnant?” she snarled. “I’m nothing but an angry, frustrated eating-machine who can’t make it a half hour without needing to pee. I’m seriously about to punch the next thing I see with a penis.”
Jonathan made his face as neutral as possible. “I was just trying”—
Paige cracked her knuckles. “Believe me, there is absolutely nothing you can say that will not piss me off right now.”
“On account of my having a penis?” he asked sincerely.
Paige nodded solemnly.
“So,
I shouldn’t mention the batch of peanut butter cookies and the pint of vanilla ice cream I made, then?”
Paige blinked a few times. She sniffed the air again and her stomach growled louder.
“Normally, I’d do chocolate chip, but, you know, werewolf . . . and carob chips are kinda disgusting—” Jonathan responded as he shrugged his shoulders.
Paige interrupted him by planting a kiss firmly on his lips. He looked slightly alarmed as she licked the traces of spiked blood. She rolled her eyes and sauntered past him. “OK, you found one thing you could say that wouldn’t piss me off. I’m going to do my best to bring my Grandpa out for a little bit. Wish me luck.”
“You’re gonna need it,” Jonathan muttered as Paige slipped into the kitchen. She immediately found herself face-to-face with a rather surprised young vampire girl, a girl who nearly spilled her sippy cup of blood all over Paige as the werewolf opened the door.
“Sorry!” Gail Harker yelped as a few droplets landed on Paige’s chest. The vampire leapt backwards and took a few moments to relax her breathing while Paige frantically tried to clean herself up. The vampire grinned sheepishly as she handed Paige a napkin from a pile by a tray of cutlery and condiments. “A-as hard as I try . . . when you guys sneak up on me . . .” Gail stammered. “You are truly a tiny, terrifying—”
“It’s OK, really,” Paige said, trying her best to stay calm. “Is my Grandpa hiding back there?”
“Go away!” A familiar, if slightly slurred, voice called from the office next to the pantry.
Paige smiled to the vampire girl. “Would you mind carrying the buns and stuff out there? I’ll check on Grandpa Steve,” she said as she moved further towards the back. She paused for one second to helpfully add, “You’re gonna need more sunscreen. It’s still pretty bright out.”
Gail smiled awkwardly, showing off her fangs. Paige pressed onward, leaving the bloodsucker girl to fend for herself with the rest of the pack. She followed her nose to the darkened office. Even the stench of a litter box couldn’t overpower the whiskey vapors in the air.
“What part of go away was unclear?” Steven J. DeMarco grumbled from the shadows.
Paige saw the reflective eyes of the litterbox’s owner first, then the glint of the kitchen light peeking through to catch the tip of a bottle. She leaned against the doorway, biting her lip as she saw a pair of red eyes barely visible from behind some greasy curls. “Great Grandpa?” she asked softly. “How long—?”
“Long enough to really piss your mother off,” Steve slurred, letting out a belch. “By the way, the whiskey is gone, and now Walter is almost gone.”
He plopped his plain, dark bottle on the office desk. The cat in his lap grumbled at the movement and dug his claws into the vampire’s thigh. Steve echoed the furball’s complaining as he attempted to untangle himself from the feline. “Schrodinger!” he called as the cat plopped to the floor and scuttled away, but Steve made no real attempt to go after the poor thing.
“Walter?” Paige asked with a raised eyebrow.
“You would be amazed how many alcoholics you can get to donate blood, if you buy a few rounds,” Steve said, sloshing his bottle around. “This particular batch is Walter. His wife left him last Thursday for his lawyer . . . and he’s really heartbroken about having to find a new lawyer.”
“Steve—”
“What?” he snapped. “What do you want me to do—go out there, smile at a bunch of perpetually pissed off werewolves, and say something sympathetic and mildly amusing for the masses? Should I pretend to wipe away a tear to show that I have emotions? Just tell me what sort of show you want me to put on, Pip, and I’ll do it, then you can leave me to my wallowing in peace.”
Paige crossed her arms over her belly but didn’t say anything. As she gnawed on her lip, Steve mimicked the gesture. After a few moments of awkward silence, Paige headed over and gave her great-grandfather a hug, nearly swooning at the mix of miasma and alcohol wafting from his pores. He tried to steady her but ended up toppling from his chair and banging his head against the desk with a terrible thud. Paige mumbled a prayer of thanks that her mom had insisted on all metal furniture. “You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to, Grandpa. You knew her better than all of us.”
Steve pushed to his feet, grabbed his bottle, and downed it all. He then tugged his wayward curls into submission, wincing as he brushed the fresh bruise. “You know, my vampire dad didn’t teach me very much, but he always warned me about the Pendragon problem. He told me that the reason that our enemies were so moody all the time was because they kept having relationships with humans, and humans always die on them. You think werewolves have awkward funerals? I’m sorry, but they don’t hold a candle to vampires. As much as the Jaeger clan are assholes, I really get where they are coming from right now.”
“Look, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, but please, if you can just put on a mask for mom . . .? Just give her a hug or something. I know that we’re all messed up, but she’s stuck in the middle of all this—”
Steve nodded quickly before motioning Paige back for another smelly hug. He pressed his chin against the top of her head and confessed, “I’ve always been an idiot and never listened to my elders anyway. I just can’t help but feel responsible. If Arthur had remembered how much Georgia meant to his host . . . maybe . . .”
“We can blame ourselves forever,” Paige whispered.
“But a fat lot of good it will do us,” her great-grandfather finished for her. He took a deep breath. “A sane vampire would never go out in the sunshine to meet a drunk pack of werewolves.”
Paige pulled away and shot him a look. The corner of his mouth curled into the faintest of smiles. “Georgia would call you a wuss,” she chided gently.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to offend her ghost,” Steve murmured as he followed Paige into the kitchen. Jonathan and Gail waited in the doorway with sunscreen and a fedora for him. In the light, all of them did a double-take at his ghastly pallor and bloodshot eyes. Steve raised a hand before Gail could speak. “I know. I look like hell. I will eat someone sober after I’ve said goodbye to my wife. Fair?”
Gail nodded. Jonathan cocked his head and looked like he was searching for the right thing to say. Both DeMarcos raised a brow at him. Paige finally cleared her throat impatiently.
“Um, before we go out there, can I ask a question of my bro?”
“Are you really asking if you can ask a question?” Paige asked, a bit of her growl creeping into her voice. The vampires let out an awkward chuckle as Jonathan got even more flustered. Finally, Gail nudged him. Paige snarled reflexively, and everyone jumped. “Whoa!” Jonathan said, raising his hands innocently.
Paige facepalmed. “Sorry, pregnant werewolf moment. Just give me a second.” She took a deep breath, grabbed a rag and the cleaner from a nearby shelf, and started methodically wiping every fingerprint from the steel counter. The others watched cautiously, while Paige focused on her task at hand.
“Just spit it out before the fur starts flying,” Steve said while giving a sidelong glance towards Paige. Jonathan handed Steve his fedora and smiled sheepishly in her direction.
“Look, I’m still not Lorcan, but I have bits and pieces floating around. I feel like . . . well, I feel like I should feel something, and I don’t know what exactly. I mean, it’s like I have all this stuff I want to say to you, Bro, but the words just fail me. We are like brothers, right, and you lost your wife—”
Steve smiled tautly. “Let me stop you right there, Bro. Yeah, biologically, technically we’re vampire half-brothers, but I think you should know this. You couldn’t stand me. You put up with me because you thought I was some halfhearted gesture by the Jaeger family to make peace.”
“Yeah, I didn’t quite get that—”
Steve, however, pressed on. “You thought I was a terrible influence on your son, but since he was rotting anyway, you let me get away with it. In fact, you once told me that my only worth to vamp
ire society was that I could make people forget I even existed. You would have despised me, if I ever actually made myself worth your time. You were the grand high lord of the most powerful family in vampire society and I was a pissant.”
“But Georgia—”
“Georgia was the person who saved your son, but she was dreadfully inconvenient to you and to all the vampire lords, so why don’t you leave it at that?”
Jonathan stared, confused, at the seething vampire. Across the kitchen, Paige focused all her efforts into scrubbing, even as her claws began to emerge from under her nails. Finally, the hybrid gave up and shrugged. “I’m sorry, man. No one should lose someone they love,” he said softly before heading out the kitchen door.
Gail took a timid step forwards and set the bottle of sunscreen on the counter. She searched for words for a second before muttering, “It sucks. Sorry for your loss.” Then she took her turn at a hasty exit.
Steve looked sadly over to Paige. “I think they are more scared of me than a room full of werewolves,” he said with a rueful laugh. “I’m not sorry though. I just don’t have the energy to be nice right now, not to them. I’m trying to save it all for you and your mom, OK?”
Paige put down her rag and fumbled her way over to him. They shared an awkward hug as Steve tried not to squeeze her too hard. Her tail had escaped from under her waistband and joined in the embrace. “You don’t have to force it,” Paige murmured against his chest.
