Crimson Sins

by Madeline Pryce

  Bastian sat on the edge of the overstuffed couch, knees spread, arms on his thighs, hands dangling between his legs. He tightened his fingers around his bottle of bourbon and curled it against his chest. Instead of acknowledging his unwanted guests, he counted the array of bottles in front of him. There were two—sometimes three—for every day Morgan had been gone.

  How long had it been? Three weeks? Four? Six? He’d lost track after day ten when his heart seized up into a black, shriveled raisin. Now, he was too shit-faced to count. Actually, he was too drunk for many things—showering, shaving, getting dressed…

  “Hey, asshole, I’m talking to you.” Rory kicked the coffee table.

  Bottles danced and clanked before spilling onto the ground. Bastian wasn’t picking that shit up.

  “Fuck off.” Bastian scratched his fingers through the coarse hair of his beard before he lifted the bottle to his lips. He tipped, guzzled until it was nearly empty, and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The liquor’s sting did nothing to numb the charred embers of his feelings.

  Fucking feelings. He took another drink. Why could he still taste her on the back of his tongue? Still smell her? Still hear her throaty cries when she came? Why was his every thought consumed by her?

  Damn it. He lifted the bottle.

  Rory snatched the booze from his hand and threw it behind him. Glass hit the wall, shattered.

  Asshole. Bastian struggled to coordinate his leaden limbs to reach for a bottle on the ground. He rooted through the collection still standing and found one with a few swigs left. He knocked over about a dozen empties in the process. Glass rolled, and the pungent odor of liquor stung his eyes.

  Before he managed to get the vodka to his mouth, Rory confiscated it.

  “Seriously.” Bastian looked up, glared at his brother, and slurred, “Fuck off.”

  Rory stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth set in a firm, pissed-off line. Nolan, hands in his pockets, kept his gaze glued to the ground.

  “Why?” Rory asked. “So you can pass out in a pool of your own vomit again? When’s the last time you ate or fed?”

  Bastian shrugged and fell back against the couch. The hotel room spun in a dizzying whirl of colors. He put a hand on the floor in an attempt to still himself. “I fed the last time you brought me a happy meal.”

  “A prostitute isn’t a happy meal, and you didn’t feed then. That was a week ago.”

  A week? Really? “I’m done with women.”

  “It was a man with a vampire fetish, you dick. And, I wasn’t asking you to fuck him, just drink his blood.”

  He moved his arm to glare at his brother. Were there three of him or was Bastian seeing things? “Is there something you actually wanted?”

  “Yes. My brother back, you drunk shit.” Rory threw a piece of paper at him. “I know where Morgan is.”

  Even the sound of her name hurt. Bastian rubbed his chest and closed his eyes tighter in a poor attempt to block out the haunting image of her face. “It doesn’t matter. I fucked up, and it’s over.”

  “You overreacted to a really messed-up situation. I get it. She’ll get it. I know you miss her, so stop being such a pussy and go get her.”

  Anger heated the liquor swimming in his veins as Bastian surged to his feet. His stomach churned, and he nearly tripped over his bare feet. The spinning in his head drilled agony into the middle of his forehead. Now that he was standing, he realized he had to piss. He stumbled across the room to a potted plant near the balcony, whipped his dick through the slit in his few-days-old boxers, and set about watering the ficus.

  He leaned into the wall and braced himself with his forearm. Over his shoulder, he called, “Morgan took the money and bailed. She could have stayed, could have fought for us. Instead, she ran. That’s answer enough.” Saying the words brought the bitterness festering inside him to the surface.

  “You want to talk to me about fighting.” Rory spat the words out as if he was disgusted. “The only fight you fought was getting as drunk as possible. Congratulations, you’ve sufficiently ruined your liver—you win. Pull your head out of your ass and look around you. You’ve been living in this hotel room for weeks. Ronan has fucking vanished, probably left town when Morgan did.”

  Bastian’s gut clenched. Why did Rory have to keep saying her name? “Go away, Rory. I’m too drunk for this shit. I’m about one fifth away from total oblivion. I’d like to get back to that.”

  “Not yet,” Rory said. “Nolan has something he’d like to tell you.”

  Tell me what? Bastian tucked himself back into his underwear, scratched his ass, and shuffled back to the couch. His throat convulsed with the threat of vomit, and he pushed the sensation away. Best way not to puke was to drink more.

  In front of him, Nolan ran a hand through his hair. For the first time in weeks, Bastian realized his brother wouldn’t meet his gaze. Unease cut through his drunkenness.

  “I lied to you.” Nolan swallowed, rocked back on his heels. “Morgan never took any money—told me to go fuck myself, actually. That morning before everything went down, I offered her a payoff to leave you, and she refused.”

  “You what?” Anger simmered. Was Bastian hearing this right? He curled his hands into fists at his sides. Blood pumped faster and cleared out the sludge in his head. “You wanna repeat that, because I’m sure I didn’t hear you right.”

  “Oh, it gets better.” Rory nudged Nolan. “Go on.”

  “I want you to know I did what I thought was best. From the moment Morgan came into our lives, you were obsessed with her. I saw it, and…damn, it scared the fuck out of me. In all these years you’ve never loved anyone, never let anyone close. I knew if you lost Morgan the way I lost my Mari, it would have killed you. I saw it in your eyes every time you looked at her, and then when Ronan took her… I can’t lose you Bastian. I just can’t.” Sincere regret lurked in his brother’s eyes, but he knew Nolan. There was just the faintest hint of something else in his gaze as well.

  “What the fuck did you do, Nolan?” Bastian growled.

  “Morgan came by the bar a few days after you kicked her out. I told her you were over it and had moved on with a bunch of different women.” A desperate kind of remorse rolled off Nolan. “I was a huge dick to her. She put on a brave front, but I knew what I said tore her apart.”

  Rage exploded. Bastian lunged and blindly swung his fist. Nolan stepped to the side, and Bastian fell face-first to the ground. He lifted his head from the carpet and growled, “You fucking asshole, I haven’t touched anyone.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nolan held up his hands and backed away.

  “You’re sorry? You piece of shit.” Bastian struggled to push himself off the floor but couldn’t quite get his limbs in working order.

  “Don’t hurt yourself. We’ve got somewhere we need to be.” Rory lifted him up by the arm and dragged his drunk ass to the couch. “I got this one for you.” Rory turned and clocked Nolan in the jaw with a clean right hook.

  Nolan cupped his red, swelling injury. He glared. “That really fucking hurt!”

  Rory stepped close and got into Nolan’s face. “It’s a whole hell of a lot less than you deserve! I can’t believe you sent Morgan out there alone with Ronan on the loose. She had no money, no clothes, and then you lied to her. I can kind of understand where you were coming from, but still, no excuse for what you did. She was one of us.”

  “The hell she is.” Nolan’s nostrils flared. “She has the power to enslave us. Am I the only one who remembers what she’s capable of?”

  “Any of us could do the same, but we don’t,” Rory said. “It’s called trust. Morgan made a mistake, but she didn’t abuse her power. The moment she realized, she pulled out her magic.”

  Bastian willed some of the liquor to leave his system. “Rory, how long have you known about what Nolan did?”

  “I cornered Nolan last night and made him spill. You’ve been too drunk to notice, but he’s been hella shifty ev
er since we packed up the bar and moved into the hotel. Now I know why. I’ve been tracking Morgan since she left. Right now she’s working at a little diner in Vermont. It’s about a six-hour drive, we can make it there by sundown if we hurry.”

  “You’ve been tracking her?” Bastian asked.

  Rory shrugged. “I knew in my gut she’d never take Nolan’s money. I wanted to make sure she was safe. As long as her social kept popping up when she went from job to job, I knew she was at least alive.”

  Bastian’s chest warmed at his brother’s concern. “Ronan?”

  “No sign of him so far. Morgan’s been smart to not stay in any one place longer than a week or two. Not sure if her pattern was deliberate or not, but she’s been picking cities that don’t have any local graveyards.”

  Nolan opened his mouth but shut it when Bastian pointed a finger at him. “Don’t say one damned word. You and I, we aren’t cool. Stay the fuck out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

  “Bastian—” Nolan started.

  “No. If I wasn’t shit-faced and seconds away from puking, I’d kick your ass. I think you better leave.”

  Nolan looked at him for a long minute before he nodded. “Tell her I’m sorry.” He turned and left.

  After his brother exited, Bastian stared at the closed door until Rory snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Go get your ass in the shower, and I’ll make some coffee. We can stop off for food on the way.”

  At the mention of food, Bastian’s stomach roiled. He looked up at Rory and shook his head. “She isn’t going to want to see me.”

  “When did you turn into such a pussy?”

  Bastian pushed a hand through his oil-slick hair and recoiled when his armpit got close to his face. “You’re right, damn it.” He pushed himself off the couch and stood. “I thought having my heart stomped on and shredded wasn’t worth the risk, but not having her with me is worse.”

  * * * *

  They had to stop three times for Bastian to puke, but he’d at least managed to hold down four cups of coffee and a sandwich. They stopped by a local hospital, where they found the coma ward so he could siphon blood from a wrinkled old man. Next, they hit up a gas station so he could buy a toothbrush, paste to go with it, and some mouthwash. By the time they crossed into the snow-strewn state of Vermont, he was only partially drunk, and his mouth smelled fantastic. If only he could say the same about the rest of him. Rory cranked up the heat and made a portable sweat lodge. Bastian swore the moisture leaking from his skin was ninety proof.

  Rory navigated the slick roads and pulled into the packed parking lot of Smithies’ Diner. The small crumbling building was covered in snow, but the glow from the frosted windows looked warm and welcoming. Then, he saw her. Morgan stopped at a table near the window, and Bastian’s heart rehydrated—unshriveled—pounded a staccato beat he felt in his head.

  She pushed a strand of crimson hair off her forehead with the bottom of her pen. Around her, the air shimmered from the drove of the dead flocking to the sweet cinnamon of her magic. The dark shadows under her eyes looked like bruising but was probably from lack of sleep. Her skin was paler than normal, and if he wasn’t mistaken, her face looked gaunt, as if she’d lost weight.

  Did she have a new lover keeping her up all night, fucking her within an inch of her life? Anger he had no right to feel infused his blood with fire. No. She wouldn’t let another into her bed, not after thinking he’d so cruelly fucked her and then moved on without a thought. If only she knew he hadn’t even been able to jack off because any erection he got was because of her. Thinking about her as he stroked and twisted his dick hurt his heart too damn much, so he’d just stopped altogether. The things he’d said, the look on her face…

  “She looks like crap,” Rory said.

  Bastian nodded and rubbed the center of his chest. “Even so, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

  “A little.”

  Cold air invaded the inside of the car and swept out the stench of booze as Rory opened his door and got out. Bastian followed. Under his boots, fresh snow crunched and shifted. The brisk temperature sobered him a little more. Rory stepped aside at the door, and Bastian pushed it open with a chime of bells that announced his arrival.

  The twenty-plus patrons, including a fiery redheaded waitress, looked up and stared at him. Maybe he should have taken the time to shave his thick grisly beard streaked with midnight blue. Or, maybe he should have put on clothes that weren’t wrinkled from being shoved in a box for weeks. The only person who didn’t turn to look at him was the one person in the entire world he wanted. Needed. Craved. Being near her, the subtle scent of her necromancy coaxed life into the dead part of his soul.

  He cleared his throat, and even though he knew exactly where she was, asked, “I’m looking for Morgan.”

  Morgan’s back stiffened, and the pen she’d been scribbling against her order pad froze. He held his breath and waited for her to turn, waited to see if her eyes were as bright as he remembered.

  She pivoted in his direction, and the moment her gaze met his, the world fell away. Struck stupid, as he’d been the very first time he’d seen her, he stared when she crossed the room and stopped in front of him. Because he was in some kind of a fanatical trance, he never knew what hit him. If he had to guess, it was probably her fist.

  Something in his nose crunched, and pain exploded, radiating from the center of his face. The gush of hot liquid was instant. He cupped his bleeding nose. “Fuck, that hurt.”

  “You have a lot of nerve showing up here, you asshole,” she spat, poked him in the chest.

  “Hey, Morgan,” Rory said from beside him.

  “Hey, Rory,” Morgan called back before turning her anger back to Bastian. She fitted her hands to her hips, puffed out her chest, and glared. Even though his face throbbed, he could appreciate how fucking hot she looked all riled up. “Get out. Now.” She leaned forward and sniffed him. “Are you drunk?” She turned to Rory. “Is he drunk? What’s wrong with him? Why is he just staring at me and grinning like an idiot?”

  “He was pretty shit-faced this morning, so yeah, he’s probably still a little drunk. As for what’s wrong with him—”

  “Everything okay over here, sugar?” The redhead asked and then placed herself in front of Morgan to better glare at Bastian.

  “It’s fine, Lexie. These guys were just leaving.”

  Bastian found his voice. “No, we weren’t. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “No,” Morgan barked.

  Lexie looked back and forth between them. A slow smile curled her lips. “This is the guy, huh? You gonna tell him?”

  “Yup and nope.”

  What the hell kind of girlspeak was that? “Tell me what?”

  “That you’re an asshole.”

  “Lexie, was it?” Rory flashed his dimples and hooked his arm through the waitress’s. “Why don’t you show me to a table, and we’ll let these two lovebirds work out their little spat.”

  Bastian never removed his gaze from Morgan’s. “Nolan lied to you. He lied to me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

  “He told me you took the money, and he told you I was with someone else.”

  “Elses. Plural.”

  “There hasn’t been anyone but you. I swear. Nolan came clean only this morning, and Rory told me where you were. I’m an asshole. A jerk. I overreacted and let my anger rule my actions. I’m prone to fits of rage, and I don’t see clearly. I love you, Morgan, more than life. I’ve been a miserable drunk since you left, and I’ll do or say whatever you want. I trust you.” He dropped to his knees, gripped her hips, and looked up at her. “Marry me.”

  Bastian blinked. Had he just said that?

  Tears filled Morgan eyes, and he realized that yes, he had.

  The tip of her nose reddened, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth
. “I’m pregnant.”

  Something clanked, and then there was a curse. Background noise he barely heard over the bomb exploding in his brain. Pregnant. It wasn’t possible. He blinked up at her and said…nothing.

  “You look horrified. Say something,” she whispered.

  He swallowed. “Is it—”

  She grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged. Fire lit her eyes. “I swear on everything that’s holy, if you ask me if this baby is yours, I’ll kick you in the balls.”

  He rose, wrapped his arms around her slender body, and pulled her off her feet and into him. She melted against him with a sob that racked her body. He clutched her closer and buried his nose against her throat. Pregnant.

  “Marry me, Morgan,” he whispered into her ear.

  Bastian pulled back, cupped either side of her face, and thumbed away the tears glistening on her cheeks. He never got the chance to hear her answer. The door of the diner slammed opened as if kicked. Morgan jumped, and the vibe in the small restaurant shifted.

  Someone screamed, “Gun!” and pandemonium broke out.

  Instinct had him reaching for his weapon only to find he’d never strapped it on. Fuck. He spun, shoved Morgan behind him, and faced the door.

  Jodi—blonde hair a tangled, wild mess—aimed a gun at his chest. Her green eyes were too bright, too wide. Weight loss had her cheekbones sinking in on themselves.

  “Ronan sends his regards.” Jodi smiled through dry, cracked lips, and pulled the trigger.

  Bang. Bastian dropped the second the bullet seared through flesh. Ice-cold venom spread through his veins, carried by his pumping blood, and paralyzed his limbs. The bullet was poisoned. His cheek slammed against the linoleum floor as his world went dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Morgan’s ears rang from the deafening gunfire and the screams. She dropped to the ground next to Bastian as the first sob tore from her throat. No. No. No. She pushed her fingers through his hair before running her touch down the chilled side of his pale cheek. Her arms trembled when she tried to pull the deadweight of his body into her lap, but he wouldn’t move.