Crimson Bayou (Things that go Bump in the Bayou Book 1)

by Alizabeth Lynn

  Rafe walked over and placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I believe your sister is hungry, Gwenny. Let her get some food while you explain.”

  Gwen reached up and joined her hand with his. “Oh, of course! I’m sorry, Rissa. I’m just so excited for you!”

  Carissa shook her head in confusion as she walked into the kitchen. She thought she knew what her sister was talking about, and it didn’t sit well with her. She pulled a pot, bowl, can opener, and can of thick and hearty soup from the cabinets. Carissa set everything up and picked up the can to open it.

  Praying she was wrong, she forced herself to ask, “How did you find out, Gwen?”

  Looking over her shoulder, she watched Gwen and Rafe sit down at the table. “Dad told me,” her sister said, beaming.

  Carissa dropped the can and had to lean against the counter for support. “Dad? But…but I thought he was dead?”

  Gwen laughed, and grinned. “Dead? No, silly. That was just the story mom gave us because she didn’t like that Daddy was a werewolf.” Her sister shared an adoring look with her husband. “And we are, too.”

  Carissa’s eyes flew wide, and she simply slid to the floor. “You’re kidding me, right?” she asked weakly, echoing the same question she’d asked Nana.

  Carissa’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, finally comprehending something Eleanor said. That’s why the wolf targeted her. Because she was already one of them. It all made sense, now. The bottom dropped out of her stomach as the truth became clear. Her husband, the wolf, the mysterious man that night in the rain—it was all because of who she was, what she was. And now she was in love with a vampire. If her burgeoning suspicions about slayers and werewolves were correct, then her relationship with him was one of the most dangerous things she could ever do.

  Rafe walked over and offered her a hand, breaking into her thoughts. “No, she’s not kidding.” He took her arm when she stood and guided her to a chair. He then went back to the counter and finished preparing her meal for her.

  Gwen reached over and took her sister’s hand. “Daddy called me the night he bit you, and we hurried back home. I knew you’d need support, and we all thought it would be best if it was me.”

  Carissa pushed the bowl away when Rafe brought it to her. Her hands shook so badly she had to clasp them together in her lap. All her life, they’d been watching, waiting for the right time to make her one of them. It wasn’t being a werewolf that upset her, but the fact that the choice wasn’t hers—that a man she thought long dead had made the decision for her. And now Gwen was there, pretending everything was just the way it should be—not seeing that the lies were destroying her sister. Eyes narrowed, cheeks ablaze with heat, she glared at Gwen and her husband.

  Through gritted teeth, Carissa spoke, “Well, you thought wrong. I want you both out of my house right now! I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for our furry bastard of a father to bite me when I grew up believing he was dead! I don’t want this! I don’t give a damn how you know, or what you are. All I know is I really don’t want to see you right now.”

  Gwen stood up and went to her husband. “But, Rissa! You need us! You’re not going to make it without us!”

  Carissa shot to her feet, her eyes flinging daggers. She stepped close to her sister, putting them nose-to-nose for a brief moment. “I. Don’t. Care!”

  She spun around and stalked into the living room, the betrayal a heavy lead weight in her heart. How could they? Her own family—even her mother and Nana knew the truth, but as usual, Carissa was the last to know. Pushed well past her limit, she snatched a shotgun from the cabinet, and spun around, her face carefully blank. She pointed it at them as they crossed the hallway toward her, praying for patience and the ability to lie through her teeth without getting caught.

  “The shells are loaded with silver shot, which I hear are fatal, even for a flesh wound. I’m mad enough that I won’t hesitate to use it if y’all don’t go right now.”

  They both held up their hands and backed toward the front door. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Rissa!” her sister cried.

  Carissa adjusted the gun at her shoulder, sighted down the barrel, and placed her finger on the trigger. “Try me.”

  Carissa was shaking like a leaf as she watched them turn around and leave, shutting her front door with a soft click. Cautiously, she replaced the shotgun and returned to her chair at the kitchen table. She didn’t know how much more she could handle, but she and her mother were definitely going to have a little chat—in a day or two, after she calmed down.

  Luckily, the soup was still hot, and Carissa downed every last drop in record time, barely tasting what was in the bowl. She’d washed the dish and was trying to figure out her next move when she heard her phone trill. She thought about leaving it in her purse and ignoring the text, but if it was Ophelia, spending time with her best friend would be a welcome distraction until the sun went down and she could talk to Aden. Her anger threatened to return full force when she saw the text ID. Gwen.

  Carissa cursed. The phone was halfway back into her purse before her curiosity got the best of her. Flipping the phone open, her anger turned to fear faster than it took lightning to strike the ground. The text was simple:

  Daddy knows about your vampire. Meet me and Rafe at CP at 6pm, or the pack hunts.

  The phone fell to the floor with a clatter. Or the pack hunts. Carissa knew what that meant, and it seemed things were going from bad to worse faster than her mood swings. She slumped against the wall behind her, mind questing for any way out, but there was none, and her gut knew it. She wouldn’t even be able to warn Aden. She looked down at the phone. But maybe she could save him.

  Carissa crouched down, picking up the device and shutting the display. The time on the outside screen said four-thirty. An hour and a half to go, and she either met them, or signed Aden’s death warrant. Her eyes drifted to the faceted glass of her front door, and the distorted view she had of his house. Things were calm, now, and if she wanted to keep it that way, she knew what she had to do. Tucking the phone back into her purse, she walked back down her hall. A change of clothes was in order, and maybe an internal pep talk, because she had a bad feeling the shit was about to hit the fan.

  Carissa looked up at the cloudy sky and drew in a deep breath. It was oh-so-tempting just to turn around, get in her Durango, and drive out of town—like she almost did before—but she put one foot in front of the other and walked across the street from baby Steps. There was a little garden park in the lot next to Chicory Café. Residents of Jaune called it Chicken Park because of the clucking murals Carissa’s mom painted on the brick flower planters. No one could remember what the place was named originally, but that didn’t matter. It was a common place for teenagers to hang out after school.

  As it was six o’clock, however, most teens were at work. Carissa would have been surprised to see any of them in the shady park. Moss carpeted the backless stone bench she chose to sit on, and she rested her elbows on her knees as she got settled. She closed her eyes against the glaring light of the fading sun, and fought back the tears. She’d coped with a lot over the last few years, but this…this was on a whole new level, and she had no idea what to think anymore. She rubbed her wrist, and tried not to flinch. The skin around the bite was tinted bluish-purple with bruising, and it still stung a bit.

  A tear escaped, trickling down her face and dripping from her chin into her lap. In a little over three weeks, she’d be reduced to nothing more than her most basic animal instincts, and even though that wasn’t what she wanted, it was also the reason she couldn’t leave. Then there was Aden, the vampire that held her heart. He didn’t know it yet, but her love for him was the other reason she felt she had to stay. Fate held purpose when they met, leading him to her side when she needed support the most. With a sigh, Carissa dashed the tears from her eyes and pulled out her phone, her decision made. Her text was short and to the point, a simple:

  I’m here.

&nbs
p; And she hit send.

  She gripped her hands together and prayed for relief. Either this meeting would free her to be with Aden, or it would mean the end for them all.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Half an hour later, Carissa watched through a small gap in the park’s surrounding trees as a dark SUV pulled into the café’s parking lot. Gwen and Rafe got out of the front, followed by two younger men Carissa didn’t know. A chill skittered up her spine as she realized she was right—it was a trap. Fuck. Still, she didn’t stand until the four of them skirted the trees and entered the clearing where she sat—the only outward sign of her nervousness being her foot tapping against the cobblestone pathway. The unknown men—both tall and dark, with heavy lidded brown eyes and sullen expressions—took a stance on either side of her bench. Arms and legs akimbo, they stood silently watching Gwen, as if waiting for their next orders. Her sister came to a halt in front of her, Rafe by her side, just out of arm’s reach.

  She looked down at Carissa, her brow furrowed. “How long have you known your neighbor was a vampire, Rissa?”

  She blinked. “I thought you said our father knew about him?”

  Gwen tapped an impatient foot. “He does, but I need to know how long you have known.”

  Carissa crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. Ah, so they didn’t know as much as she thought. “What does it matter how long I’ve known about his condition? In the time that I’ve known him he’s never once treated me as you have.” She narrowed her eyes at her sister. “You tricked me into coming here, so that’s all the cooperation you’ll get from me.”

  Gwen sighed and looked at Rafe. “I told you this was going to happen.”

  He grimaced. “Yeah, you did, but we had to play by his rules.”

  Rafe turned to the men standing on either side of Carissa, and in her distraction, she didn’t realized what was happening until it was too late. She rose, but halfway off the bench, they grabbed her arms, holding her as Gwen ran back to the SUV to grab a chair and some rope. Carissa didn’t know why they wanted to tie her up, but she wasn’t going to make it easy on them. She dropped straight down, letting all of her weight fall. The men stumbled, tripping toward her, and the guy on her right let go of her arm to catch himself. She whipped out her leg, tripping the other man, slamming her right elbow back as she felt the man that had already released her try to grab her again. Pain radiated up Carissa’s arm as she made contact, the warm feel of blood coating her skin. The other man threw himself over her legs, pinning her to the ground.

  Rafe hauled her up, and with speed that almost matched Aden’s, he had her tied to the chair and unable to move. Gwen moved to stand in front of her, a frown twisting her lips. She gently swept Carissa’s loose hair from her face. “I didn’t want it to happen like this, Rissa. If you’d just mated with Ryan—”

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Carissa interrupted. “I didn’t even know about him!”

  Gwen frowned again. “Rissa, this is—that doesn’t matter right now. Just don’t let us—me—down, okay?”

  Carissa glared at her sister. “Don’t let you down? Look, when I woke up today, I had no idea I’d wind up in a fight by day’s end. This isn’t turning out like I thought it would, either.”

  Gwen returned her glare with equal fire. “This wouldn’t be a fight if you would have just mated with Ryan! Don’t you care about the pack at all?”

  Carissa closed her eyes briefly, twisting her wrists behind her back, but Rafe had tied the ropes too tight. “How many times do I have to tell you, Gwen? I didn’t know. Ryan died before his sleazy ass could tell me he was a sleazy furry ass.” Fear and betrayal churned in her gut as she leveled a chilling gaze at her sister. “I don’t give a damn about your pack. I agreed to this meeting to try to put an end to the ridiculous notion of yours—thinking I wanted something to do with y'all—and you had your rabid husband tie me up! What makes you think I’d want to agree with you about anything from this position?”

  Another figure stepped out of the shadows, and Carissa’s heart skipped a beat. Black hair and brilliantly evil gray eyes stared out at her from the chiseled features of a six-foot tall behemoth. Ryan. “I told them you’d react like this,” the newcomer said, and Carissa’s pulse stuttered.

  He sounded like Ryan, looked like her husband, but she knew Ryan was dead. She blinked rapidly, but the man before her didn't waver. He leaned closer, a wicked smile on his lips, and her heart slammed into her chest alongside a new realization. She’d had no idea Ryan had a twin—and this new man was terrifying. He smiled at her, the wind blowing his scent into her face. Spicy, floral, and beastly. She shuddered as he spoke again, “I’m Ryker, and I’ll be taking the place of your husband.”

  Carissa’s jaw dropped. “Like hell!”

  Gwen twisted her fingers together, slanting a worried look at the other werewolf. “I warned you she wouldn’t be happy, Ryker.”

  “I can be pretty persuasive,” Ryker said as he stepped up to her and trailed a clammy finger down her cheek.

  Carissa’s eyes narrowed. She kept herself perfectly still as his finger moved close to her mouth. Closer…. Closer…. his finger slid across her bottom lip, and she snapped. Her mouth flew open, her head jerked forward, and her teeth clamped down on his finger. He howled in pain, ripping the digit from her mouth, leaving a sizeable chunk of skin behind. Carissa spit the flesh out, gagging at the remnants of his blood. It tasted more bitter than tangy, she thought, as her eyes squinted, mouth puckered. Her tongue sought frantically for something to counter the startlingly harsh flavor as it infiltrated her taste buds, but there was no reprieve. His blood tasted as sour as his personality.

  Ryker growled low in his throat as he stepped forward again. His other hand whipped out, and he slapped her solidly against the left side of her face. The force of it rocked her chair. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t whimper. She lifted her eyes to glare at him, ignoring her sister’s shaking head as Gwen tried to silently tell her to stay quiet. Carissa was no one’s bitch.

  “What?” she spat, “I thought werewolves liked biting?”

  His bloody hand shot out, and he wrapped his fingers around her neck. A shimmering golden light surrounded his body, fur sprouting up along his arms. “I could pop your head off like a cork,” he growled.

  Gwen shook her head vigorously as Carissa narrowed her eyes. “Go ahead,” she told him, “We wouldn’t want to insult your masculinity by letting a feisty little woman live, now would we?”

  His fingers jerked before he removed his hand. The fur on his arms receded, the glow fading into nothing. “It’s going to be fun, breaking you.”

  Carissa tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow as her gaze roamed over his wiry body. She smiled, flinching slightly at the pain when her cheek stretched. “Gee, Ryker, with as tight as your pants are, I don’t think you’ve got the balls for it.”

  He braced his hands on either side of her on the chair. He rubbed his groin on her leg, the hard bulge beneath the fabric a clear indication of his interest. “Care to put that to the test, princess?”

  Carissa leaned back so she could see his eyes—storm gray and angrier than the tumultuous skies. Tongue in her cheek, she regarded him with a studied disinterest. “Is your wolf as puny as your dick? As angry as you are, you’re obviously compensating for something.”

  He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back with a yank. Tears gathered at the pain, but she bit her lip to keep the whimper at bay. “You need to learn some respect, woman.”

  Ryker reached up, hooking his bloodied hand into the collar of her shirt. Fear bubbled in her throat as she realized what he intended, but she held her silence. Her hands clenched at her sides as he pulled, rending the fabric and exposing her from neck to navel. His eyes gleamed as they roamed over her breasts. His gaze moving to her neck, he snatched her head to the side with a furious growl.

  He pulled her collar down further, bellowing his rage as he
got a better view of Aden’s mark. “How dare you let a bloodsucker touch what’s mine!”

  He released her hair, digging the fingers of both hands into her shoulders, squeezing until she thought she’d scream from the pain. “Mark my words, Princess: You either mate with me, or I’ll see your vampire dead the minute the sun comes up. Make your choice.”

  Carissa’s heart stuttered. It looked like the end after all. She raised her eyes to his, and prayed Aden would forgive her. “You,” she whispered.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The minute the sun went down, Aden knew something was wrong. The lunar power fizzled over his skin, sparks of warning making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Throwing his clothes on in record time, he guzzled his breakfast down cold and ran for the front door—which opened just before he could reach for the doorknob. Eleanor rushed in, followed by a woman he’d never seen before. The newcomer looked at him with suspicion in her hazel eyes. She was a few inches shorter than him, and was dressed in ripped blue jeans and a faded purple t-shirt, with a—was that a stake?—tucked into her belt beside a large hunting knife.

  “Aden? Boy, pay attention!” Eleanor snapped, smacking him lightly on the arm, “We don't have much time. This is Ophelia, Carissa's best friend. We need to rescue my granddaughter, so I came to warn you first.” Eleanor shot him a final look before turning to leave.

  He reached out and grabbed her arm, “Wait! What do you mean ‘rescue’ Carissa? Where is she?”

  “Her sister has her,” Eleanor said grimly, “I need you to clear out of here for a little while – go to Carissa's. Her house is protected every night until sunrise. Just before sunrise, go to the shack.” The old woman pulled him through the door, ignoring his feeble attempts at protesting. “Do not follow us. She'll need you to be in one piece for what's to come.”