by Deanna Chase
“I think this is yours, too,” he said, holding up something small and metal.
It was a plain gold ring. Elise spread the fingers of her right hand and found them bare.
She wasn’t wearing her warding ring, but James’s mind was closed off to her. He must have been wearing his. He had finally given her what she had wanted: to be left alone. But she didn’t want him leaving her alone now. She wanted to know where he had gone so that she could kick the teeth out of his handsome face.
“Thanks,” she said. She didn’t put the ring back on her finger. She unclasped the chain of charms and dropped it among the crosses and pentagrams, then affixed the necklace around her throat.
“Have fun in Northgate?” Anthony asked, sauntering away from the mountains toward McIntyre’s trailer. She followed.
“You have no idea,” she said.
“Kill the bad guys?”
“Mostly.”
“Is everyone safe?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to say “yes,” and then shut it. Elise wasn’t sure. “I don’t know,” she said. “You said it’s almost midnight?” He nodded. Plenty of time to skip ahead three time zones and pay a visit to the pack. “I need to go back.”
Anthony hesitated mid-step. “For Lincoln?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Nah,” he said. “Guess not. Call me if you’re going to go mysteriously missing again, though. Dana and Deb were worried about you.”
Elise managed a faint smile. “Only the kids?”
“Leticia, too.” Anthony wasn’t going to admit that he had missed her. It didn’t matter. She could see it in his eyes.
She nodded once, then returned to Northgate one final time.
Elise still couldn’t enter the werewolf sanctuary, no matter how many times she threw herself at it. James’s wards were as merciless as ever. Maybe it was her imagination, but they seemed to slap her down harder every time she lunged at them, like they were trying to convince her to stop.
They succeeded. She ended up pacing along the place that the border of the wards intersected with the road, glaring at the sparks of magic helplessly.
A significant amount of time seemed to have passed since her last visit to the sanctuary, although she had no sense of how much, exactly. The branches were bare of all their colorful leaves, making the forest look like endless hills of gray skeletons. The wind carried the bite of winter.
How had James drawn those new runes? She used to be able to cast his paper spells if he made them first. Maybe, if she could figure out his newest magic, she could break the wards herself.
But she didn’t need to. A motorcycle buzzed up the road, heading out of the sanctuary.
Elise stepped into its path. It stopped a foot away from her.
The man on the front of the bike flipped up the helmet’s visor. “Elise?” It was Seth, wearing a leather jacket and a pair of distressed jeans.
She pressed her lips into a thin line without responding. She searched the sliver of his face for some hint of resemblance to Adam—some small indication that the blood of the first man was somewhere in his lineage. Maybe his eyes had that easy-going kindness that Adam used to have, before he became God. He was as handsome as Adam, though in a completely different way.
No, the blood of God had been changed throughout the millennia. They looked nothing alike.
But he had opened Eden. Appearances aside, the blood ran true.
“Hi,” Elise said curtly.
The woman on the back of the bike—sidesaddle, no less—wasn’t wearing a helmet. It would take a lot more to kill an Alpha werewolf than a crash in traffic. Rylie dropped her grip on Seth’s waist and stood.
“Oh my God,” she said. “I thought that you were dead.”
“Not yet. How long has it been?”
“Three weeks,” Rylie said. She swallowed hard. “Almost four, actually, since the fight in Northgate.”
Dread pooled in Elise’s gut. No wonder they had given her up for dead.
“How many fatalities?” Elise asked.
“If you’re asking about the pack? None,” Rylie said.
Seth pulled his helmet off and held it under one arm. His hair stuck up on the side. “We got lucky. Nash took three of Lincoln’s bullets before James drove him away, and he’s healing. Summer’s babying him. He loves it, of course.”
“Sir Lumpy’s tail got singed in the fires, too,” Rylie added. “He’s extra cranky now. But Trevin bounced back from his wounds pretty much overnight.” She gave a shaky smile. “The cottages took a lot of damage. We’re still rebuilding.”
Elise frowned. “What about outside the pack? Northgate was burning.” Seth just shrugged. Rylie didn’t meet Elise’s eyes. It must have been bad if they didn’t want to tell her. She could always check the news later, if she wanted the bad news. “And Lincoln?”
“No sight of him since,” Seth said.
After a month, Elise didn’t even know where to begin hunting for him.
“I should return to Vegas and figure out how to find Lincoln, but I don’t need to leave right now,” Elise said. “I could help you rebuild the cottages.”
Rylie and Seth exchanged looks.
“I forgot something back home. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said. He jammed the helmet on again, muffling his voice. “Good to see you’re alive, Elise.”
He kicked the motorcycle into gear, turned a one-eighty, and rumbled out of sight. Elise watched his taillights dwindle into the distance.
Rylie smoothed her hair, which was wind-whipped and tangled. “Want to walk for a minute?”
“No,” Elise said.
“Oh. Right. Okay.” Rylie took a deep breath. “I appreciate your offer of help, but the pack’s agreed not to let anyone into the wards again. Nobody but pack can enter. If we hadn’t let Lincoln in, we wouldn’t have taken so much damage. And it could have been worse, you know. So…nothing personal, but…”
But Seth, or Abel, or one of Rylie’s other trusted advisors had decided that Elise wasn’t trustworthy.
“James can still get into the sanctuary,” Elise said.
“Actually, Stephanie fixed the wards to block him out, too. Just pack. I mean it.” Rylie scuffed her shoe against the path. “It’s not like we’re trying to keep you out, specifically.” Except that they were.
“Stephanie’s fine, then.”
“Not really. She’s pretty beat up.” Rylie shrugged. “We’re working on it.”
Elise narrowed her eyes. “Has Seth decided to help James open the doors?”
“No! No, he wants to stay out of it,” Rylie said. “But if he did decide to help James, would you…?”
Would you kill him? The unfinished question hovered in the cold night air between them.
Elise was very tempted to give Rylie the “no” that she wanted, even though it would be a lie. Elise would kill Seth if that was what it took to keep the doors to Eden shut and James out of the Origin. One lie was nothing in comparison to what Elise would do to protect Eden.
But she said, “Seth’s smart enough to stay out of it. I don’t want to hurt you or anyone in your pack.”
Rylie winced. “Oh.”
“You should realize that James will be back. I could do more for your pack than rebuilding a few cottages. I’d be a good ally to have.”
The werewolf focused harder on the toes of her hiking boots. “Yeah. I guess I’ll keep that in mind.”
That was the end of the conversation. They shared some niceties for a few minutes, which Elise found to be terribly mind-numbing—something about ordering new roofs, digging another well, clearing defensible space in case of future fires. Small talk wasn’t her strong suit.
She was spared from having to discuss the benefits of metal roofing versus shingles by the approach of a pickup with a camper shell, which stopped inside the wards.
Seth jumped out of the driver’s seat. Elise was surprised to see him again—she had thought that he had only been ma
king excuses to reenter the safety of the wards.
“Still want the dog?” he asked, jerking his thumb at the camper shell.
Elise lifted an eyebrow. “You kept him?”
“What else would we have done?” Rylie asked as Seth rounded the truck.
“I expected you to have put him down.”
She laughed. “If I put down every dangerous dog that ended up on my doorstep, I wouldn’t have a pack.”
Seth wrestled Ace out of the back of the truck. After a month of the pack’s tender loving care, he was still muzzled, but he wasn’t trying to bite anymore. He was straining at the chain like he was eager to go for a walk.
Rylie brought him through the wards to Elise. The Alpha didn’t have to fight against Ace. One hard stare with golden eyes, and he flattened his belly to the path.
Elise took the chain. It felt satisfyingly solid in her hand. She tried to stroke the top of Ace’s head, but he whipped around and snapped through the muzzle. So much for gratitude.
“We’ve got him eating kibble, finally,” Rylie said. “And we’ve walked him every day, even though he tries to eat anyone who ends up on the wrong end of his leash.” She pulled a face. “Well, except me and Nash, but nobody dares to bite Nash.”
“Thanks,” Elise said. “Really.” She didn’t have to fake her gratitude. Ace might not have been happy to see her, but she was weirdly, genuinely happy to see him.
“It’s the least we could do, since you stopped the cult and all. That’s stupid, right? Thanking you for killing something like thirteen people? But it means a lot to the pack. You’ve kept us safe.”
Safe for now, maybe. It was only illusion. James would be back for Seth and Abel, most likely sooner rather than later. And when he came back, so would Elise.
She gazed at the young Alpha, frustration growing in her gut. A pack of werewolves could be excellent allies. Despite appearances, Rylie was fierce, and her pack loved her. They could be priceless in the battles to come.
Yet lines had been drawn, and Elise clearly wasn’t on the same side as the pack.
One more thing that James had taken from her. Might as well add it to the list.
“Contact me if you see Lincoln or James,” Elise said, which was somewhat less threatening than saying, Call me when the crazy witch-angel comes to bleed your boyfriends.
“Okay,” Rylie said. “I will.”
With a wave goodbye, Rylie stepped back into the wards with Seth…and out of Elise’s reach.
About SM Reine
Dear reader,
I hope you’ve enjoyed this book! The next novel in the series, Oaths of Blood, is available now.
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Sara (SM Reine)
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Crimson Night
Night Series - Book One
Marie Hall
Dedication
To my critique partner who refused to let this one die…
Veritas: My truth
All accounts in this story are true. I don’t have much time to get it all down. They’re coming for me. I know this is a long shot, the hope that maybe someone might find this journal, might be able to warn the others…
My God, I can’t believe this has really happened. I fought so hard, I thought I had time… we had time. I thought we’d figured it all out. But we were fooled, right to the very end.
All I can say is I love him. I know why he did what he did and I forgive him, if you’re reading this, you have to tell them that. Tell them they have to forgive him. I know why now, I know everything.
My God, my God… I know it all. It’s so much worse than they think, the truth of it all… it’s so much worse.
I guess there’s only one place to start this story and that’s right at the very beginning, I wish I could go back there, wish I didn’t know what I know now… the truth is so much more horrible than fiction…
Chapter 1
One year ago
The moon hung low, a bloody slash of color against the deepest ink of night. There were no stars to be seen. Clouds, thick and a shade lighter than the sky, moved at a lazy crawl, casting long malevolent shadows against the backdrop of the Black Hills Forest. Trees, their skeletal branches extended to the sky in prayerful worship, swayed from a strong breeze. The wind was chilly, nipping at my nose with a frost bitten kiss.
The only light for miles came off the neon pulse of carnival rides. The blues and yellows, red and greens, bled into the shadow, casting a sickly pallor on everything it touched.
I inhaled the night, taking the rich scents of pine, earth, and the grease soaked stench of carnival fare, deep into my lungs. I leaned against the metal fence, waiting, watching. The Ferris wheel I ran sat empty for the moment, but I knew it was a matter of time before I started seeing some action.
Guys thought they were so slick: Hey, doll, let’s go ride the Ferris wheel. See I’m a sensitive kind of man. Isn’t the night pretty, oh what...I don’t know how my hand found your tit. But since it’s there, how ‘bout we make out?
So pathetic, it made me want to gag. Worst part of it was, night after night I saw each and every insipid girl fall for that tacky ploy. You’d think they’d have figured it out by now. Unfortunately I just ran the ride, too bad I couldn’t give the girls half a brain while I was at it. Humans disgusted me in so many ways. Or maybe I was too old and forgot what it was like to be young.
The cold seeped deep into my body, chilling my blood but doing nothing to bank the restless heat of Lust crowding my bones. I hadn’t sated the beast in over two nights, I needed to feed her. Luc—my boss—often told me I was too picky for my own good. Maybe he was right. But then again I was a creature of habit. I hadn’t suffered much more than the occasional headache and malaise from waiting for my perfect prey in over five thousand years. If it ain’t broke, why fix it?
The night rang with the cacophonous pitch of rides and the thrilling screams and laughter of riders. Some type of heavy metal played over the loudspeaker, too loud for me to tell who it was. Knowing Luc, it was probably something creepy and mood setting, a-la Black Sabbath.
I watched the scene with cold detachment, not paying much attention to the women or children. I wasn’t into that sorta thing. I preferred my prey young, muscular, and full of testosterone.
Crowds clamored, running from one ride to another. Lovers held hands, staring wordless into each other’s eyes, never suspecting or knowing that for some, this would be their final night.
This was Carnival Diabolique; the world’s greatest traveling show. People came in droves to see the hottest gig in town. We weren’t your typical carnies—greasy, fat, out of touch with the world. Our men were beautiful and the women so sweet, just looking at us gave you a toothache. This place was a Goth’s wet dream. We played dress up for the crowd and had a little bit of everything—from Cyber, to Trash, to Death Rocker.
I preferred the romanticism of Victorian myself. Black corset top, black elegant rider bustle skirt with red satin threading up the sides, vintage stockings and boots, right down to the Lolita style top hat. In this get-up I’d have made Marilyn Manson a very happy man indeed.
Diabolique was Luc’s brainchild. Years ago, none of us could have imagined how popular and mainstream ‘dark’ would become. There’d been a time to admit you dabbled in darkness meant a swift and excruciating death. Dancing with the Devil was a strict no-no. Now, to be cool meant embracing every dark thought and deed and making it your own. Funny how things change.
Luc had pounced on this new subculture with a vengeance. There was nothing we missed. We were perfect. Against all odds we’d carved an exclusiv
e niche for ourselves, each year growing in popularity.
This place was no theatrical display of talent, it was as genuine as it got. Not a surprise really, considering we were the monsters that went bump in the night.
Some people came because they liked to pretend they had a clue what it was like to live dark and bad. Seriously. I will never understand the appeal. I think if I’d had a choice I would have liked the ignorance and not the knowledge of knowing just how bad, bad really was.
Others came because they were curious. It wasn’t everyday that you found a carnival run by modelesque beauties that catered almost exclusively to a certain type of clientele. You wanted drink. It was here. Strippers? We had them too. Narcotics? The best money could buy.
How did we get away with all this?
Let’s just say we had our ways. After thousands of years, my kind had perfected the art of stealth. If we didn’t want you to know something, you wouldn’t.
I’m sure it’s obvious by now this carnival is a front. For some, this will be a night of fun, with no regrets and little memory of it. For others deemed worthy, well, they might wish they’d not been chosen for that dubious honor.
I was nice. I played with my pets, then sent them along their merry way. I didn’t kill if I didn’t have to. But some—I glanced at our Master of Ceremonies, Bubba, walking up to the big top platform—were not so nice.
“Two please.”
I turned and stared at a man trying to push two ticket stubs into my hands. He had his arm draped protectively around a petite little thing. With her big blue eyes and corn silk hair she reminded me oddly of a pixie. Fragile, too delicate to toy with, and a complete waste of my time. The man on the other hand was a different matter entirely.
I took the tickets and as my fingers grazed his, a jolt of electricity passed from him to me. That hot current shivered down my spine and made me burn, tightening things low in my belly. He jumped and I smiled. I knew he’d felt it too.
Mine. Lust undulated through my body, coming alive like a caged lioness restless to be set loose. She paced back and forth, screaming, clawing for release.
