The Grace of a Savage

by Collette Carmon

  “They might, if you had the right key.”

  “How much you want?” Sterling asks, already reaching for his billfold.

  “It’s not money, honey.” Adeline says as she reaches out a hand, brushing it over the beautiful yet rugged cut of his jaw.

  Sterling grimaces—recoils—and her grin grows sharp with resentment. He doesn’t want me.

  His gaze turns toward the living room, Sterling’s eyes bright as he sits having a war with himself. When his shoulders sag, Adeline knows he’s lost against something greater than his own pride.

  He’s lost to the love of his son, and to a woman Adeline doesn’t know but would kill to replace.

  Sterling follows Adeline to the Suburban she works out of. Stripping out of his shirt with the kind of clinical concentration that would normally be insulting to her ego. Adeline knows what this is, however, and tries not to take his resistance personally. A task that is difficult when she gets a look at a large tattoo that stands guard over his heart.

  On his chest there’s a woman with a wolf morphing out from her dark hair. An ode to his nameless love. The realization strikes at Adeline’s weakening self-esteem.

  She presses into his space—desperate to leave a mark on him the way the dark-haired woman clearly has. Adeline wants a piece of this man for herself.

  She tries to kiss Sterling. Excited for the flavor of him on her tongue, but Sterling stops Adeline with a hand over her eager mouth.

  “I’ll fuck you, Adeline. I won’t make love to you.”

  Beneath his bicep, on the tender white skin, a woman’s handwriting mocks her. Tallulah Rose Grace. A bold mark of claim telling Adeline she’s in another woman’s territory.

  Even still Adeline wants what does not belong to her. One of her most frequent sins—to covet. Oh how Adeline desires what these women have—every hunter she’s known loves with a fierceness that borders obsession. Every single one is full of their chosen person.

  Adeline wants to slip inside the gaps they leave.

  At Sterling she whispers, “Just pretend I’m her.” Adeline leans in again, trying to capture his mouth.

  Sterling stops her once more. Not only with his hands but with the force of his words. Words that pierce her heart like a well placed bullet.

  “I never pretend the faceless women I fuck are her, Adeline. All I can do is touch ‘em and regret it after the deed is done. So ass up, darlin’, and I’ll fuck you the way I’ve fucked all of ‘em.”

  Bile rises to her tongue, coating her mouth with the vile taste of her humiliation.

  I don’t want to be a faceless woman in a sea of many.

  Sterling starts to unbutton his fly. Adeline stops him by shoving the scuffed golden coin she received from her last job into his chest.

  “Take it.” Adeline says with a bitter edge. She doesn’t want to hate herself more than she does right now. I deserve to be more than a sloppy second. A truth that’s hard to accept during the times that she grows desperate for love. I’ll never find love here. Adeline knows that as she watches the man before her.

  Sterling, as expected, doesn’t thank her.

  He just takes the totem and retrieves his shirt from the Suburban’s floor before he opens the car door to leave.

  “Fuck.” Adeline mutters as she watches him walk away.

  23

  Lyric

  He wakes to Sterling shaking him. Lyric blinks, finding himself in a home he doesn’t recognize.

  “C’mon, kiddo, time to go.” Sterling says with a gruffness Lyric doesn’t understand. The edginess of his tone keeps Lyric from asking questions.

  Just behind Sterling’s broad frame a woman stands, staring at Lyric with a blue gaze full of contempt. He shakes off the unsettling feel of her eyes when Sterling helps him to stand on sleep-heavy legs.

  “Where are we goin’?” Lyric finally dares to ask, steadily ignoring the woman leaning against the wall.

  She smells like death and gun powder.

  She smells like Beaufort Savage—dangerous.

  “The French Quarter,” the woman replies before Sterling can.

  Her grin isn’t kind. A meaner smile than even Kathy Johnson—head cheerleader—can manage. Lyric shivers at the expression.

  “Could’ve saved your daddy a trip if he’d have given me a call.” She stares at Sterling with eyes that make Lyric uncomfortable. He shifts awkwardly, not understanding the strange tension in the room. Only thing Lyric knows for certain is that he doesn’t like this atmosphere one little bit.

  “That call wouldn’t have come cheap.” Sterling tells her with a stern tone.

  “It wouldn’t have,” she agrees with a laugh. “But you’ll find the house on Saint Louis Street.”

  “Does this house have a number?” Sterling asks with another glower.

  Her grin grows sharper, and her eyes become narrow slits when she hisses.“All that wolf told me was that you will know the house when you see it.”

  Sterling doesn’t thank her as he starts dragging Lyric out of this unfamiliar home. One that smells like secrets best left uncovered. Down a set of wide deck steps, Sterling pulls Lyric back to where the parked Nova waits for them.

  Sterling never says a word to Lyric, not until they are twenty miles away from the place they just left.

  Even then all he says is, “Nothin’ like being let down by people you never thought would abandon you.”

  Lyric doesn’t pry into that statement. He knows the words aren’t meant for him. Sterling has an expression on his face that looks like he’s cracking from the inside out.

  Lyric hopes he never knows what it’s like to be abandoned by the people he trusts.

  Maybe Tallulah lied to spare me, he thinks as stares out at the lightening sky of early dawn. Mama, come back soon…I want to tell you I didn’t mean it.

  It’s a prayer he utters to the quiet god—the one who never grants miracles for people like the Graces. Miscreants painted unfortunate from conception, or so Merle always told Lyric when he had that Tennessee whiskey in him.

  I won’t ask for anything ever again, Lyric promises the still silent creator he’s doubtful exists. I don’t need money or a daddy, just Tallulah Rose Grace.

  24

  Sterling

  Lyric seems like he’s going to stay awake for the duration of this trip. Sterling decides against looking for a seedy dealer at the truck stops they move through—speed free is hard when he’s running on little sleep.

  Instead of stimulants he talks with Lyric. Something to keep him awake and make him feel less like shit.

  “Who was that lady?” Lyric asks him when talking about all of the meaningless small town gossip falls flat. Like a soap opera one comes back to a decade later—nothing has changed and the people are still acting out the same old story lines.

  “Adeline,” Sterling replies with a grimace. He still has a sour taste in his mouth from touching her skin.

  Certainly, he hasn’t been a saint since he left Abita Springs. He’s filled his lonesome nights with the women who were wet for nothing. Women who knew what following Sterling back to his hotel room meant. Sterling often sought carnal distractions, lesser passions to stave off the need of the one he craved in the deepest part of his soul.

  Distractions didn’t work, and yet they did.

  There were so many times when a random hand on his kept Sterling from reaching for his phone, to call up Tallulah. Many faceless women stopped him from doing something stupid and brave—something like telling her he was sorry.

  Adeline was different. She wasn’t a faceless, nameless body in a sea of hundreds. She wasn’t a distraction. She was the means to an end, and even that made him wonder if touching her was worth the trouble. Fresh off of Tallulah’s passion fucking another woman was harder than it might have been months ago. So Adeline turned Sterling cruel, and he swallowed his self-loathing as he watched her crumble beneath his vicious tongue.

  Another fucking regret.

 
“That doesn’t tell me much,” Lyric complains into the tense silence. “I meant who was she in relation to…you know…” he waves a hand, as if that can explain what his words lack.

  “That’s too vague,” Sterling chuckles. Shooting Lyric a sideways glance he says, “Want to try that again?”

  Lyric rolls his eyes—the expression is Tallulah through and through. “I meant what is she in this world we can’t talk about?”

  “Ah.” Sterling settles into his seat more, trying to get comfortable. It’s going to be a long ass drive and he’d rather not be tense for the entirety of the trip. “She’s a hunter…same as my dad and my siblings.” The easiest explanation. The truth is much more complicated, and there’s still parts of Sterling that are loyal to certain parts of his oath. To the secrecy of the Covenant of Michael.

  “Did she just come back from killin’ someone?” Lyric asks, shifting on the old leather seats, making them squeak beneath his slight weight.

  Someone.

  Sterling’s mind settles on that word. A strange contrast between this boy who looks like Sterling and the siblings who also share a lot of Sterling’s features. Where this child sees people Sterling’s other kin see prey. Lesser somethings that are meant to be eliminated.

  “Most likely.” He doesn’t see the purpose in lying to the kid—there’s a damn good chance he’s going to watch people he loves die one day. Picked off by a bastard with a gun and bullshit promise to a god Sterling long stopped believing in.

  He hadn’t even believed in the archangel to whom Sterling pledged loyalty.

  If Michael is real why are we needed? That had been the thought running through his mind as he spoke the empty words to protect others above himself.

  A promise he failed to fulfill.

  “Have you ever killed anyone?” Lyric sounds much smaller than he is. Akin to a child asking if Santa is real and Sterling has to be the adult who crushes Lyric with the truth.

  “I have.” He admits at length.

  Sterling can remember every being he’s ever slain—the look in their eyes as they stared up at him in those final moments. Most of them had laughed—devils right down to the last—but some had pleaded with him. Those are the ones that haunt him the most. The ones who felt like creatures of misfortune. People who had never done anything worse than be born on the wrong side of the Covenant of Michael.

  Seeds of The Light Bringer.

  He casts a glance at Lyric, out of the corner of his eye, and in his wicked imagination he can see the poor boy pleading with Beaufort to spare him. I could’ve been the one to end him in a different life, in a different circumstance. The realization makes Sterling queasy.

  He’s grateful when Lyric breaks the silence with another question.

  “Did you leave my mom because she was a wolf?” The words come out cracked, as if they are a fragile dam on the verge of breaking.

  “No.” Which is half of the truth.

  “Then why did ya?” Lyric asks, and that’s the question Sterling has been anticipating. Since that Tweet that brought him back into the fray, he’s been dreading these words the most.

  “I can’t tell you that yet,” he replies. “I promise I will, when you’re safe and are free to hate me again.”

  The truth makes Sterling hate himself, so why wouldn’t Lyric hate him when he knows the depth of Sterling’s sins?

  Lyric goes quiet, considering, then—at length—says, “I’ve never hated you. Can’t hate what you don’t know.”

  If that ain’t a damn painful truth.

  Evening is falling on the French Quarter by the time they roll in. Lyric leans against the glass, his reflection appears bored and Sterling doesn’t blame him. It’s been a long day spent in the old car. Not exactly a thrilling adventure. Most frustrating is wandering up and down Saint Louis Street looking for the elusive clue Adeline mentioned.

  Sterling is on the brink of calling Adeline and cussing her seven ways from Sunday when Lyric pops up—suddenly alert. “I see it.”

  “See what?”

  “The bust of Lycaon,” Lyric murmurs. Then with a wry grin adds, “Not exactly subtle.”

  “Subtle enough, kid. I don’t even know what the fuck Lycaon is supposed to look like.” Sterling pulls up to the curb, in front of the house Lyric indicates, to park.

  After they step out of the car Lyric sniffs the air.

  “Merle’s here. So’s Tanner.” He looks worried when he adds, “And Judson…but I can’t smell Mama.”

  Sterling’s stomach swoops at those words. Yet, he calms himself with an old reminder about young wolves. One that whispers through him with Tallulah’s lovely voice—when we are young our skills aren’t perfect. Sometimes I can smell you, sometimes I can’t.

  “It’s alright,” Sterling tries to assure him. “Let’s go see, maybe she’s just showered.” He says the words for his own benefit as much as for Lyric’s.

  Lyric frowns, but nods before he follows Sterling to the door.

  Someone opens the small window in the door, to see who is there, after Sterling bangs his knuckles against the wood. The man in the window doesn’t ask who they are, he just waits patiently for something.

  Sterling hands over the strange coin Adeline had given him.

  The man on the other side of the wood inspects it, but a commotion in the hall behind the guy guarding the door makes Sterling frown in concern.

  “That’s my grandson out there,” Merle’s voice booms. Calming some of Sterling’s nerves. “Open the goddamned door, Jerry.”

  Jerry—the man standing guard—is shoved out of the way and a moment later the door whips open. Across the threshold Merle stands, looking rougher than he ever has in Sterling’s lifetime. Without a word to Sterling he makes his way out of the house, down to the small stoop on which they stand, where he pulls Lyric into a bone crushing hug.

  “I’m so glad to see you, son.” Merle murmurs and Lyric sobs against his broad chest. Safe enough to cry in the circle of his grandfather’s hold.

  “Where’s Tallulah?” Lyric asks—his tone trembling.

  Merle sighs—a sound of the world ending—causing Sterling’s heart to shatter in his chest.

  Fuck.

  25

  Tanner

  Relief washes over him as Lyric comes in with Merle, but rage burns through that relief when Tanner spots Sterling. Tanner shoves out of the old chair he’s in—causing it to clatter to the floor. The sound of the wood hitting the ground startles Jorie, but he pays her no mind when he growls at Sterling.

  “You.” So much hate in one word.

  “Down.” Merle commands. “He brought Lyric to us.”

  “This whole goddamned mess could’ve been avoided if he’d have never come home.” After a moment of consideration, Tanner adds. “Actually, would’ve been better if he’d have gone down in the earth six feet deep.”

  Jud puts Tanner against the wall before Merle can. His teeth extra sharp when he hisses, “Watch it, boy.”

  With another weary sigh, Merle says, “Down, Judson, you’re scaring Miss Jorie off with that shit.”

  Jorie, to her credit, laughs. “Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before, Mr. Grace and I’m still here.” At Lyric she says, “Come over here, baby, let’s get you a shower and a bed to sleep in.” With a glance between Tanner and Sterling she adds, “Let these fools knock the tension out of each other while we’re out of the room.” As a parting shot she mock-whispers, “My money’s on Sterling. Boy’s got a helluva right hook—got it from me.”

  Sterling—bastard—chuckles as if anything in this situation could be amusing. Tanner hates him more. A feat he would have never thought possible before Sterling came barreling back into their lives. A misfortune Tanner wants to put an end to now. Though Tanner keeps his rage in check long enough for Lyric and Jorie to disappear from sight.

  Judson lets him go once the woman and child up the stairs, and a moment later Tanner’s on Sterling.

  California didn
’t make him soft, Sterling gives as good as he gets. Knuckles slam into Tanner’s cheek with that damned right hook while Tanner’s punch cracks against Sterling’s ribs. The hit doesn’t slow Sterling down in the slightest. He comes at Tanner with the casual grace of every Savage Tanner’s had the displeasure of knowing. Sterling was made to kill Tanner’s kind and that’s a training some never lose. Like riding a bike—the muscle memory moves Sterling body. Every fluid movement born from the training that horrible father, Beaufort, put Sterling through. He gets a knee between Tanner’s legs and while Tanner starts going down, to the ground with a gasp, Sterling catches him by the short strands of his hair with his left hand. With his right he presses the blade of a blessed silver knife against the skin at Tanner’s throat.

  “Was afraid I was gettin’ rusty,” Sterling muses with a smug tone. He shoves Tanner back, releasing him with a steely glare while he says. “Now, son. Let’s try this again.”

  Jerry—the keeper of this safe house—sends Lady in with some beers and a stern warning about fighting. Tanner’s licking the cut in the corner of his mouth and grunts when she waits for his promise to behave. Lady must accept that as good enough because she wanders off. Back to whatever part of the house she settles into regularly. Tanner’s hoping they aren’t here long enough to know Lady’s routines.

  She and Jerry are weird—Tanner would like to get home before he has to hear them panting their undying love to one another in the night.

  Damn, I wanna go home.

  Merle waits until Lady’s feet stop far enough away that she can’t hear them unless she tries. Not that it matters. What’s privacy now that Sterling Savage is a thorn in their damned side?

  “How’d you leave Carolina’s?” Merle asks. Suspicious, because they all know Old Carolina ain’t a kindly crone. She used to be a senior member of the Coven of The Red Hood—bunch of crazy whores who get off killing men from the darker paths of life.