Vermilion Lies

by L. D. Rose

  “I don’t need your protection!”

  Rome abruptly lashed out, balling a hand in Dax’s tank top, and it took every ounce of will for Dax not to slug him. His brother leaned in, his spicy scent intensifying, unearthly eyes luminous in his dark face. “You need me as much as I need you. And I need you, Dax. We all do.”

  Rome shoved him away, but Dax managed to stand his ground, bristling yet tripped up by his brother’s words. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, closed it, reaching blindly through the red miasma of anger for something, anything to retaliate with.

  “Everything I do is for you.” Rome pointed a trembling finger at him. “For us. All of us. I’m not your enemy, I will never be your enemy. Do you understand me?”

  Stunned and speechless, Dax kept his mouth shut, his ire fizzling at Rome’s rare show of emotion.

  “I’m letting her go.” Rome’s throat worked, revealing the difficulty of his decision. “She’s staying with Jon and Law. For now. The option to remain here still stands if she agrees to help us. And Kase and Ronnie can study her if she’s willing. But I can’t warrant keeping her here if there’s a possibility she’s linked to Alek.”

  “She isn’t—”

  “She’s no longer bound to him,” Rome stressed. “That, I could decipher. Otherwise you and I both know she would be ash and dust by now.”

  Relief surged in Dax’s hot veins. “So their bond is broken?”

  Rome nodded tightly. “I don’t know how or when. But she no longer belongs to him. She spoke the truth about that. But it doesn’t mean he isn’t trailing her, with or without her knowledge.”

  Dax absorbed his words, turning them over in his head. His brother was right. “What do you want from her, then?”

  All sentiment drained from Rome’s features into his signature guise of indifference. “Intel. She spent years with Alek, decades even. She can provide a wealth of information, even if she wasn’t an active part of his campaign. Although their bond is broken, I may be able to track him. His whereabouts, his hideouts, his secrets, his next move, anything and everything about that bastard we could use against him. It might not work, but it’s worth a shot. And if it doesn’t, whatever she can tell us helps. His influence only grows every day and we’re losing this war, Dax. You know it. I know it. She might be able to turn the tables for us. But I need her full and complete consent.”

  Dax peered at his brother, rain falling from the sky in a soft drizzle. Thunder rumbled in the distance, heralding an incoming storm. “Why?”

  “Honestly?” Rome glanced up at the darkening clouds, as if collecting his thoughts and bracing himself. “If she resists, it’ll ruin the fragments of their connection. They’re already severed and there’s a high likelihood they won’t work anyway. But if I force her into complying . . .” He pressed his lips together, a hard slash across his shadowed face.

  “What?” Dax urged, stepping forward. “What happens?”

  “I’ll kill her,” Rome said, point blank, bang. “Without a doubt.”

  No fucking way. “You’ll what? Why?”

  Rome cast his eyes downward this time, hiding whatever secrets laid behind them. “My last few . . . harvests have resulted in death. Without my intent. Although they’ve proven more fruitful, it only happens when I use any sort of compulsion. Unless I want a corpse on my hands, I have to be more careful.”

  Dax gaped at him, aghast. Every time he’d witnessed Rome’s mind control in the past, it seemed awfully painful for the vic, but they never died on him. Sure, the vics probably suffered some repercussions later, and yeah, they usually ended up dead since they tended to be of the vampire variety, but they never croaked because of Rome’s intervention.

  Apparently Alek wasn’t the only one amassing strength.

  “Is there a chance Cindy could die if she cooperates?” Dax was almost fearful of the answer as the rain came down harder.

  Rome shook his head. “Val turned out fine, remember?”

  Rome had entered Valerie’s mind once in an attempt to locate Blaze. Although it took some persuading, she’d been agreeable then. “What about JJ?”

  Rome frowned, mulling it over as if it hadn’t occurred to him. Not so long ago, his brother exorcised Taylon Ramsden’s demon from JJ’s skull, shattering their connection, and it had nearly destroyed the former Fed. JJ had remained in critical condition for days afterward, and he still suffered from horrific migraines, much like Rome himself.

  “Jon was different. He didn’t resist, but I had to force Taylon out. He knew the risks, as did I. Luckily it worked out for the best.”

  Touché. “And if she agrees? What then?”

  Rome leveled his eyes with him, his dark hair matted to his forehead. “Depending on what I see, she can stay here. With you.”

  Dax’s heart soared at the prospect, but reality reined it in with its black tether. “Depending on what you see.”

  Rome nodded, once. The end.

  Dax raked his hands through his damp hair in frustration. Droplets of water streamed down his face, dripping off his nose and chin. What other option did they have?

  “Fine. I’ll do my best to convince her.”

  “Not tonight,” Rome said grimly. “I need you on the street with me tonight. We’ve definitely felt your absence over the past week.”

  Dax couldn’t suppress a twitch of his lips and a raise of his brow. “You really missed me, didn’t you?”

  Rome laughed, the smooth baritone easing the tension between them. “You have no idea.”

  “What about JJ?”

  “I gave him and Law the night off. They’ll settle Cindel in and orient her. Besides, those two deserve a break. They’ve had a rough go lately. Too many lives lost.”

  Dax’s smile faded. He could only imagine. Rome wasn’t bullshitting about losing the war. “All right. I’m with you. Then I can see her?”

  Regardless of his brother’s response, Dax couldn’t keep away from her. Especially now that she was under their protection.

  And Rome very well knew it.

  The psychic inclined his head, obviously averse to the idea, but he assented anyway. Rome offered his hand in a truce, both of them now drenched as thunder boomed overhead and lightning fractured the ominous sky.

  Dax clapped his palm and pulled Rome in for a hug, gripping him tightly. After skirting the edge of death, he missed the bossy bastard too, glad to see him again despite their turbulent week.

  “Thanks, man,” he murmured before drawing back. Their eyes met as Rome patted his shoulder with affection, remaining silent as he gave a somber smile.

  And they both strode back home, united and ready for another endless night of battle.

  SEVENTEEN

  When they drove up to a looming, gothic church, Cindel thought Jon was joking.

  This was his house?

  The church’s spires faded into the low-lying fog, a post-storm mist descending around the premises, the starless black sky serving as a sinister backdrop. Scattered streetlights lit the asphalt with murky pools of yellow light, their beams hardly penetrating the thick darkness. A barren yard circled the building, the trees scraggly and the bushes bare behind their harsh trellises, a wrought-iron fence guarding the perimeter with its menacing metal spikes.

  But Cindel’s skin didn’t crawl for those reasons.

  A wall of power surrounded the church’s edifice, pale and effervescent, a stark contrast to the gloom it contained within. Strong, impenetrable, the result of decades of human faith fueled into its core, as if it were a living, breathing entity. The force of it wouldn’t diminish for years, much like St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan, a bane to Alek’s existence. Not even he could breach its walls, an unexpected side effect of the untapped human psyche, much like the way mortals unknowingly shield
ed their homes.

  Jon parked the black sports car—a Dodge Charger?—near the side door and chuckled at the stupefied expression on her face. “It’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”

  “How?” She took in the church’s blood red doors with their studded iron accents. Dramatic and impossible. “How can you enter?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me. I don’t even pray. And I sure as hell don’t believe in God.”

  The barrier seemed to flash its silvery patina in disapproval. “You know I cannot trespass here.”

  “I know.” He leapt out of the car, grabbing a suitcase from the backseat as he rounded to her door. Opening it, he motioned her out in a somewhat chivalrous gesture, still smiling with a hint of guile.

  Climbing out, Cindel hugged herself as she stepped onto the wet pavement, thankful for the heavy sweater Blaze had given her. The faint aroma of frankincense and myrrh tickled her nose, an irony as she looked upon the house of worship.

  Jon indicated the neighboring structure flanking the church, a recently renovated building given its startlingly white trim and bright taupe facade. “You’ll be staying in the rectory.”

  As they approached the far more innocuous abode, she discovered it too possessed a barrier, but it wasn’t nearly as strong, like lace compared to stone. It had been torn open a few times, the sutures of repair evident, with brighter seams threaded into the patchwork of energy. Whoever had erected it didn’t spend much time here, clearly investing their efforts into its neighbor.

  Jon halted before the rectory’s identical iron gate, looking up at the matching double red doors. A figure leaned against the arched frame, heavily armed and clad in the Senary’s battle uniform. Tall, lithe, and female, she cradled a ball of shiny black fur in her arms, stroking the feline as it peered at them both with vivid golden eyes.

  “Lawan.” Jon frowned, a quiet gentleness in his tone. His mate. “Let her in.”

  The woman stared Cindel down like a raptor zeroing in on her prey. And she was breathtakingly beautiful. Asian features, much like Dax, with almond-shaped eyes and flawless, tawny skin. Intricate markings decorated one side of her face, blooming along her cheek to coil around her slim brow. Her lips were pursed, pink and glossy in the dark, her midnight hair long and braided at her back. The aura pulsing around her held a deep violet hue, alluring and lethal, like nightshade.

  Another hybrid. A female hybrid.

  Cindel stifled her surprise as the cat sprang from the woman’s arms. Alek had never mentioned female hybrids, the idea of them essentially nonexistent. But with the evidence lurking right before her eyes, pushing off the doorframe with a grace only a supernatural carried, Cindel had no choice but to accept it.

  “I don’t like this.” Lawan’s contralto resonated in the night like an elegy. The cat seemed to imitate her, prowling around and glaring at them.

  Jon heaved a sigh. “It’s only temporary. C’mon, babe. We talked about this.”

  The endearment softened the hybrid’s hard scowl. “I don’t trust her.”

  “No one does,” he said and Cindel winced. “But let her earn it. Everyone deserves a chance, right? Even leeches like me.”

  Lawan muttered a curse as she descended the steps slowly, deliberately, her boots stomping on concrete. Lifting a slender arm, she drew a terrifying sword from a sheath at her back with a metallic shing, the long, silver blade wickedly curved and polished. “You’re not the same as them.”

  “Neither is she.” Jon spared Cindel a glance, as if seeking affirmation. With the subtlest of movements, he shifted in front of her, inserting himself between her and his mate. The action revealed more than enough and Cindel gulped around the growing lump of panic in her throat, hugging herself tighter, her muscles primed to run if that sword swung anywhere near her.

  Lawan stopped at the bottom of the stairs, still hovering over them, blade gripped tightly at her side. Her sable eyes tapered at Jon’s blockade.

  “Law.” His voice sharpened. “You’re browbeating.”

  She bristled, aiming a look at him like a gun. “I am not browbeating.”

  “Put the kris away. And your punyal. Or I’ll give you a reason to use them later.”

  Her lips twitched at the humor in his tone, her eyes warming and remaining locked on him. He raised his brow expectantly, obstructing her path although Cindel knew it made no difference—if this hybrid wanted her dead, she would’ve been bleeding out on the pavement by now.

  They continued their silent standoff, and Cindel wondered if they were somehow communicating with each other before Lawan finally sheathed her sword. Exposing the dagger in her opposite hand—Cindel hadn’t even spotted that one—Lawan slid the blade into its casing at her hip. She never took her eyes off her mate for an instant, as if this were some sort of seductive dance of dominance between them.

  Equals. They were equals in every sense of the word, much like Blaze and his blond human.

  And this female hybrid was staking her claim, making her stance very clear to Cindel.

  Jon belonged to her.

  He smiled slowly, shook his head, the heat pumping off his aura indicating his arousal. He liked to be provoked. “Let her in.”

  When Lawan’s dark gaze landed on her, Cindel straightened her spine, managing not to cringe, loathe to show weakness in front of this femme fatale.

  If she wanted to join them, she needed to steel her nerves. Fast.

  The barrier fizzled, waned, and split like a curtain. An invitation. Jon pulled open the gate and unintentionally pushed the shield aside, totally unaffected by its energy. Careful not to touch its edges, Cindel stepped into the clearing and stood on the landing, face to face with Lawan.

  Close up, the hybrid was even more intimidating. “You’re quite fragile for a queen,” she said with a scrutinizing onceover, sizing Cindel up as if deciding whether to serve her for dinner or dessert.

  Cindel raised her chin, gathering her wits about her. Lawan’s floral scent was as deadly and captivating as her appearance. “Slave was more like it, but what does it matter? Stature means nothing in this godforsaken world.”

  The corner of the hybrid’s mouth lifted, as if she approved of that answer. “No, I guess not. Why are you wearing Blaze’s sweater?”

  Cindel glanced down at herself, the navy wool garment brushing her jean-clad thighs like a dress. “He let me borrow it.”

  “Hmm, I wonder what Val had to say about that—”

  “Law,” Jon reprimanded.

  But amusement glittered in her chocolate eyes. She motioned for Cindel to proceed into the building, the floriated tattoo on her cheek almost glowing in the dark. “After you, your majesty.”

  Cindel frowned. She was going to get sick of this royalty business rather quickly.

  Jon led the way up the stairs and the black cat hissed as Cindel passed it, the feline baring its pointy white fangs. Even their pet didn’t want her here, its furry hackles rising.

  “That’s Oscar.” Lawan chuckled. “He’s a monster.”

  Cindel believed her as the cat growled, revving his little engine like a car ready to run her over.

  “He hates vampires,” the hybrid added pointedly.

  “Including me.” Jon cast a grin over his shoulder as they entered the rectory, a home where a human priest once resided. “I have the scars to prove it.”

  “Now he’s obsessed with you.” Lawan ushered Oscar in before closing the front door behind her. “He hardly even cuddles me anymore.”

  “So I have hope?” Cindel asked, looking between the two as they paused in the front hall. Jon burst out laughing and Lawan grimaced.

  “Definitely.” Jon winked at her. “If he likes me, he can like anyone.”

  Cindel smiled and Lawan rolled her eyes. The hybrid was apparently much like h
er cat.

  They moved into the living room and the space was mostly empty, with sparse furniture and a hollowed-out fireplace at the far wall. Everything smelled freshly cleaned, citrusy and sterilized. The temperature was a bit warmer than outside, but not by much, and blackout curtains hung over each window. Jon gave her a tour of the place with Lawan hot on their heels, each room almost as vacant as the last. The bedroom closest to the church contained an actual mattress and box spring, the cushion laid out on a metal frame with a mound of folded blankets and pillows on top.

  “Here’s your room.” Jon gestured at the graffiti-ridden walls, a white-silhouetted crucifix branded above the bed. “I haven’t had a chance to paint it yet, but it’s the coziest place in the house.”

  Cindel absorbed the colorful drawings, taking in the single end table, a narrow dresser, and a wide floor-to-ceiling mirror. Another door stood in the corner, leading to what she presumed was a closet. The only thing that truly unnerved her was the bleached stamp of the cross, unmarred as if the missing crucifix had remained there while the walls were vandalized, then eventually removed.

  She pointed at the silhouette. “Where’s the crucifix?”

  Jon gave an ineloquent shrug. “Who knows?”

  “Does it bother you?” Lawan asked with an arched brow, a little too keen and observant.

  “No.” Cindel cleared her throat, recouping. “I’m just curious.”

  Their eyes connected in the mirror and Lawan’s gaze drilled into hers, her tawny forehead pinched. Jon joined the staring contest, his image as clear as Cindel’s, before the couple exchanged meaningful glances.

  Looked like the Black Bullet had a reflection too.

  “It’s nice,” Cindel added, averting her eyes in an attempt to tamp down her escalating discomfort. “The artwork is interesting.”

  “Good.” Jon swooped in to the rescue, setting the suitcase with her few belongings down on the bed. “Extra clothes are in the closet and dresser. You can thank Law for that.”