Killer Crescent by Leigh Kelsey

17

Ishivered, still cold in my bones after a scorching hot shower back at Blake Hall, and huddled up against Hugh’s warmth. My stalker behemoth held me, his big body wrapped around me from behind as we sat on my bed.

“Call him back,” Dean growled, pacing a hole in the floor by the door, a vein standing out on his forehead and his alpha-ness making me limp and submissive.

“I can’t,” I huffed, turning my face to snuggle deeper into my stalker, his scent of woodsy aftershave tickling my nose. “It doesn’t work like that; I’m his mate, not his keeper.”

“Use the bond,” Dean argued, spinning to face me with such a scary expression that my clit throbbed. “Drag him back here.”

“No,” I replied petulantly, my brows low. Every single part of my body ached, but at least I was comfy and cosy here cuddled up to Hugh. It made my throbbing knee and raw throat easier to bear. “Why should I? He has a right to be angry.”

Slasher had taken one look at me, soaking wet, battered by the water and bruised by the deadly fall, and he’d gone still. Not physically, but inside—I’d felt it, like everything had frozen between us. He’d ducked his head for a swift kiss to my lips, something about the gesture clipped and controlled, and said he’d find who had tried to kill me.

But even my psycho vampire rampaging through Blake Hall’s rooms hadn’t turned loose the attempted murderer, and Dean stepped in before my Slasher could kill anyone. Anyone else, I mean. He’d already ripped the hearts out of two vampires when they tried to restrain him. Oops. With my alpha standing between Slasher and justice, he’d turned to the front door and blurred before anyone could catch him.

That was an hour ago, and no one could find him now. Guards had been dispatched to the village, but it was eerie and silent, no screams or cries for help as a vampire butchered his way through the general populace.

“Whoever he kills is on you, Miss Falcon,” Dean rumbled, stalking for the door. His jaw was so tightly clenched I worried it would stay that way.

“That’s bullshit. Whoever he kills is on him. I told you; I’m not his keeper, Dean. Would you want me to bring you back if you went on a rampage?” I held his gaze, challenging, and saw the truth there, even if he tried to hide it with a scowl. “Exactly,” I huffed. “He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

“He might not,” Dean muttered, twisting the door handle so roughly I expected it to snap off.

“He will,” I insisted, a blare of alarm in my belly. He would come back. He wouldn’t leave me. “He’d never leave me, I know he wouldn’t. He’s … infatuated with me.”

Dean grunted.

“I agree,” Hugh said, his deep voice making me jump as he stroked my outer thigh. “Slasher will be back.”

So. Cute. And so sweet to try to soothe my raw fears. I turned in his arms and cupped his square-jawed, scarred face, kissing him deeply. I was growing to like the smooth ripples of his scars under my fingers—like a lot—especially because of the soft growl that vibrated his chest like a purr, making my girly bits fire off like a New Year’s fireworks display.

I jumped at the loud slam of my door, and whipped around to find Dean gone. My shoulders sank. It wasn’t my fault I had a bunch of sexy, tempting mates. It was destiny’s fault. But I didn’t like him being jealous and frowny.

“Be right back.” I gave Hugh another, deeper kiss and climbed off the bed, shuddering at the loss of his furnace-like heat as I wrapped a heavy cardigan around myself and went after my alpha mate. Although … I had two very alpha mates now. Maybe that was the problem. Dean hadn’t seemed nearly as pissed off when it was just him, me, and Slasher.

“Wait,” I called, hurrying across the landing at the top of the foyer steps to catch up to him. “Dean.”

He turned only far enough to scowl, but he jerked his head, so I followed him across the hall and into his office. Ooh, desk sex! No, bad Rebel. Now is not the time.¹

“What’s going on in your head?” I asked, watching the taut line of his shoulders as he stalked around his desk, threw a bunch of files from his chair onto the floor—not bothering to pick them up when papers splayed out everywhere—and dropped into the seat.

I picked tangles out of my damp, pink curls as I approached his ornate desk, taking a seat in the leather chair and resisting the urge to play with the toggle of the desk lamp like last time. But like a cat with a dangly string, it tempted me to play.

“Dean,” I said softly—serious for once. I didn’t like the tension on his face or the way he’d closed off, only showing irritation and anger. “What’s going on? I thought we were okay.”

His mouth pressed thin, and he stared at his tidy desk, his chest heaving.

Oh. Were we not okay?

My whole body curled in on itself, and I nodded in reply to what he’d said with his body language if not his words, and I stood, everything inside feeling brittle.

“Sit down, babygirl.”

After a brief hesitation, I did, but only because of the ragged tiredness in his voice.

With a rough sigh, running his hand along his stubbled jaw, Dean finally met my gaze. There was so much churning in those whiskey eyes, I couldn’t pick out a single emotion. “I’m not mad at you.”

I slumped in relief, the teeny-tiniest smile curving the edge of my mouth. “Thank kittens,” I breathed. “I thought you were angry I have another mate, and a wolfy alpha at that.”

“I’m not thrilled,” he growled, his mouth twisting to one side. “But,” he added, even growlier, “if he’s your mate, I’ll accept that. If he makes you happy, good. If he ever upsets you, I’ll rip his balls off and feed them to him until he pukes.”

I sighed dreamily, even as something inside reared in fury at the threat to my stalker.

“I want to make something clear though, baby,” Dean said, arranging the pens on his desk into neat lines. “I don’t give a shit if he’s used to being the alpha—in this relationship, you are at the top of the fucking hierarchy, and I am right below you. He’s the bottom of the ladder.” With a smirk, he added, “Until you claim another mate.”

“I didn’t mean to claim this one,” I whined, scratching at the green leather of the seat beneath me. “It’s not like I planned it. But he saved me, and he’s so sweet and protective and—I like him.”

“He better like you, too,” Dean replied in a low rumble, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Or you’ll feed him his balls?” I asked with a growing smile.

“Precisely. Now get over here, babygirl. You scared the shit out of me when you fell off that bridge. I was just getting ready to dive in after you when you turned up with Petrov in tow.”

I jumped out of my chair and plopped down in his lap, wiggling to get comfy before I wrapped my arms around his neck. “You were going to jump in and save me?”

“I would have,” he confirmed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I thought dogs hated water, though,” I teased, watching his brown eyes darken with intent.

“That’s cats you're thinking of, Miss Falcon,” he replied, all dangerous and growly. “And wolves are far superior to dogs. I’m tempted to think you’re trying to insult me.” He snapped his teeth, and I squeaked, my heart leaping into a sprint. “Or are you trying to provoke me?” His hand slid down my back and squeezed my ass. “Does my little slut need me to take her over this desk? Remind her that she’s mine, and I’ll never let anyone hurt her?”

“Yes,” I panted, squirming, and—

A swift, light knock sounded on the door, and Dean swore viciously, pushing me off his lap. “It’s Ivelle; I know her knock.”

I whined in the back of my throat, but he cut me off by clasping my neck. “Best. Behaviour,” he warned, and used his light hold on my throat to lead me back to my seat, pushing me down until my butt met the seat.

“Fine,” I huffed, dragging a breath into my lungs to clear the lust and crossing my legs, propping my clasped hands on my knee like I wasn’t one touch away from an orgasm.

Dean dropped a kiss on my head and strode for the door. “I’m right in the middle of a session—” he began, but Ivelle strode past him and aimed for me.

She was even cooler up close, little details revealed—her eyes were lined with electric blue makeup the same colour as her braids, her fingernails, earrings, and nose piercing the same blue tone, and the scent of car grease and roses clung to her long coat as she whirled towards me.

“I need to take your statement,” she said, making an impatient gesture.

I groaned, but stood, remembering Dean’s last order. “I don’t know what I can tell you.”

“You can give me a list of your enemies for starters,” Ivelle huffed, aiming for the door again. “I’ll send her back for the rest of your session when I’m done, Dean,” emphasising session in a way that told us she knew exactly what we’d been about to do. I winced. “And for the record, you don’t have to sneak around. With a mate bond in play, you can be open about your relationship.”

A pulse of surprise lit up my chest, and I beamed, giving her my best smile.

Dean crossed his arms over his tweed jacket and propped himself against the doorway. “Thanks.”

Ivelle nodded, already halfway down the hallway when I next looked at her. “Come on, Rebel.”

I scowled, but hurried to catch up after blowing a kiss at my growly mate. “Was anyone else’s bridge cut?” I asked, working hard to keep up with Ivelle’s long strides, Blake Hall passing in a blur of wood-panelled walls, stale air, and dour paintings.

“No, just yours,” she replied, as clipped as her steps.

“I don’t have many enemies,” I lied. Not many who knew where to find me, anyway. “But I do have a mate who rejected me, who’s enrolled or incarcerated here. What’s the proper word again?”

She gave me a flatly amused look over her shoulder, heading for a metal spiral staircase. It was decorated with dark stars and moons, denoting her as a witch and the head of the Mystic Club. She was my leader, I guessed. Her and my hippie magic instructor, Vivian, who led the Crescent Club.

“Resident is the correct term,” she replied, her steps clomping on the metal staircase as she ascended. I hurried to follow, wondering if she had an idea who might be trying to kill me. I didn’t seriously think it was Edison. Although … what if it was? Fuck, that hurt. I even glanced down to see if there was a knife stuck in my chest, but nope, it was just our severed mate bond.

I waved a hand. “Resident, inmate, what’s the difference?”

She shot another flat, amused stare at me, reaching for the door handle. The hinges squealed as she shouldered open the old door at the top of the steps, a plume of dust and spiced air exploding. I coughed, dust catching the back of my throat and shoving up my nose, and I waved a hand so I could see in front of me. It had been the same the last time I gave a statement; apparently Ivelle was allergic to dusting.

“Sit,” she barked. “I’ll open a window.”

I tiptoed around the many piles of leather books that formed a precarious, snaking aisle through the high-ceilinged room. I’m sure there were walls somewhere, but I couldn’t see them for the books and files towering around me, a small clearing created only for a desk in front of a gothic window. Similarly piled with instruments, defective magical objects, and empty mugs, the desk continued the hoarder theme of the room.

I managed to reach the small circle of empty floor, and sank into the wooden chair before her desk, admiring the phoenixes and unicorns carved into its mahogany legs. Some part of me wanted to reach out and snag a book from the middle of the towers, like a life-sized Jenga game. I bet I could do it without bringing all the piles down. And hell, if I couldn’t, the room wouldn’t look much different if everything came tumbling down, anyway.

“So, in your own words, tell me about the trial you took today,” Ivelle said, lowering into her own seat and reaching back to crank open the warped window. It screaked² as badly as the door, but let in blessedly fresh air, clearing out the dust I was choking on.

“I told you, there’s not much to tell.” My skin itched to have her full focus on me, but I reminded myself I could stab her in a millisecond and my anxiety eased slightly. “I was walking along the bridge like I was meant to, and then the slats fell away under me. They didn’t break or snap, they just fell. Someone had cut them, and I know for a fact they’d been sanded; the cut was too smooth. It was intentional—someone tried to kill me.” I fixed her with a scowl. “No one was trying to kill me before I came to this place, so it’s all your fault. You should really let me go; all the bullshit would stop then.”

“Not going to happen,” Ivelle replied, unruffled. She leaned back in her chair, watching me unnervingly with blue-ringed dark eyes. “You’re a danger to society, and everything we’ve seen of you this week has only proved that.”

I rolled my eyes hard.

“Tell me about Kyle Ladislav,” she asked, and I reared back at that name, at the memories of Ana’s screams, my locked body, his grunt of satisfaction.

“No,” I replied flatly.

“If you want to get out of Blake Hall and back to your life, I need to assess your state of mind.”

I couldn’t hold back a snort. “Good luck, love. I’ve had more therapists than I can count, and none of them have been able to do that.”

Ivelle held my gaze, weighing, deathly intelligent. “You were a regular citizen until 2017 when you were arrested for the brutal murder of Kyle Ladislav. Did something happen to make you snap, Rebel?”

“You know damn well it did,” I growled, some of my wolf side coming out. I could feel the animal writhing inside me, reacting to her cruelty, to those emotions. “You want me to talk about my sister’s murder? About how I laid there frozen while she was murdered?”

“Yes,” Ivelle replied calmly, taking a pen from a cluttered pot on her desk and hunting for paper.

“No,” I replied coldly, and shoved out of the chair. “I’ll talk about my feelings when you find whoever’s trying to kill me. But I won’t hold my breath.”

Baring my teeth, I turned my back on her and stalked through the narrow aisle. I paused by the door to viciously kick one of the precarious book towers, and watched in glee as it toppled over, leather spines and yellowed pages clattering to the floor in an explosion of dust.

“Stay out of my business,” I warned, and slammed the door to her cluttered office behind myself.

I barely saw the metal staircase as I thundered down it, running mindlessly—just trying to get away.