Killer Crescent by Leigh Kelsey
5
The bite below my neck was starting to sting, but I didn’t let that dampen my enthusiasm as Dean led me up the wide steps and into a dark, gloomy foyer. I grinned, spinning in a circle and staring at everything: the tapestries hung on the walls depicting pastoral scenes, the heavily beaded lampshades, the dark tiled floor, the decaying flowers that mingled with the furniture wax and sweet alcohol scent in the air. It was deadly quiet in the entryway, the only motion a curtain on the landing above wafting in the wind of an open window, but I could hear distant voices in a different part of the building.
“Well, it’s not as cute as my flat, but it’ll do,” I pronounced, tilting my head back to peer up at the frescoes on the ceiling. No blood and gore despite this being a hall for criminals and people with dangerous magic, just more perfectly normal scenes of ordinary people. I’d never seen anything that more clearly screamed ‘nothing to see here, folks.’ I snorted. “Where is everyone?”
“In the TV room,” Dean replied, shutting the door behind us with a thud. I twirled a strand of pink hair around my finger, beaming at him as he carried my bags.
“There’s a TV room?” I gasped, staring up the stairs again. “Aren’t you scared all us dangerous supernaturals are going to watch something scary and go psycho? Horror films have a bad influence on people, you know?” That was total bullshit, but I enjoyed teasing him.
Dean’s rugged face split into a dangerous smile. “Why would we be scared, Miss Falcon? Anyone who steps out of line has to answer to me. And none have yet survived a fight against me1.”
I shuddered, leaning against his side and rubbing like a cat. “Lucky me, having a big, bad alpha to stop all the dangerous people here hurting me.”
The look he shot at me was amused. “Like you’re not one of the most dangerous.”
My lashes fluttered, my heart going all mushy and soft. “I like how well you know me, Sexy Sir.”
His smack on my ass came as a shock, and my eyes flew wide at the crack of pain and heat. “Up the stairs. Now,” he barked.
I bit my bottom lip and hurried to comply. Not because I was an avid rule follower, but because I was so turned on I forgot to push back against the command. I wanted him to bend me over the staircase bannister and take me again, wanted him to fuck me against every damn inch of this hall. But laughter rose up in the distance, muffled by walls and corridors, and my curiosity got the better of me.
“Wrong way, Miss Falcon,” Dean called, all stern and in control. My nipples were hard again, my gut all squirmy with butterflies.
But I kept going the ‘wrong’ way, following the sound of laughter and voices, interested to know who else occupied this hall for wayward witches, wolves, and vampires. I doubted I was in any danger—I was at the top of the food chain in any situation—but it’d be nice to make a few crazy friends. I’d always wanted someone to chat with about girly things, like how best to get bloodstains out of bubblegum pink dresses. And there was a subtle pull guiding me left, down the dark, wood-panelled corridor past paintings of dour women and proud men. I peered through the glass inset in each heavy door I passed, spotting a classroom-ish space I had no interest in, and two rooms that looked like counsellors offices. Near the end of the hall, past a room filled only with bean bags,2 I found the television room Dean had mentioned.
“Rebel,” the Sexy Sir in question growled in exasperation. “You’re not due to meet everyone else until tomorrow. I’m taking you straight to your room to get settled in.”
I spun and stuck my tongue out at him. “Too bad. Unless your plan involves you ‘getting settled’ into my pussy again, I’m not interested. I am interested in seeing what counts as a dangerous supernatural around here.”
He only sighed, but I didn’t miss the quiet growl laced through the sound. He wanted me again, there was no doubt about it, and a thrill ran down my spine.
The dark wood door was cracked partly open, allowing the voices—both full and real, and tinny and electronic—to filter out into the hall, and if I wasn’t mistaken, someone was smoking in there. The scent of cigarettes was unmistakable—and yucky. I made a face as I pushed the door open with the toe of my boot, propping my hip against the doorway and grinning at the room full of seventeen people. Not a huge crop, and less than I’d been expecting.
“Hello ickle witchies, hungry vampies, and growly wolfies.”
Immediately all eyes swung to me, and I grinned, giving an airy wave. I spotted lots of regular-looking folks3, a couple huge, muscly men and women who had to be wolves, dark-haired, pale-skinned vampires with fangs poking free, and snotty-faced witches who took one look at me and scoffed. And a few decent witches, decked out in crystals and snarky T-shirts, who gazed at me with curiosity. Those I’d leave alive. The snooty bitches would suffer a sad, tragic, completely accidental murder if they spoke even one nasty word to me.
“Who the hell are you?” an elegant, red-haired woman asked, standing from her perch on the window seat4 and flattening creases from her deep green dress as she frowned at me. My psycho-dar didn’t go pingpingping, so I wasn’t too worried about her, but it would have been stupid to underestimate any vampire. They moved super fast, were extra strong, and always hungry. I would make a tasty snack, but I’d prefer to keep my blood on the inside of my body.
“Depends which circle I move in,” I replied with a smirk. I contemplated telling them my assassin name, but the last thing I needed was someone getting a bee in their snooty bonnet and telling the police where to find the most notorious hitlady this side of the Atlantic. “You little duckies can call me Rebel.”
A rough hand closed around the back of my neck, and cool tingles rushed down my body, my smirk deepening as Dean’s fingers dug in, a silent warning to be good.
The effect on the room’s occupants was instantaneous. Backs straightened, gazes dropped to the floor, and sneers and snarls were wiped into neutral expressions. It was kind of hot how scary he was to all of them. And when I said kind of hot, I meant holy fuck, take me right here, right now hot.
“Everyone, meet your new neighbour,” Dean said in his low, growly voice. “Rebel Falcon.”
A low, snide laugh was the only reply, and I froze. “Does your family know you still use their name?” a sneering male voice asked, and my temper grated to shreds as a tall, heavily tattooed man a year older than me stepped out from a huddle of witches. The smirk on his face was every bit as sharp as the scythes tattooed on his biceps, his black eyes even darker than the ink on his throat, his hands, and his chest.
My blood ran cold, and then turned to pure ice, cold enough to burn. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I snarled, flattening my palms to my thighs where a flexible blade was sewn into my jeans. I’d gouge his eyes out, carve his heart out, slice his cock into teeny, tiny pieces—
Edison Bray just laughed, a sneer heavy in his voice. “I live here, Graves.”
I winced, and hoped no one else knew the significance of that name. Hopefully they’d think it was a nickname. Unfortunately for me, the icy-haired prick stalking towards me with his tattooed hands shoved in the pockets of his black jeans was one of three people who knew I was Graves and killed people for a living5. “Go live somewhere else,” I hissed, picking at the loose stitches on my jeans and freeing my throwing knife.
“Miss Falcon,” Dean warned, but I was beyond warnings from super hot professor types now. I was breathing hard and fast, pain and murderous rage forming a tight knot behind my ribcage as I stared at Edison fucking Bray, looking every bit as smug and superior as the day he rejected me.
This bastard, with his black eyes and dangerous smirk, was my fated mate. And he made it very clear he’d rather shove his dick into a paper shredder than touch a dud like me. Again.
Well, jokes on you, asshole. Now I have crazy powerful magic that could level cities according to Dean.
“Why should I move?” Edison asked coolly, looking down his nose at me as he stopped in front of me. I tilted my head back6 and bared my teeth, wishing I could call on some wolfieness and make them sharp and deadly. “I’ve lived here for nine months. You go find somewhere else to live, Graves.”
Okay, that was it. How dare he sneer my name! The one good thing I had in my life, the career I’d built painstakingly for myself until I was amazing at it. I’d like to see him hunt and kill someone without leaving any evidence for the cops.
“I’m going to make all your innards outards,” I hissed, and whipped my tiny blade up, opening a line of blood on his shoulder. Crimson blood spilled over the dark rose inked there, and my lady bits went all tight and tingly. Not now, dammit, and definitely not him.
He didn’t want me, didn’t want to even be in the same room as me, and I refused to let that hurt.7
“Again with the innards,” Dean said under his breath, his big arms locking around me before I could do any worse damage to Edison Bray. But I grinned, big and unhinged, as Edison lifted a hand to the cut on his shoulder, the blood bright red on the pads of his fingers. He lifted his head slowly, his black eyes promising murder. Bring it, bitch. I had two years’ worth of rage and heartache to work out, and I’d be happy to deal with that in a rational, well adjusted way: by beating the crap out of the person who hurt me. A stab here, a dismemberment there. I’d feel much better after that.
Dean’s fingers gripped my wrist and squeezed so hard that I gasped, my little blade hitting the ground. No matter how hard I fought and struggled, my snarls sounding eerily wolf-like now I was out of control, I couldn’t get my knife back.
“I’ll finish stabbing you later,” I threatened Edison as he crossed his arms over his chest and leant against a chair back, watching Dean haul me out of the television room with a smirk.
“I highly doubt that, but you can try,” he taunted. To rub in that I was inferior and unworthy, he let bright green flames leap to his fingers and fluttered them in my direction, a reminder I’d never have magic, never live up to his perfect standards, never be a real witch.
On the outside I bared my teeth and planned his murder, but on the inside, all my carefully constructed walls of self confidence and badassery came crashing down around me. By the time Dean had hauled me across Blake Hall and opened a dark door, thrusting me inside, I was the broken little girl who would always be the shame of her witch family, who’d never be worthy of perfect Edison Bray.
But what had perfect Edison Bray done to get himself sent to Blake Hall, home of rejects and criminals?
“You just had to cause trouble on day one, didn’t you?” Dean was ranting, manhandling me across a thick rug in my new room and depositing me on the bed. I half hoped he’d put me across his knee and spank me for my disobedience, just for something to cling to, something else to feel other than this gaping chasm about to swallow me. But he stepped away the instant he let go, disapproval and—oh, fuck—disappointment on his lined, stubbled face.
“He’s my—” I began, but he cut me off.
“I don’t give a shit, Rebel. You don’t fight your neighbours, understood?”
“Inmates, more like,” I muttered, earning a sharper flash of anger. But this time I wasn’t teasing him for fun, and I got no satisfaction from it. I wanted … fuck, I wanted him to take me in his arms and give me a big bear hug.8
“I’m locking you in your room overnight,” Dean growled, his mouth in a thin line as he glared at me. “Maybe all tomorrow too, if you’re still misbehaving. Someone will bring you food, but otherwise—”
“I’m grounded?” I finished bitterly.
“Yes,” he agreed firmly. “Take the time to think about what you did wrong, and what you’re not going to do next time.”
“This is bullshit, Dean,” I sighed.
His whiskey eyes flashed. “You can’t go around stabbing people, Rebel.”
“I didn’t even stab him,” I grumbled under my breath. “It was a tiny slice, hardly worth all this overreaction.”
“If you don’t fix your attitude, you’ll never prove that you’re safe to release into supernatural society,” he warned. “And you’ll be here forever. Or you’ll be shipped to even worse places.”
I laughed, choking on the sourness of that future.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to unlock your door,” he said, and slammed it shut before I could jump up and plead for mercy.
“Please,” I whined, hoping he was standing on the other side, listening.
But he never replied. And I was left alone in my new room to think about my actions.
Not even seeing my surroundings, I threw myself onto the plush, four-poster bed and curled up with my knees to my chest, wishing I could stop reliving that day two years ago.
I should have killed Edison. He’d probably have killed me, just to rid himself of the shame of being the fated mate of a magic-less witch, a failure, a reject.