Killer Crescent by Leigh Kelsey

6

Two years ago

You knowthat scene in the second Harry Potter book,¹ where the Dursleys tell Harry to go up to his room and pretend he doesn’t exist? That was my life. Every. Single. Day.

The ballroom at Falcon Manor was set up like a wedding reception, with big circular tables overflowing with cream silk and rose gold cutlery, vats of mashed potatoes and platters of suckling pig on each one, stinking the room until it was a mess of roast meat, competing perfumes, and fresh roses and lilies. Weren’t lilies supposed to be the flower of death? Maybe I should steal one and wear it in my hair, make it my symbol, a silent warning that I was more than what they saw—or rather overlooked and preferred to not see. I was sat at the furthest table, in the back where the real witches could pretend not to see me.

I was more than a failure of a witch, the only dud in the Falcon witch line, the black sheep and secret shame of a family powerful enough to take over the world. And the Falcons had taken over the world—I had cousins who advised kings and queens, an aunt who sat in the House of Lords in disguise, and a whole gamut of family members who owned—or controlled—businesses that made billions of pounds on a yearly basis. If the Falcons wanted something to happen, they had more than enough power and influence to make it happen, and that was without adding magic into the mix. But I was a badass assassin; I was better.

I pushed cold carrots around my plate as the uncle on my left leant a little too close for my liking, talking to the random family member on my right² and casting a glance down my bodice. See this is why I hated wearing the shit my family picked out for me—or rather the army of maids, ladies, and tailors picked out for me. They were always figure hugging, and bosom-enhancing, and drew too much attention. And since I was never seated at tables with the other witch lines my powerful aunt was entertaining tonight, the only people who got to benefit from that enhanced bosom were my cousins and uncles.

I gritted my teeth as Uncle Niall enthusiastically replied to Random John³, brushing up against my shoulder. A hundred ways of killing him flashed through my mind. I could take the knife pinned at my garter and jam it up into his throat. Blood would splash everywhere, covering the suckling pig, my limp carrots, and colouring the champagne bubbling away in glasses between us. It would also soak into my pale gown, and splatter my heinous bosom, which would be an avant garde look I knew I could pull off. Sadly, there’d be screaming and running and accusatory looks. And probably a squad car towing me away at the end of the night. Again. Pass.

I could unpick the heavy trimming from the edge of my bodice and use it to strangle him, but some killjoy would probably drag me away before I could finish the job.

Or I could open my clutch bag and pretend to take out a mirror to check my make up—and slip a dissolvable pill of poison into his drink. No one would ever believe it was me.

I was about to reach for my bag when Aunt Denise stood from the big table where the most powerful of the Falcon family were seated and tapped her fork against her champagne glass. A hush fell over the huge room, and the string quartet playing quietly in the corner cut out, leaving a sudden silence that exposed the argument going on beyond the row of french windows, Sue and Steve arguing⁴ on the patio.

“Nobody gives a shit about your peach pie, Susan,” Steve shouted, oblivious to the fact we could all hear every word. I pressed a smile into the corner of my mouth, leaning back in my chair and watching everyone shuffle uncomfortably. “Everyone prefers Viola’s apple crumble anyway, so I don’t know why you bother making it every damn week.”

“You’re only saying that because you want to fuck Viola!” Sue screeched, and I chuckled under my breath. Gasps and low murmurs echoed from the high, polished ceiling.

“To be fair,” John⁵ said, leaning in to talk around me to my uncle, “everyone would fuck Viola given half a chance.”

“Isn’t Viola your cousin?” I cut in dryly, blinking with innocent naivety when both their glares narrowed on me. I’m just a sweet seventeen-year-old girl, and I can’t possibly fathom that a man would screw his cousin.

They ignored me, which was par for the course. Even these slimy pricks had a spark of magic, unlike me. In the witch lines, magic was might, and that was especially true of the Falcon witches. The witches with the most magic sat at the high table, and the ones with specks sat here on the fringes, forgotten and looked down on. I was lucky to get an invite at all, but I knew that was only because my absence would encourage gossip, and Aunt Denise haaaaated gossip.

I tuned out everything Denise said, only perking up when she said the dancing was about to start. Sometimes I thought we lived in a period novel, with all these balls and dancing and suitors and the marriage obsession. I needed to get out of this life, or I’d end up married to John⁶. Aunt Denise would probably hope to breed some power into me, as disgusting as that was.

But at least the dancing meant I could leave this table, hoist my bodice up, and blend into the shadows along the back wall. If I was lucky, the patio would be empty now Sue and Steve had stopped yelling at each other. I drained my glass of champagne, subtly burping the bubbles out instead of loudly belching them⁷, and readjusted my dress as I skirted the edge of the ballroom in the direction of the patio.

The band struck up a louder song, strings filling the air alongside chatter and flirting, but I ducked out the back door before the dance could begin. When I was little, I’d wistfully waited to be invited to dance—and waited, and waited, and waited, until I’d figured out no one was ever going to ask me. I hadn’t had a terrible childhood. I’d grown up in a ritzy house, with all the food I could want, a comfy bed, and warm rooms, and showers that were always hot. That was more than some people had. But most importantly, I’d had Ana, my awesome big sister who took care of me when Mum died young. Ana was the one who killed the monsters under my bed, and read me stories at night, and helped me get dressed, and played hide and seek with me in the manor gardens.

When I lost Ana … it became pretty fucking clear this place wasn’t my home, these people weren’t my family, and I didn’t belong here. But I was still here, waiting, hoping. Stupid.

I pushed open the glass door and stepped out into the night, relieved at the sting of cold wind as it cleared my head, sharpened my thoughts and—

And Steve was balls-deep in Sue a few feet away, fucking her against the wall to her mewling encouragement.

“Honestly, Sue,” I huffed, shaking my head as they startled and threw a panicked glance my way. “Have some self respect.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned and stalked back into the ballroom, sliding the glass shut behind myself. And halted as a trio of Bray witches stalked past, looking ready for a fight. I followed their line of sight and saw they were headed for three of my capricious, dickhead cousins, and a smirk curved my mouth.

“Where have they been hiding you, pretty blossom?” a male voice asked, and I raised an eyebrow as one of the Brays broke away from the pack, sauntering over. I let my eyes pour down his body, from the hint of ink peeking above his white dress shirt, to the cheekbones cut sharply into his face, the icy blonde faux-hawk flopping to one side of his head, and black eyes currently smoky with interest as he gave me a similar perusal.

I wondered if he saw my tattoos beneath the sheer sleeves of the dress, if my pink hair gave me away as a different breed of Falcon, like his tattoos and sharp intensity gave him away as ‘other.’ The Bray witches were as bad as the Falcons—judgy and pretentious and so fixated on purity that nothing else mattered. If he was inked and as dangerous as he looked, he was either so weak they didn’t give a shit what he did … or so powerful that he could get away with anything.

“Pretty blossom?” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest and giving him an unimpressed look. “That’s the best you could come up with? Let me guess, it’s because my hair’s pink.”

He waved a hand at his cronies, sending them on, his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes intent. “Maybe it’s because I’m going to pluck you out of this place and keep you for myself.”

I snorted. “That’s the line you’re going with? Pathetic.”

His eyes sparked, and he prowled closer, so near I could feel the heat radiating off him, and see the flecks of paler grey in his black eyes. Holy fuck, he was hot, and his aura screamed I will murder anyone who even dares to look at you, which was my type.

“What’s your name?” he asked, all demanding and sexy. I stifled a shudder, and fought the urge to throw myself at him while I was at it.

“None of your business,” I replied coyly, tapping his chest with a pink fingernail. “You don’t need to know my name to have fun with me.”

A smile split his face, making his dark eyes glow. “Good point. Follow me, and don’t be obvious about it, Blossom.”

“Me? Obvious?” I twirled a strand of hair around my finger and batted my lashes. “I wouldn’t know how to be obvious if you paid me.”

The Bray snorted. “Didn’t know you were that kind of girl, Blossom.”

“Hey!” I hissed as he disappeared into the crowd of dancing tuxedos and flaring skirts. I didn’t fuck for money. “Bastard.”

But I still wound my way around the ballroom and slipped out the door after him, skipping down the hall and giggling as he grabbed my waist bruisingly tight and slammed me into the wall hard enough to topple the vase propped against it. I laughed as it crashed to the polished marble, shards exploding everywhere as I grabbed my new playmate’s icy hair and hauled him to my mouth.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he growled against my lips, kissing me with a ferociousness that knocked our teeth together and drew blood from my lip. My heart soared, my clit equally invested in this fumble. When his teeth scraped down my jaw and nipped my throat, I went pliant and loose, hot all over.

“Less talking, more fucking my brains out,” I gasped, pawing at his black jacket until it slid off his shoulders, exposing so much mouthwatering ink beneath his white, almost-transparent shirt.

His laugh moved straight to my pussy, dragging a spasm from my aching walls. “I like the way you think, Blossom,” he said, husky with desire as he bundled my skirts around my waist. Magic made me jump as it tingled over my skin, an unfamiliar brush of lightning, and the bastard laughed as my underwear disintegrated.

“Skittish thing, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” I hissed, and hauled his vicious mouth back to mine, kissing him fiercely as he fumbled at his zip. I didn’t care that we could still hear the music of the ball, or that voices floated down the corridors, or that a window was open nearby to let cold night air in—and the sounds of our voices out. None of that mattered when the tip of his cock slid over my clit in teasing circles that had me writhing against him, my leg hooked around his waist. I didn’t care about being seen or getting caught as we kissed and groaned and he sank to the hilt inside me. My eyes flew wide at the sudden fullness, the stretch.

“Fuck, that pussy’s good,” he groaned, his face pressed to my throat and teeth skimming my sensitive spots as he withdrew from my pussy and slammed back in until our hips met. I clenched and throbbed around him as he held there, a smug laugh rumbling his chest. “How long until you come, Blossom? Three strokes? Two?”

I hated the fucker for being right, and internally growled at myself for getting so turned on that his words nearly tipped me over the edge. “If you can’t handle it,” I panted, “I can find a man with better stamina.”

He drew back so suddenly, grabbing my throat and putting pressure on the sides. My tongue lolled out of my mouth and I panted, so aroused I ached, writhing to get him deeper as he kept still inside me. “Careful how you taunt me.”

“Or what?” I gasped, half praying he’d threaten me. Call me fucked up, but there was nothing as sexy as a dangerous man. And besides, if he really did try to hurt me, I’d slit his throat and leave his body cold on the ground, his cock still hanging out.

But this man was so hot, and so dark with that glint in his eyes, and his body was too beautiful to leave in a bloody heap.

“Or,” he growled, bringing his face so close to mine that I went cross-eyed trying to focus on him, “I’ll make you come so many times you’ll be sobbing by the time I’m done. You’ll beg me to stop touching your clit,” he warned, holding me against the wall with his hips, his cock buried in my throbbing heat. “And I’ll ignore you, and keep dragging orgasm after orgasm from you.” He laughed, a cruel sound that had me panting, arching up into the hand around my throat. “I doubt you’d be able to think or stand by the end. I’ll leave you here, dazed and dumb, for anyone else who might come along.”

Okay, that definitely should not have aroused me.⁸

“Dirty girl,” he laughed, feeling how much I loved his threats. He squeezed my throat and then let go, slapping my bare thigh before he shoved it down and withdrew. He handled me like a doll, and my mouth filled with saliva, my heart pumping fast as he spun me and shoved me face-first into the wall, dragging my skirts up as he sank back inside and set a punishing pace. “I bet you’d love it if someone found us here like this.”

“Yes,” I gasped, scratching the wallpaper off the wall as his cock ruined me. How he expected me to stand up, I had no idea.

His hand came down on my ass and I made a choked sound of surprise, my head shooting up at the bright pain and then the deep heat that moved through my cheek. “Shame I didn’t bring my friends to share you, hmm?”

“Fuck,” I choked out, so fucking close now. My toes curled inside my shoes as he fucked me deep.

“No,” he snarled, his hips bruising my ass with his intensity. “I don’t want to share you. You’re all mine, pretty blossom. You’re my—shit,” he breathed, thrusting all the way inside and throbbing inside me, making me explode around him as he came, too.

Damn, it was … damn.

My breath came hard and slow, my eyelids heavy over my eyes even though we were in the middle of a corridor and my dress was shoved up to expose my pussy and ass—and his cock still buried deep inside me.

“Fuck, Blossom,” he murmured, sliding out of me. “You’re my mate.”

“What?” I gasped—laughed.

I shook my head, shoving my dress back down and turning to face him. But what he said felt right, felt true, and I could sense it—the glow, the warmth in my belly. This hot as sin, dominant, tattooed man was my mate? I grinned, and he smirked back at me, his black eyes soft as he reached up to trace my cheek.

A whip-hard laugh made me flinch back, and my shoulders drew up as I recognised it. “What are you doing with her, Edison?” one of my fouler cousins asked. Sometimes I fantasised about pulling her brain out through her nostrils like the Egyptians used to. She deserved it, and quite frankly, she’d be a much nicer person with half her brain removed.

“Piss off, Antonella,” the man who’d just fucked me against the wall spat, derision and scorn dripping from every part of him. He’d tucked his cock back in his pants, but it was pretty clear what we’d just done.

Wait. Edison?

My stomach plummeted, and I crossed my arms over my chest, taking a step back. Edison Bray. That was who he was. The fucking golden boy of the Bray family.

Shit.

How could the precious Edison Bray look like this? How could he be wicked and cruel and inked on every bit of exposed skin? My breath caught, panic spiralling through me. I tried to reach for Graves, my inner badass, but she slipped out of my grasp.

“You do know who she is?” Antonella asked, laughing as she came closer. She was a duplicate of Aunt Denise, right down to the flaxen hair pinned on her head, the navy blue power suit, and the sharp, amused glare. “She’s the reject of our family, she’s a dud.”

I held my breath, waiting for the laughter, barely daring to hope that Edison would come to my defense. He was my mate. He’d felt it, and I’d felt the pull towards him, too. More than that, even. It might have been rough and hard, but him fucking me against the wall had made an unbreakable tether unfurl in my middle like a flower under sunlight. It wasn't just a pull; we were fully bonded, and I had to hope he’d take my side, keep me close, and maybe—hopefully—kill Antonella for sneering at me.

“A dud,” Edison repeated, giving me an inscrutable look. I lifted my chin high and challenged him with a glare. I had nothing to be ashamed of; it wasn’t my fault I didn’t have magic. Words I repeated to myself daily, even if I didn’t quite believe them. Ever since Ana’s death, everyone else’s words had sunk a little deeper into my psyche.

“Not a drop of magic,” Antonella confirmed, sounding beyond pleased to ruin this for me.

I saw it the second Edison turned to me—the disappointment, the anger, the hatred—and I touched the knife hidden at my thigh for reassurance.

“You’re a dud?” he asked, his lip curling back from his teeth.

“Better that than a snivelling, spineless bitch,” I fired back with a sneer at Antonella. I took a wild hit at him and added, “And a coward.”

It knew it was disgust that made him look at me like that, but maybe it was fear of what people would say if they found out he had a dud for a mate, too.

“Pathetic,” I said with a cruel laugh.

“I’m pathetic?” he replied coolly, a pale eyebrow raised. “This coming from the failure of a witch?” The little smirk cut too deep for someone I’d just met. He meant nothing to me. But that hatred in his eyes … it carved into my heart. I’d just had him inside me, could still feel the gentle brush of his finger on my cheek as he gazed at me with softness. He laughed now, callous and heartbreaking and gave Antonella a grin. Antonella. “Thanks for telling me. I dodged a serious bullet with this thing.”

Thing.

That word echoed in my head, the only thing I could hear. I swore for a second I saw regret flash in his black eyes, but that was just delusion.

“No problem,” Antonella replied, smiling as she sauntered past, close enough to brush his arm. I saw red, anger and possessiveness exploding in me so fast I couldn’t contain it.

I acted without thinking, whipping my knife free and ripping it across her throat, parting the thin skin there and smiling with satisfaction as blood poured free.

“Blossom,” Edison gasped. “No.”

His arms banded around my middle, pulling me away as I moved to open more and more wounds on my hateful cousin. But it was too late for him to save her, and I laughed, a little broken, a little psycho.

“What have you done?” he demanded, setting me on my feet and spinning me to face him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Killed a constant thorn in my side?” I asked with a shrug, letting him see all the crazy shining through my eyes. “Careful, Edison, or I might kill you, too.”

“I’d like to see you try, dud,” he replied, magic sparking around his hands, spitting onto my skin and dragging gasps of pain from me. But that didn’t deter me; I was too far gone to think clearly. “Why couldn’t you be a normal witch?” he demanded.

I whipped my knife up and pricked his throat, and he instantly let go. Panting hard, emotions whipping through me like a storm, I staggered back. I was leaving. I wasn’t staying in this place a second longer. I couldn’t. “Why couldn’t you be a decent man?” I shot back, retreating step by step, unable to resist a smirk at the pool of blood spreading on the ground. Antonella deserved it. She’d tried to poison my mate against me. Had succeeded. “You might hate me, Thomas Edison—” I taunted, instinctively knowing it would tick him off.

“That’s not my name,” he growled, black eyes flashing with warning.

“—But I’m your mate,” I finished with a grin, knowing I looked unhinged as it spread across my face. I didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything except getting out of here. I was done—I’d be Graves from now on, and only Graves.

Edison laughed. “I don’t give a shit what you are. I don’t want you. Why would I? I’m the most powerful heir to the Bray line. Why would I mate a dud?” He gave me a pitying look so much worse than his sneers. “Did you think we were going to live happily ever after?”

“I’m going to kill you,” I hissed, backing up. “Not now. Not tomorrow. But someday, I’m going to kill you, Edison Bray.”

“I look forward to it,” he replied, and gave me a last smirk before sauntering down the corridor back to the ballroom.

Tears rolling down my cheeks, I fled to my bedroom, and threw my things into a bag with shaking hands, unable to hear anything except those four words on repeat.

I don’t want you.