Nameless Darkness: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Raven Book 1)

by Elle Lincoln

  “Bette. Morgan,” I say slowly, suddenly craving a coffee. More specifically a latte. Oh yes, that would be nice. “Do you have decent coffee in there? Or can I send your son for some?”

  “I... Well shit. Tony get the woman some coffee that isn’t swamp muck. And you,” the older man points to me, shaking his head as though he just can’t believe this day—it isn’t even noon and I can’t believe this day, fate fucked something up, “follow me. I’m Sherriff Brown. Dammit, I’m going to have to call the feds back.”

  He grumbles to himself before walking into the old police station. I follow him in, letting him mutter out his woes. I mean at least he didn’t wake up in the forest losing fifteen months of his life. Which, by the freaking way, I’m handling like a pro—for now.

  “I suppose you can’t tell me where you’ve been for the last year or so?” he throws over his shoulder, while walking down a dank hallway.

  “Don’t suppose I can.” What a smelly station. The walls are yellowing and the air reeks of stale cigarettes, and maybe a splash of piss. I shudder, not really wanting to be there anymore. Even though I damn well know I need someone to help me figure this shit out.

  “Is there anyone I can call?” He opens a door to an office and I’m hit with the smell of tobacco. Not the stale cigarette smell from the hallway, but real pipe tobacco. I may be in a shitty predicament, however that smell makes me trust this guy just a hair more. Call me sentimental, but it reminds me of my pop. How he’d sit me on his knee with that pipe tobacco in his mouth, just puffing away. It’s actually a good memory, and I stuff it into my heart box and shelve it in my mental warehouse of things to go back to later. When I’m breaking down from the what-the-fuck situation I’ve got going on right now.

  And right now the sheriff’s question has me feeling weird.

  “Ms. Morgan?” I snap out of it, watching the older gentleman sitting behind his desk. He pulls the phone close to him ready to make a call.

  Oh yeah, he asked me a question. “No, there’s no one.” My chest aches at the realization. But it feels like I’ve lost something, someone, and not the thought of those I left behind here. My heart skips a beat and a frown pulls my brows down. I purse my lips as thoughts skitter through me. Nothing concrete, but just odd emotions that make no sense. A crisis. Comfort, care. The promise of something more.

  It’s there at the end of my awareness, hiding from me. If I could just think hard enough, I could grasp the thought and remember. I’m supposed to remember. Fuck this is weird.

  “There’s no one I can call?” the sheriff asks me again.

  “No.” I let out a humorless laugh, which snaps me back to reality. Not only do I have no one to call, but I’m going to bet my pantyless ass that I have fucking nothing to my name as well. “Did they declare me dead?” My voice sounds hollow to me, resignation settling into my weary bones.

  “I’m afraid so.” He looks at me with pity and I really don’t like it. But I can’t do anything about it except shrug and move on.

  Besides, I wasn’t a great person. I hurt a lot of people, I blackmailed even more. Why that bothers me now, I have no idea. Just that it doesn’t feel right going back to that world. I can’t say where I was or what I did, because I honestly don’t know. But whatever happened, it changed me. Altered me enough that I feel... guilt. Shit.

  “What are the odds we can keep me dead and move on from here?” The words spill from my mouth and hope blooms in my chest at the idea of starting over. I can be a real girl!

  The sheriff opens and closes his mouth again. Seems I’ve rendered him speechless. “I honestly don’t know. The FBI was pretty adamant that I call if anything regarding you turns up.”

  “What the hell does the FBI want with me?”

  “That is a good question.” He looks at me suspiciously.

  “Can we decide on this later? I need to think and I’m going to refuse medical treatment. Yet I can see the gleam in your eyes for protocol,” I smile mischievously, “which isn’t going to happen. I plan on staying dead.”

  Chapter 13

  Bette

  Earth, I’ve Missed You

  Somehow I convinced the sheriff to let me think on what I want. I’m guessing the only reason I’m getting away with it is that this is a small town. Plus, he looked hella unsure about that FBI agent. You can always tell when someone thinks someone else is suspect. Their mouth makes this sour lemon face. Okay, I might be superimposing my own reactions here, but I’m sticking with it.

  The need to flee is still seizing me. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s like an itch at the base of my spine telling me to get the fuck up and move. I keep slapping the area thinking it’s just a bug. No bug, just my sixth sense. I think it’s broken.

  Not long after the sheriff realized who I was, he confiscated his kid’s phone before he could do any social media damage. I get the feeling me staying dead won’t last too long.

  So here I lay, holed up in a seedy motel at the edge of town. Realistically I know I don’t have a lot of time to stay here. But the hour-long shower was completely worth it, even if my hair is still insane. Worthless hotel conditioner. I rubbed my skin raw and scrubbed every inch of my intimate areas, ya know, just because of crawly forest creatures.

  The biggest surprise came after the shower though. When I wiped away the steam to get a good look at myself in the mirror—that’s where I still stand. Adrenaline is rushing through my system like a riptide. Every time I try to think of something logical it sweeps me under, until all I can do is stare in the mirror. At first, it surprised me I didn’t notice it sooner, but the opportunity didn’t present itself until now. Either way, I know something really fucked up happened in those woods. Like Bigfoot ate my dog fucked up.

  I have violet eyes. Not the brown I was born with, but fucking violet. They are beautiful. But they aren’t mine. It’s a strange feeling, looking into the mirror and having your memories, but knowing something fundamental has changed you. Yet you have no fucking clue what it is. I’m missing time. I’m not hungry, and though my body seems to be working well with the coffee I chugged, it doesn’t sate me. In fact, I could feel it running through me more than I have ever felt food running through me before. I followed the sensation through my digestive system. I didn’t like it.

  I scrub a hand down my face and leave the steamy bathroom. I can’t possibly go back to my old life. Not only is there nothing there for me, but I can’t answer the questions that people will surely ask.

  I dress quickly then pace in the small room. It’s just past two in the afternoon when there’s a knock at the door. My pulse spikes and I’m moving toward the bathroom before I can even think better of it. My mind whirls with escape, which makes no sense. I’ve got the window partially open before I come to my senses and back away. Confusion sweeps through me, and I wonder at my reaction—a complete subconscious movement telling me to get the fuck out.

  I shake my head at my odd behavior and move to the door. I hesitate before peeking through the hole. Outside are two men. Bald, clean-shaven, and wearing sunglasses and black suits.

  The literal men in black have shown up. I’d be laughing if my gut wasn’t screaming at me to run. I’m just waiting for the flying saucer to show up.

  Okay, think. Be realistic. These are probably the FBI agents the sheriff spoke of. My best guess is the teen posted something before his dad got to it and I’ve been outed. Such a pity, I wouldn’t mind playing dead. At least for a little while.

  Except as I reach for the door handle, a sweat breaks out over my skin.

  I can’t answer the fucking door. I’m no psychic, but I can read people rather well. Fuck, I made a living off of manipulating people and the first step is always observation. Listening to that devil on your shoulder that tells you someone has something to hide. From my experience, the devil never lies, but that bastard angel does.

  I peek back through the small hole in the door.

  These two men? They aren’t FBI.
I know it with everything inside of me. They may have told the sheriff that lie and he believed it, but they aren’t. I never really believed in that whole men in black thing, but it’s hard when it’s staring you in the face. Either way, I don’t think these guys are here to warn me off of a UFO sighting.

  No, something more ominous is going on.

  I look through the little hole again. There is only one man standing there now and he raises a fist to knock on the door. His suit jacket parts, giving me a good view of his sidearm.

  “Ms. Morgan?” His voice is bland, cool, and sends a chill of warning up my spine. My gut has never failed me before, so I back away from the door. Glancing at the lock that I know is more for show than anything else. The thin little chain is a fucking joke, and if he wants to get in nothing will stop him. I pad softly to the bathroom, where I stand just outside the door to look at the glazed window there. Sure enough, there’s a shadow moving across the pane.

  I glance around the small room. There is no space under the bed to hide as it’s a solid frame. The only window is from the bathroom at the back of the room, and there isn’t a drop ceiling I can crawl into. Not that it would hold me anyway.

  I try to quiet the panic bubbling in my center, but I can’t and it makes no sense. Why can’t I answer the door and find out what they want?

  Because you know they aren’t there to help. The little voice at the back of my head nags at me. It limits my choices along with my shoes.

  I take a deep breath and decide to face this shit head on. I flip the lock and swing the door open, startling the non-FBI agent posing as an FBI agent. “Look my handler is out, you’re going to have to wait until he gets back if you want a fuck.” I wonder who would be my play pimp?

  “Ms. Morgan?” Thing One asks, just as Thing Two walks around the back of the building. My humor dead to them. Now that I’m looking at them up close, they kind of remind me of secret service agents with their black earbud in one ear.

  I don’t confirm or deny my identity. “Did you lose the president? Two doors down, don’t worry, it happens to me all the time.” I go to swing the door shut, but a meaty palm catches it. I sigh, no such luck this would go in my favor.

  “Ms. Morgan we are going to need you to come with us.” I cock my head and raise a brow, wondering if these idiots are even aware of how they sound.

  “I told you my pimp just ran down the street for some hash.” No fucking way will they buy that.

  Thing Two flips open a wallet, showing his ID way too fast for it to be real. “We are with the FBI and we need to ask you a few questions about the last fifteen months.”

  “Lets be real here shall we?” I cross my arms, really missing a bra to cover up my nipples. “You aren’t FBI and something is telling me it’s a really bad idea to go with you. See, my mama taught me not to ride in cars with strangers,” I whisper the last, scrunching up my nose at them.

  “You don’t have much of a choice miss.” Thing One drops the act and takes a menacing step toward me.

  “Yes, I do. There is always a choice.” I don’t step back into the room where he can corner me. Instead, I raise my finger at him and poke him in the chest. “Back the fuck up.”

  Thing Two grabs my wrist and twists it behind me before I can even blink. He’s a fast fucker. That won’t do at all. I stomp on his in toe, my dumbass forgetting I’m not wearing any shoes, so of course it does noT. Except maybe hurt me a little.

  “Come on.” He pushes me toward a black SUV. How original. I mean couldn’t a master villain drive a fucking red Mercedes?

  “Am I under arrest?” I dig my heels into the sidewalk, grinding my teeth as they scrape along from being pushed toward the car. Thing two pulls on my arm even harder, and I arch my back to relieve the sting.

  “Don’t make a scene,” Thing One scolds.

  “I’m not the one making a scene you minotaur.” Damn my arm hurts. I need to get out of this situation and fast. I’m wondering if I can commandeer their car somehow. Getting in there could mean certain death. I’m too sexy to die.

  “Darling! There you are!” a man yells from behind me, it’s more than the distraction I need and I head butt Thing Two. He grunts in pain his hold letting up but not releasing. I do the only thing I know to do and hope to hell this doesn’t hurt. Foolish me. Everything hurts.

  I roll forward, diving toward the sidewalk and flipping my body over his arm. I hit the ground, hard, but my wrist is free and I roll to the side before his villainous friend can grab me.

  Now free, my mind freezes on what to do. Bad move Bee, bad move. Because now there is another man coming toward me. At least this one has hair, blond shaggy ringlets at that. Sexy as fuck too. Mhmm, my hormones likey. Don’t look Bette, don’t do it, you’re a sex crazed jackass. Men make you foolish. RUN PIG! RUN!

  I run past the SUV, realizing it’s actually running. Idiots. Worst non-FBI agents ever. I pop in and throw it in gear before I realize I forgot to lock the door and the new guy jumps in after me. The hot, sexy new guy.

  “Drive Bette.”

  I don’t even ask him how he knows my name because my eyes are busy looking at the fallen idiots. “How the hell…?” Did you manage to disable them that quickly? I don’t ask the last part since it’s pretty obvious what I’m asking.

  “They won’t be down long, I suggest you drive.”

  I hum to myself, a little tune that goes by the name of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” I’m not sure why I do it, just that it flows from my lips as my mind tries to process what exactly is going on. “Nope. I don’t know how to process this shit.” I think the past few hours are finally catching up to me and I’m going to lose my shit any minute now.

  “Ah Fuck.” The sexy stranger lifts me from the driver’s seat and plops me down in the passenger seat. “No touching.” Yet.

  I just sit there and blink at him while he smirks a crooked smile at me. My eyelids fall in a slow blink, then open. It’s all I can concentrate on. The world is fucking with me.

  I’m yanked back to the present when his insane driving throws me against the door.

  “You may want your seatbelt.” He spins the wheel like a racecar driver, and peels out of the seedy little motel parking lot. I note he does so without a seatbelt. Either he is confident in his driving or a daredevil. It’s way too early to tell which. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you.”

  I nod and put my seatbelt on like he’s making perfect fucking sense. News flash, he isn’t. Frankly, I could use a drink right about now. I doubt Thing One and Thing Two have a flask hidden somewhere in here. It doesn’t stop me from looking though.

  “Here.” The stranger reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a flask.

  “Are you a mind reader?” Doesn’t matter, I spin the cap and take a long pull. Rum. “And a fucking pirate?” Wait, don’t I know a pirate?

  His smile is devastating and he peers over at me with incredible green eyes that pierce my soul. I once went scuba diving, the only time I ever went, in Florida. There was a peaceful moment while I floated in the depths where the ocean had this green hue to it, like an emerald. I’ll always remember that moment. It was magical and probably the only peaceful moment I truly felt—until I saw sharks. Fuck sharks.

  That was how I felt when he looked at me with those green eyes and his partial smile, not a shark’s smile, but a smile that hints at the hidden depth of the ocean residing in him, crooked on one side with full kissable lips, and ready to spill over with a mystical undertone. He looks back toward the road and we lose the moment. I still stare at him. An unkempt beard is overgrown on his face, and his blond, curly hair has me clenching my hands into a fist to keep from reaching out to him. I just want to know if they are as soft as they look. I don’t reach out and I don’t touch him. That inner demon in me knows what she wants though, and it’s to touch him.

  Then there is his entire being that draws me, enticing me to inch closer to him. I breathe deeply, scenting the ocean. And we
are fucking landlocked out here. He’s wearing blue pants with suspenders, and a short-sleeved white button-down with a greenish grey jacket. I want to mock his appearance. But I don’t dare, he looks too damn sexy. He wears his clothing, they didn’t wear him. Like a fucking movie star.

  I shake my head, looking away from the sexy stranger. “So you know my name, care to enlighten me with yours?”

  Again I’m gifted with that smile. I’m so screwed. The lust is heavy in here and it’s emanating from me. “Mac,” he states with a rolling lilt that sends happy shivers down my spine.

  I cough. Moving on.

  “So Mac, care to tell me what’s going on?” Mac.

  Mac. Mac. I roll his name through my thoughts as something about it feels familiar. As though I’ve heard the name before, but I don’t know where. How. Or who. Again I know I’m missing something, but I can’t grasp what it is. Tricky thoughts.

  “Ah, You’ll find out soon enough.” Okay, sexy playboy.

  “That’s far from promising. Are you kidnapping me?” I look around realizing I have no idea where we are.

  He laughs and the sound rolls through me. Head to fucking toe body shivers. Sigh. Keep taking playboy. “No. I don’t need to kidnap women, they come to me willingly.”

  Oh, I bet they do Mac. I bet they do. I’m not about to do a strip tease for him though, so I pinch my lips and raise a brow. Trying my best to look unimpressed. I’m definitely impressed. I mean the way he took those agents out and I didn’t even see it. Swoon.

  “We are meeting a friend of mine. Then I suspect you may be hungry?” His question is innocent enough, but I catch the tone in his voice and I eye him in my peripheral. I don’t want him to notice he’s struck a nerve, even though he has. No hunger here. It’s not weird at all, look away.