The Society Series Box Set 2

by Mason Sabre

  It took every ounce of strength Gemma had to pull the blade from her shoulder, her limbs heavy. The moment the blade came free, the weight inside her lifted, and she had to roll onto her side or pass out from the light-headedness. She couldn’t help but heave, her temperature shooting up in a matter of seconds. “Shit.” She put a hand on the floor to steady herself, even though she was already down.

  “Give it some time to pass.”

  Her stalker’s voice came from somewhere close by, but it was impossible for her to focus at just that moment. “What the hell was that?” Tiny droplets of silver dripped onto the floor from the blade in her grip. “I have never seen anything like this before.”

  “It is a blade sent from someone who wishes to see your death.”

  Gemma grimaced. “That’s putting it mildly.” Finally able to sit up and scoot back along the floor, she leant against the back door. She didn’t realise her hands were trembling until she tried to brush away fragments of glass and pot from her hand.

  The vampire handed her a towel, stepping wide over the Human debris to give it to her. His hand had healed, but he still kept it immobile. “Here.” When she didn’t reach for it, just stared up at it, he murmured, “I mean you no harm. You have my word.”

  If he had meant her harm, she was sure he would have done that already, but still, something inside her was afraid. Not of him—but … something. “Thank you,” she mumbled reluctantly and took the proffered towel. “And, thank you … for helping me. I need to call the DSA.”

  Gemma frowned to herself. Did she really want to call the DSA, or did she just want to call Cade and have him come here and make this all better?

  “Do you think that is wise?” The enigmatic vampire leant against the counter like he belonged there, and for some inexplicable reason, Gemma didn’t mind. She didn’t feel threatened. If anything, he felt … familiar.

  “I have no idea,” she said. What would she tell them? A Human evaporated? She used the door to get to unsteady feet. When she weaved, he moved to catch her. “I’m okay,” she said, eluding his hands.

  She toed the mess on the floor, debating whether she should call this into the DSA or not. What if it was connected to Jessica? Yet still, she hesitated.

  “Who are you?” she asked, eyeing him.

  Bending down to the mess, he picked up a dish. “You have a whole plate here,” he said, passing it to her. When she didn’t take it, he put it on the counter.

  “You’re avoiding my question. Don’t you think you should tell me who you are? Why you're here tonight? Why you have been following me for weeks?”

  He remained silent, his face still in shadows.

  “You won’t say? Maybe I should call the DSA on you?”

  “You know who I am. Your questions waste time.” He kicked bits of glass away, picking up the bigger pieces and collecting them in a pile before stopping abruptly. “You know,” he breathed, as if he was waiting for her to find her own answer to his question.

  She shifted uneasily, the intensity of his words disconcerting. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I knew.”

  His body seemed to tense, then he gave a brief nod and carried on picking up the remnants of her dishes. “Have you some sort of besom I may use to clear this away?”

  She frowned at his odd use of word for broom. “By the door,” she said. “Why are you here? And don’t tell me I know that, too, or that you just want to help me. You’re following me. What is it that you want?”

  He went over to the door for the brush, and Gemma was about ready to shout at him if he ignored her again. He paused with his back to her. “Peace,” he finally said softly.

  “Peace?”

  He nodded. “And my soul.”

  “I don’t have your soul,” she said, scowling at him. Wasn’t it believed that vampires could go crazy if they didn’t feed?

  “No, you do not.” His words were quiet. “You know where it is, however. Once you tell me, then I may reclaim it.”

  It sounded like some odd line from a bad movie, and she had no idea how to answer him. She tried to move, testing her legs and their ability to carry her without sending her crashing to the floor. Suddenly, the room was feeling somewhat claustrophobic.

  “You do,” he said when she gave no reply.

  “No. I don’t. You have the wrong person.”

  He inclined his head and then went back to cleaning up, brushing everything into a neat pile.

  Gemma’s irritation spiked up another notch.

  “You’re not answering me.”

  His shoulders tensed. “I have answered you. You just wish to dismiss what I have said because it does not fit in with your ideals.”

  She gripped the side of the counter and glared at him. “Why did you help me?”

  “Do you need to know why?”

  “Yes. Some Human comes into my house and you kill him. Why?”

  “It is my job.”

  “To kill Humans?”

  A pause. “To protect you.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  He moved closer, making her slide away from him. He pushed his hood back, revealing a shockingly handsome face capped with jet-black hair. Thick lashes framed ice blue eyes that pierced right through her. Yet, even though he was taller than her, and she had nowhere to go, she wasn’t afraid of him. “I have protected you through almost every lifetime. I will keep doing so until I no longer exist.”

  Gemma was sure that her expression mirrored exactly what she was thinking. Words formed in her throat, questions bounced around her head, yet she could utter none of them.

  “My soul walks the earth,” he said softly. “I wish to take it back."

  "How?" she whispered.

  He stared at her, waiting for realisation to dawn on her.

  “Kill them?”

  His silence was her answer.

  “And then what?”

  “Then we can be together.”

  She stared at him, an expression of incredulity on her face. “Err … supposing all this wasn’t as crazy as it sounds … that would be kind of presumptuous, don’t you think?” she asked. “To go to such great lengths to get your soul, only to realise I am not interested?”

  A small smile touched his lips, as if he knew things she didn’t. “But you are. You feel it inside. You know where my soul is.”

  Cade was the first thing that came to mind. The way she craved him. The way she needed him like he was air and she was suffocating. She brushed the idea away and scoffed, keeping her face as neutral as possible. “If that is true, why are we not together now? Why is your soul somewhere else?”

  Something flashed across his face. Maybe it was fear, anger, upset? Gemma wasn’t sure, but she had hit a nerve. “It was my fault. I did things out of revenge and never understood the consequences of my actions.”

  “What does that mean?”

  A tick worked along his jaw. “You were killed. I thought I could seek revenge by becoming … this.” He swept his hands down, indicating himself. “I was mistaken. You moved along to your next life, and I remained in our last. You … died … in my arms.”

  While it was the craziest thing Gemma had ever heard, something inside of her reacted. Something inside of her … believed him. She shook her head, trying to shake some logic back into it. Maybe the knock she had taken on her head was harder than she had realised. “If it is true,” she contested, “you are talking of something I don’t remember.”

  “You do. You simply refuse to see it and accept it.”

  She frowned at him. “How do you know you have the right person? Maybe I just look like her.”

  “I feel you.” He took Gemma’s hand before she could move it away and placed it on his chest. She froze at the contact, a jolt of electricity spiking through her.

  Her hand felt … right … there.

  “My heart beats because you walk the earth.”

  She snatched her hand back and moved away abruptly, almost regretting the look o
f pain and anguish that spread across his handsome features. “What if you are wrong? Have you considered that? Did you come here expecting me to run into your arms shouting ‘Henry, my love’?”

  His eyes darkened, and something flickered in their depths. “You truly have no recollection of me?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  With a curt nod, he backed away. “I shall leave you in peace then. My apologies.”

  “That’s it? You’ll go?” A surprising feeling of emptiness suddenly filled her, leaving her bereft, almost pining, at his sudden change.

  He reached a hand out toward her face, yet he didn’t touch her. “If you do not remember me, then I shall not waste any more of your time.”

  “Henry …”

  He smiled weakly at her, reaching his hand out toward her face, yet he didn’t touch her, just watched, calming her with his presence. He inclined his head once more then walked out of the kitchen and into the hall. Gemma had no idea what it was that possessed her, but she raced after him, a burning need inside her to make it right before he left. To ease whatever it was inside him.

  “Wait—”

  He paused at the open door, turning to meet her gaze. “You really do not remember me?”

  She shook her head sorrowfully, trying to put as much sincerity into her words as she could manage. “I’m sorry.”

  Gentle fingers reached out to touch her face, and he gave her a sad smile. She inhaled sharply at the contact.

  “If you do not remember me, my sweet, then how is it that you know my name?”

  With that, he left Gemma standing in the doorway, gaping after him.

  Chapter 12

  Cade

  Cade had called and warned his father ahead of time that he was coming for a warrant. He had saved himself the bother and the snarky face-to-face remarks about the ability to do his job and being Malcolm Davies’ little bitch boy since Stephen had died. Not that the call had stopped Trevor from trying, but at least Cade could hold his own over the phone and not lash out when his father pressed his buttons—and everyone knew Trevor MacDonald was damn good with that.

  The house always smelt like home when Cade walked in. It brought to life happy memories of his childhood—fake happy memories, perhaps. What it was like to be a child and to be blind to the perils of one’s parents’ marriage.

  The smell of paint and sunshine wafted through the air. Kathleen, his mother, could spend hours with an easel propped on the small foldout table, lost in her own world, painting forests and forgotten worlds filled with magic. She used to make up stories to go with them, and Cade would love listening to them as a little boy.

  His favourite painting was the one hanging in his father’s study—the Wild Hunt. It was most fitting to Trevor. It was about someone going off the track, hunted down by hounds and horses and then torn to shreds and their souls captured. Maybe it was symbolic of how his mother felt.

  As always, the easel was on the table in the sun lounge, and he could see the top of his mother’s grey hair peeking out from above the board. She was sitting on a stool, one leg on the bar and the other on the floor. Her slacks had paint smudges on them—some new, some old.

  “Can you pass me tube 53 while you’re there,” his mother’s voice crept out from behind her canvas and brought a smile to his face. He grabbed the tube of paint and brought it around.

  “What are you painting? Oh—” He leaned in to look at the intricate strokes across the canvas. At the bottom, blacks and reds swirled, rising and turning into flaming wings. “For Phoenix?”

  She smiled proudly. “Do you think he will like it?”

  His motorcycle stood front and centre, blue flames, the colour of Phoenix's eyes, mixed with shades of yellow blazing from it and rising to where a Phoenix soared against the moon. He had built and worked on that damn thing since the day Cade had agreed he could have one … actually, probably down to the second.

  “I think he will love it.” Cade placed his hand on his mother’s shoulder and leant down to kiss her cheek. She winced, and he didn’t miss the way her breath caught at the contact.

  Rage ignited instantly. The words between them passed unsaid. He knew; she knew he knew, too. It was different from when he was little. He used to put her bruises and timorous demeanour down to clumsiness and shyness, but as he had grown older, his hearing had improved, his senses had sharpened, and he had found out the horrible truth.

  His mother let out a small cough to clear the air and tried to stand and get out from under Cade’s hold. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pressed his palm flat against her shoulder, letting the heat of his touch seep into her muscle and soothe the pain.

  It was useless asking her to leave his father; she never would no matter how often he asked, and all he could do was stand by and watch. “Your father is in the office,” she said quietly after a few minutes. “He said you would be stopping by.”

  Yeah, Cade could imagine how that comment had gone. He’d not have mentioned anything. Probably would have sworn, thrashed about the house like a tantrum-throwing toddler and demanded she wait on him.

  “Is Danny in? I need to speak to him first.” He didn’t believe his younger brother was responsible for Jessica’s murder, but he needed to find out how he played into this whole sordid affair. Two birds, one stone....

  “You just missed him, actually.”

  He frowned. “He left after I called?”

  “Is he in trouble?” Kathleen swivelled around on her chair, a worried expression on her face. Her eyes were a little red around the edges, and she looked tired. His father was undoubtedly responsible for the sheen of tears in her eyes.

  He fought down his frustration at his father, and Danny for taking off when he knew Cade was coming. His brother didn't deal with emotion very well and this was probably just his way of avoiding it.

  “No,” he smiled reassuringly at his mother. “I just need to talk to him. Does he know about Jessica?” When his mother raised both eyebrows at him, Cade realised that she didn’t know, either. Trevor hadn't told them last night. Cade swore inwardly. No doubt Aaron would know. The wonder child who could do no wrong. He let out a long breath before saying, “Jessica Cooke was killed last night. We found her body at the old estate.”

  “Oh, no.” Kathleen gasped, her hand coming up to her chest. “Oh, that poor sweet thing. Does Angela know? Oh, my ... I can't imagine. That poor woman….”

  “We told her last night. Malcolm was with her. That is why I am here. I need my father to sign a warrant so we can look around her room because Angela wouldn’t let us in last night.”

  “Grief.” Kathleen nodded as if having a conversation with herself in her mind. “I wouldn’t want someone messing in my children’s rooms, either.”

  “No, maybe not,” he agreed grimly. “But you’d want whoever did it caught.”

  A door opened and then banged closed, breaking the peacefulness even in such a difficult time. “That’s my cue,” Cade said, jaw tight. He gave her one last squeeze, careful not to knock her shoulder as he did, but he touched her there, letting her know he knew about it. She just had to say the word and he would get her away from his father. He didn’t care what it cost him.

  “Come and say bye before you go?” she asked when he was at the door. “I miss you.”

  He threw her a warm smile. “I’m always here, Mum.”

  Trevor was mid-way between his office and the room where he sat and relaxed and pretended he was king of the castle. He gave Cade a grunt when he saw him, his equivalent of a greeting—the strangled sound said more than any nasty word could ever do.

  Once in Trevor’s office, Cade threw Jessica’s file down on the desk for his father to look at. He didn’t sit in the chair opposite. He knew better than to make himself appear calm and comfortable. When you walked into Trevor’s domain, you did so with all of your armour intact.

  Trevor picked the file up without a glance at Cade. As he flicked through the contents, he made
no noise and gave away no expression as to what he might be thinking.

  “I need to search Jessica’s room,” Cade said when his father was reading the notes they had made so far. “I want to see if there is any hint of a boyfriend she might have had.”

  Trevor was a tall man—all shifters were—yet as they grew older, their bulk, more than their stature, vanished. His hair had once been blond and from some angles, it still was, but mostly it was a blond-grey now, especially above his ears. He exhaled before he spoke, his words slow and thick with meaning—you always knew how damned in hell you were if he was mad.

  “I have signed the warrant for you,” he said, sliding a piece of paper in Cade’s direction. He didn’t miss the added strings of the favour that was added to it. Although Trevor had no doubt signed this with glee, probably running straight to his office after the call and grabbing onto the chance to outdo Malcolm.

  “Thank you.” Cade took the paper and stuffed it in the back of the file.

  “How is your little arrangement going?” Trevor asked, sitting back on his chair, a self-satisfied smirk at the corner of his lips.

  This was his father’s game. He was the king and everyone else was nothing more than a piece on his giant chess board, the main goal to get to the other side and capture the king—Malcolm.

  “Natalie told me you said she shouldn’t work.”

  “A woman’s place is in the home.”

  “You gave her the impression it was temporary.”

  Trevor’s smirk broke into a smile, and it reminded Cade of a Grimalkin cat. Vicious little creatures that smiled just before their kill … when they knew the prey was screwed. “You have a lot to learn about women of our pack, Cadence. One day you will see that the less we tell them, the better. Your mother is always getting herself into a mess over the slightest thing. I was doing you a favour.”