Shadow Kissed: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Witch's Rebels Book 1)

by Sarah Piper

  “And let the others fend for themselves? Knowing how much power we have together? I couldn’t live with myself, Gray. None of us could.”

  Wrong. I could.

  I opened my mouth to say it out loud, but in that moment I realized it was no longer true.

  I’d stayed off the radar for seven years, denying who I was, pushing away witches like Haley and the others as if that was enough to keep me safe. The only witch I’d let into my life was Sophie, and now she was gone.

  In the end, isolating myself hadn’t kept me safe. And it hadn’t been living. Not really.

  “I went to see Jael on Monday,” I finally confessed. “Sophie left the book for me, but I’m still trying to figure out what it means. I just… I need a little more time.”

  “I understand.” Haley’s face softened. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. I was just getting to know Sophie, but you… you were everything to her.” Her eyes shone with emotion, her smile warm and genuine. “All that stuff Delilah said… God, I love Delilah, and I really, really need her to be okay. But she was way out of line.”

  “I wasn’t exactly on my best behavior, either.”

  “Sophie was never disappointed in you,” Haley said. “She looked up to you, Gray. She said you were the closest thing to a sister she ever had.”

  I wanted to tell her how much that meant to me, how those words melted some of the ice from my heart, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was, “Hungry?”

  Haley beamed. “Starving.”

  With most of the tension between us easing, Haley followed me into the kitchen, taking a seat while I dished up piping hot lasagna and opened another bottle of Merlot. Sophie’s bar tending job had kept us well-supplied in booze, and I poured a glass for her as well, setting it on the table between us.

  After we clinked glasses, Haley gestured to Sophie’s tarot cards. “Sophie told me you guys used to draw Tarot every day after work.”

  I smiled warmly, picking up the Page I’d drawn before Haley’s arrival. “Yeah, it was one of our rituals. Tea and Tarot. Catch up on the night. Look ahead to the next one.”

  “That’s so cool. I never learned Tarot. I’m more into the blood magic.” Haley laughed. “I know, not creepy at all, right?”

  “Only slightly creepy. But hey, if you keep showing up at my door with food, I might offer to teach you Tarot.” I set the Page back on top of the deck, face up. “You can keep the blood stuff to yourself.”

  “It’s a deal.” Her smile faded, her gaze shifting back to the Page of Cups.

  “Whatever happened to her and the other witches,” Haley said, suddenly serious, “I feel like it’s connected to something so much bigger. The other covens, other cities… Something is happening.”

  “I agree.” If what they’d learned from the other covens was true, the killings weren’t isolated to the Bay, and they probably weren’t just the work of one lone psychopath. “What are you thinking?”

  “I want to find who did this,” she said. “Who’s doing it. Who they’re working for. Who else is involved. And I want to continue what Sophie and I started at the coven.”

  “Strength in numbers, that whole thing?”

  “It’s important work, Gray. Reaching out to the other witches, reconnecting. Reclaiming our power.”

  She sounded so much like Sophie in that moment, I wondered once again if my little Page of Cups was stopping by to say hello.

  “Look, I know you don’t have many reasons to trust anything I’ve said.” Haley reached for the wine, pouring us each another glass and titling the bottle back up without spilling a drop—a trick I’d never mastered. “And we didn’t get off on the right foot at Norah’s place. But Sophie believed in you, and she believed in me, and she was an awesome judge of character. So I say we team up.”

  Team up…

  I was distrustful of most people by nature—a policy that had served me well in the years since I’d fled New York. If I’d been more cautious as a teenager, I might’ve avoided the betrayal that had led the hunters straight to our doorstep.

  But I was just a kid back then. Scared, alone, ashamed, on the run for my life.

  Friendless.

  When you build concrete walls around your heart, most people don’t stick around long enough to find out what’s on the other side—and I don’t blame them. It’s exhausting trying to chip away at another person’s defenses. But Ronan and Sophie were different. In their own ways, they’d each given me the space and understanding I needed to find my way into our friendships at my own pace. And they never gave up on me, no matter how often I pulled away, kept things from them, or closed myself off.

  They believed in me. Believed that my friendship was worth the trouble.

  So maybe this was my chance to prove their faith in me wasn’t misplaced.

  No, I wasn’t ready to join a coven or start practicing magic again. And I wasn’t ready to share all of my secrets—especially not about what I’d done to Bean in the alley, or the strange darkness that seemed to be corrupting my magic place, edging in on the corners of my reality.

  But for a chance to honor Sophie’s memory and prevent other witches from dying the same gruesome death—to give girls like Reva a fighting chance of growing up without the constant threat of hunters and whatever other killers lurked out there?

  I could accept Haley’s olive branch. I could make an effort. I could try to put myself out there, just a little.

  “You’re right,” I said, lifting my glass. “I don’t have many reasons to trust you. But you make a kick-ass lasagna, and that’s something I can get on board with.” I winked, offering a quick but genuine smile. Then I touched my glass to hers and met her eyes, all traces of humor vanishing. “I’m in, Haley.”

  Haley blew out a breath and smiled, shoveling a forkful of hot, gooey pasta. Around a full mouth, she said, “Okay. So… what’s our first step? I’m pretty much open to anything that doesn’t violate my moral compass, which is admittedly quite broad.”

  I tore off a hunk of garlic bread and popped it into my mouth, still processing everything Emilio had shared about the case, which wasn’t all that much. He knew the witches had been injected with vampire blood, but he had no way of identifying the origins of that blood.

  I, on the other hand, knew exactly who could help with that.

  “If you need anything, do get in touch…”

  And just like that, a plan sprang forth from the dark and dusty recesses otherwise known as my mind.

  “Tell me something, Hay.” I grabbed my wine glass, holding it up to the light and admiring the deep, blood-red color. “How does your moral compass rate breaking and entering?”

  Twenty-Four

  Gray

  The day I’d been booted out of Norah’s house, if someone would’ve told me that less than a week later Haley Barnes and I would be standing in front of the building that housed the morgue and medical examiner’s office dressed like twin hookers, I would’ve asked them to share whatever drugs they’d been smoking.

  But three nights after hatching our plan over Nona’s infamous lasagna, that’s exactly what Hay and I were up to.

  “Are we good?” she asked.

  “Almost. More cleavage.” I tugged the zipper on Haley’s leather jacket, revealing the tight white V-neck sweater underneath. “And more lipstick.”

  “Pushy witch, aren’t you?” Smirking, Haley pulled a tube of Rebel Red out of her purse and reapplied. “Happy now?”

  “Oh, I’m thrilled.” I snagged the lipstick from her and applied another coat to my own lips, smacking them together to set the color. “After this, maybe we could put on some pants made out of raw meat and parade around shifter territory.”

  “You know I could do a memory spell on the guy, right?” she asked. “Totally herbal. No side effects.”

  “I know all about your skills.” I returned her lipstick and linked my arm in hers, leading us up the steps. “But you’re not using
magic on him. It was hard enough to convince Darius to hold off on the vamp influence.”

  “Okay, setting aside the fact that the most powerful vamp in the city is taking orders from you—”

  “Not even close,” I said, but a warmth rose to my cheeks just the same.

  It turned out Darius had really meant that whole “anything you need” bit, because when I’d asked him to meet us here tonight, he didn’t even question it.

  “You’re blushing,” Haley teased. “Methinks someone around here has a little vampire crush.”

  “It’s not a crush,” I insisted, but I couldn’t meet her eyes, and my fingers drifted to my wrist, gently rubbing the spot where he’d bitten me.

  “I don’t know how you do it, girl.” Haley checked out my hair, pulling my curls over my shoulders and giving me one last fluff. “Sexy vamp Brit, sexy brooding demon… I can’t even work up the courage to post my Tinder profile, and you’ve already got two insanely hot men wrapped around your little finger.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said, but there was no conviction in my voice.

  I wouldn’t call them wrapped around my finger, but there was definitely something—some things—going on there.

  My feelings for Ronan were a tangled knot of confusion. That kiss was epic, the kind of kiss that made my toes curl, and though he hadn’t said another word about it, I knew he’d been thinking about it. Haley and I had been hanging out again last night, reviewing the finer points of our plan, when Ronan stopped by for a beer.

  We’d both seen the way he’d looked at me. Touched me.

  As for Darius? I hadn’t seen him since that night at Black Ruby, but my stomach was suddenly fizzy with anticipation. There was something about him that captivated me, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just my vampire curiosity.

  Crazy as it sounded, I couldn’t help feeling like I was meant to meet him. That he was meant to be part of my life here in the Bay, just like Ronan was.

  “It’s weird, don’t you think?” I asked, surprised at the dreamy tone in my voice. “Liking two guys. I mean, not that I like them, like them. But… you know?”

  “Oh, I know.” Haley smirked. “And hey, maybe they’re into sharing.”

  I smacked her arm, but I couldn’t deny the flush of heat that filled my chest at that idea.

  “Okay,” she said, getting back to business. Darius would already be waiting for me inside—we needed to get rolling. “I think we’re as hot and slutty as we’re gonna get. You sure you don’t want me to work my magic on this guy?”

  “Your feminine magic, yes. Witchcraft, no.”

  I wasn’t budging on that point. An innocent security guard didn’t deserve to have his memory messed with. And despite Haley’s casual attitude about magic, no one could convince me that doing it out in the open was a good idea. Not as long as hunters existed—and they always would.

  “Darius won’t need much time,” I said, tugging my leather miniskirt down over my butt. I’d borrowed it from Sophie’s closet, and it was a little on the snug side. “Just long enough to get in there, do his thing, and get out. You ready?”

  Haley readjusted her boobs and squared her shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

  “Okay, there’s the guard,” I whispered as we passed through the doors and slinked toward the desk at the end of the entry hall. A man sat behind it—human, kind of cute, actually, other than the generic gray rent-a-cop uniform—scrolling through his phone. “Here we go.”

  “Leave it to me.” Like flipping a switch, Haley turned on the charm, forcing out a giggle as we approached the desk.

  The man finally looked up, eyeing us with a twenty/eighty mix of skepticism and lust. Hopefully Haley could nudge him further into the lust direction.

  “Hi-yeee!” She waggled her fingers, her eyes widening in mock confusion as she took in our surroundings. “Is this two twenty-eight Marchetta Street?”

  Robocop crossed his arms over his beefy midsection, gaze settling on her cleavage. Haley leaned forward on the desk, and his lips twitched with a grin, revealing a brilliant smile.

  Wow. Who knew security jobs had such good dental benefits?

  “It is,” he said.

  “No offense,” she said, “but this doesn’t look like a nightclub. I don’t even hear any music.”

  “This is the municipal district, hon. No clubs down here. But, ah, if you’re in the mood for a dance, I could put on some music for you.”

  “That’s sweet, but we’re meeting someone at…” She glanced at her phone. “Two-two-eight Marchetta. They said that’s the address.”

  “Told you those guys were messing with us, Jenny.” I frowned, pulling out my phone and pretending to check my texts. “Mike’s not answering any of my texts, and Noah just keeps sending poop emojis.”

  Haley cringed at my improv, but quickly reigned it in. “Oh my God, Gabby. I think… I think we just got punked.” Her voice cracked, crocodile tears spilling on cue. “What the hell? I really thought they liked us.”

  “Aww, don’t cry, sweetheart.” The man rose from his chair, genuine sympathy filling his eyes. I almost felt bad for what we had to do. “Guys like that aren’t worth it—trust me.”

  Haley pouted. “But our ride is gone and we don’t know the area and now we’re totally stranded.”

  At this, he came around the front of the desk and put a hand at the small of her back. “Why don’t you two take a seat, and we’ll figure out this ride situation together.”

  “Really?” Haley brightened. “You’re too sweet.”

  “It’s nothing.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his gaze focused so intently on that stellar cleavage I worried he might dive right in.

  And there’s my chance…

  Before I could rethink it, I leaned in and reached for the carabiner hanging off his belt, deftly freeing the attached keyring.

  Score.

  “Hey, do you have a restroom?” I palmed the keys and forced a bright smile, bouncing on my toes. “I have to pee. Like, super bad.”

  “Right around the corner. Just don’t be too long, okay? This one here looks like trouble.” He laughed, his gaze still lingering on her chest.

  You okay? I mouthed to Haley.

  Go, she mouthed back, and the glint in her eye told me she was actually enjoying this.

  Well. That makes one of us.

  Twenty-Five

  Gray

  Deep in the bowels of the building where most had never ventured, Darius waited outside the door to the morgue, still as a statue and just as beautiful. He was impeccably dressed as always—charcoal gray dress pants and a black cashmere V-neck that clung to his lean muscles, pushed up to the elbows to reveal some serious forearm porn.

  He sensed my presence and turned toward me, silently watching as I descended the basement stairs, his eyes widening. Any earlier reservations I’d had about going overboard with the outfit—tight red tank under a cropped denim jacket, Sophie’s leather mini, knee-high black leather boots—disappeared in the wake of his desirous gaze.

  Maybe they’re into sharing…

  Darius smiled, as if he could read my thoughts.

  “No demon entourage tonight?” His smooth British accent rolled over my skin like warm water.

  “Ronan and Asher are not my entourage,” I said, a little defensively. Then, in a softer tone, “Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course.” He stepped closer, his scent floating on the air—like really good leather and expensive whiskey and a richness that was all Darius. “I was glad you rang. Although, I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  I nodded, grateful he hadn’t extended further condolences. I appreciated his voicemail the other night so much, but right now we had to stay focused on the mission: Get in, check the bodies (Darius), check the files (me), and get out—before the guard noticed his missing keys.

  “We don’t have much time.” Beneath a frosted glass pane etched in gold with the word MORGUE, I shoved a random
key from the ring into the door lock and turned. Bingo.

  “First try? You’re charmed, love.” Darius followed me into the dark room, shutting the door behind us. It took a few beats for my eyes to adjust, but of course Darius didn’t wait; vampires could see in the dark, and in the time it took me to fumble around for my phone flashlight, he’d already begun working his way down the rows of drawers at the back of the room.

  “What are you looking for, exactly?” I asked.

  “Traces.” Darius slid one drawer closed, then opened another. “Scents. Evidence left behind.”

  I scanned the surroundings, taking it all in. A row of four identical metal tables bisected the room, with the storage drawers running along the back wall and two desks set up in front, just inside the door. One side of the room had a couple of sinks, hanging scales, and storage cupboards, and on the other side, a row of tall file cabinets loomed.

  The metal tables gleamed under the beam of my flashlight, and though they appeared to have been recently cleaned, the one closest to the front was covered in surgical tools, neatly spread on a thin blue cloth: scalpels, pliers, needles. A huge metal blade that could only be for sawing through bone.

  I swallowed hard, suppressing a shiver.

  “Ah, here we are,” Darius said. “October second. Marisol Cates.” He hauled open the drawer without ceremony.

  I glanced up just in time to see a lock of dark hair spill out from beneath a rumpled white sheet, and my stomach lurched.

  I sucked in a deep breath and started counting backward in my head, but it was too late for calm thoughts. Oily black smoke clouded my vision, and my legs turned to lead, as though some great evil were fighting to suck me under. Darkness roiled inside me, sweeping away my queasiness as quickly as it’d arrived.

  In its wake there was only anger. Only rage.

  So many dead witches. Dead women. Brutalized at the hands of men in their senseless quest for power.