Blood Crow (The Crow Sisters Book 1)

by V Domino

  Blood Crow

  Copyright © 2020 by V. Domino

  Cover Design: Books and Moods

  Interior Formatting: Sinfully Seductive Designs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: author.v.domino@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN: 979-8-5507414-2-9

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To all the dark hearts.

  **TRIGGER WARNING**

  Before continuing on, please be aware that the Crow Sisters series contains graphic violence and death, power control, explicit sexual content including consented sex, blood, and kidnapping. Each book is on different levels in terms of triggers but all contain them. This book has cussing, alcohol, cigarette and drug use and is for mature readers only.

  Thank you!

  Blood Crow or Vocem Sanguinis: A race of vampires that were created with black magic.

  True Crow: A title belonging to the Crow sisters only because they are the only direct descendants of the Original Vocem Sanguinis, William Crow.

  Hellhounds: A race created when witches use black magic to kill a human. Their souls are bound to dogs.

  Supernatural Elders: Clan leader of every race, minus the Blood Crows

  Vincula: Hell’s prison for those who are immortal.

  Life is said to be the best teacher. It teaches you right from wrong through the choices and decisions made by those who have gone before you. But history is easily forgotten, twisted and repeated.

  If history were a person, she’d be a repetitive bitch.

  Our youth is supposed to be the most enjoyable and memorable time in our lives; the teen spirit. Yet on the flip side of that coin, those same years throw lessons at you and in order to survive you’ll need to learn them.

  But I've been alive for almost two hundred years and I’ve yet to learn the lessons regarding the heart.

  Now, I’m not talking about familial love. That I have in plenty when it comes to my sisters. No, I’m talking about a life partner, your other half, your right hand. Your ride or die…

  But that type of love is so frail. In my opinion, at least.

  It’s capricious and slippery, easily swayed with a misconstrued look or dismissive gesture. At the snap of the fingers, a simple word can cut or bruise it. In the short span of a second your true love can go from loyal to disloyal. Weakened by the temptation of curvy figures or the sultry smile of another.

  I’ve seen the roaming eyes of those true loves… hugging one while lusting over another. Fuck that pain.

  That’s why I’ve never considered learning such lessons. I don’t need the love of a man; I don’t need anyone’s love but my sisters. So, as I sit here and watch these humans cry and mourn over heartbreak, self-induced I might add, I scoff at the notion. It’s the same thing every time. The cycle history refuses to give up.

  History would also be a vain hag, showing her old face any chance she gets.

  Monotonous and oh so annoying.

  “You’re leaving me? Please, you can’t go. I love you.” My lips move in sync with the crying adulterous husband as I eye my black fingernails. Jeez, I really need to repaint them.

  “You‘re nothing but a cheating liar, Steven!” I continue my lip sync as the heavily pregnant woman snatches her keys and walks out the front door, slamming it on the groveling asshole.

  Honestly, I’ve seen the same story many times over, I can probably act it out too.

  You see, Steven here is a womanizer. Normally, I have no qualms with someone doing their own thing, be it promiscuity or celibacy, I really don’t care. To each their own, right? But when it comes to marriage and making vows before witnesses? That’s where a line should be drawn and obliged.

  Steven made a promise to love and cherish his wife, not every hole on the block. He should have the decency to keep the promise he made or man up and break off the marriage. Instead, he fouled her womb with an offspring who will most likely continue a shit cycle.

  I may not have a romantic bone in my immortal body but in my humble opinion, only selfish people fool around with the heart. Sneaking around and piling up the lies will eventually bite you in the ass.

  But what do I know, right? I’ve never fallen in love. Don’t plan to either.

  I wait in my cloaked shadows as Steven calms down from his insincere crying fit. My shadows are invisible to the human eye but if a mortal were to get too close to me while I’m cloaked, he would feel a cold spot. While my kind is cloaked we are untouchable by humans but we can touch them and all their worldly possessions.

  It’s quite the tool we have in our arsenal.

  So here I am lounging in the living room that’s for display only, with my Demonia Trinity boots propped up on his ugly modern glass coffee table. Too bad he doesn’t see my dark red painted lips pulled into a wide smile as I watch his meaningless tears fall down his cheeks.

  I’m not a ghost if that’s what you’re thinking. No, I’m a creature that has been inaccurately described by authors and movie makers since Vlad Dracula, who by the way was just a crazed man who knew how to kill a foe with finesse.

  I’m a Vocem Sanguinis, a Blood Crow.

  We’re like the Vampires people once believed in, only much better. You see, the stories of blood drinkers date as far back as the seventeenth century but as time went on, the stories got twisted a bit. Like the bat stories. Yes, we can shapeshift, fully or partially, but we're not limited to bats only. As long as we've drunk it's blood at least once, we shift into any creature but our true familiars are crows, not bats.

  I’m not too sure why that is, I think it’s because of the curse the witches placed upon my human ancestors. It was made with the blood of crows. Whatever the case may be, we’re bigger than your average crow, us females have a wingspan of six feet and the men have one of around eight feet in length.

  So yeah, most of the folklores got us wrong but in each tale there’s one fact that is true. For example, we can come out during the day but because of our sensitive eyes we prefer the moon to the sun. We can survive off of human food--but personally, I prefer a human as my food. We can be wounded and spells can be cast to hold us in captivity for eternity but the only thing that can kill us is hellfire. We can also walk amongst you humans but we choose not to because the supernatural world vibrates at a different frequency than the human world. This means that in the human world, every super looks clearer, sharper. It’s like an SD movie compared to an HD movie; the difference is obvious and it causes unnecessary attention.

  Steven draws my attention from the obnoxiously artsy furniture when he stands from his place at the table and walks over to the mini bar in the back of the dining room.

  Ah, liquor.

  Steven’s best friend when he’s feeling particularly sorry for himself. I watch as he drinks tumbler after tumbler of the amber liquid. I know his limits better than he does and he’s passed the point of no return.

  How do I know this? When I’m not pulling a hit with my sisters I like to people-watch. Being a bounty hunter for the supernatural world is not as time consuming as one might think. We don’t sleep so we have hours in spades and being immortal gives us years and years of time to fill. I got bored one night, so I decided to take a stroll through this
neighborhood, looking for a fun snack when I saw Stevie over here, sweet talking a woman on the phone. I had decided I’d leave him alone since he was obviously loved and in love. I stood there watching his pulse race with the sweet sentiments coming from the woman on the phone when another woman came out the front door. Steven's loud heartbeat skipped and stuttered as he hung up the phone quickly.

  Ahh, a triangle. What a cliche. I thought to myself.

  Needless to say, I was pissed with my decision to let the lying scumbag live. After that I enjoyed the obstacles Steven had to face with his lies. Using my abilities, I started fucking with his life; unlocking his phone and leaving it in the room with his wife or dialing the mistress’ number and putting it on speaker while Steven kissed his ignorant wife.

  So yeah, I’ve been devious and manipulative lately-- playing with my food if you will--but he deserved it.

  Steven continues drinking, ignoring the fact that he’ll have a horrible hangover come sunrise. I guess it’s no problem since he’ll never wake up and beg his wife to forgive his unfaithful ass. He won’t get the chance to spew his fake promises because tonight he will die. He'll be my dinner tonight and a daisy pusher tomorrow.

  I stand from the cream colored couch and watch as Steven takes out his phone. Sending out sorry texts to his wife before texting his mistress. Pig. And my sister Rory has the audacity to ask me why I find love to be a joke. Here's you neon sign, babe.

  Before he can get his sluggish fingers to unlock his phone I let my cloak dissipate and watch as he stumbles backward when my sudden appearance frightens him.

  “Aw, what’s the matter, Stevie boy? Thought you were all by your lonesome self, did you?”

  I slowly walk over to him watching his eyes flare with desire as he looks me up and down from my long legs to my black and white hair. I’m not wearing anything too revealing, just fishnet pantyhose under my frayed cutoff shorts and my tight white tank top but the clarity of my form makes my otherworldly beauty more desirable.

  The chains I have hanging from my belt clink together as I sway my hips with each step until I stop a foot away. I lean in close to his face and let my partially shifted snake tongue slip out from between my smiling lips and come close to his face without actually touching. I inhale the scent of fear and apprehension that floods his system, including that beautiful vein pulsating on his neck.

  Emotions change the essence of a human’s natural flavor. Hatred makes the blood taste like black coffee, bitter and harsh. Desire causes many different flavors, it depends on the type of desire the mortal is feeling but it can range anywhere from cocoa to a fruity flavor.

  My favorite is fear. It’s the sweetest emotion of them all. Honey and powdered sugar or cinnamon and brown sugar. But this, admittedly, handsome man before me has been drinking so his blood will taste delightful and give me a good buzz.

  “Wh- who are you? What do you want?” I mimic his words while he speaks them; typical human. Why are these the only sentences a human mind can come up with in these situations? Why not say something more creative? Not that it’ll stop me, but still, a little less predictability would be much more fun.

  I step away. “Forgive me, handsome, I forgot my manners at the door. I’m Ronny Crow.” I give a curtsy right before cloaking myself. He jumps again looking around the room in a panic. Once he stops and rubs his eyes, thinking he’s just drunk and hallucinating, I reappear behind him.

  “And I just stopped by for a little fun.”

  Steven jumps and spins at the feel of my voice kissing the shell of his ear. I don’t normally play with my prey but this dirtbag deserves it. My sister Roxy is the one with a taste for theatrics, as Rory calls it. But once in a while, I like to have a good time too and watching this heartbreaker fumble around for his phone is my definition of a good time.

  As he crouches to grab the phone he dropped, I kick him on his hip and hear the bone snap. Did I forget to mention that I’m stronger than even the strongest human? I am. My whole race is and most of the underworld is as well. The only race not stronger than the humans are demons. Well, technically they are but they’re a cursed race who can’t harm a human without invitation. They can’t even enter a home unless there has been an invite from a family member within the last six generations.

  Steven howls in pain as I squat next to him with a smile.

  “The fear running through your veins is divine... it makes my mouth water.”

  I disappear again and reappear on his other side. Inches from his ashen face, I let my snake tongue slither out as I grab him by the neck and lift him up off the floor.

  I feel my eyes change from they’re normal blue to full on crow black. The pupil bleeds outwards covering my whites as I hiss.

  “Let me have a little taste, mortal.”

  Before he can scream, I sink my teeth into his artery.

  Sugared bourbon.

  Cotton candy fear.

  My favorite.

  Once I’m finished with my cotton candy, or Steven as it were, I teleport home and dig out my ringing phone. I see it's Darren, my boss.

  “Yeah?”

  “French Quarter,” he says before hanging up.

  Darren is like a father to us Crow sisters. He’s an old as hell sióg, fairy, but don’t let the name of his race fool you. Fairies are vicious creatures with boundary issues. Darren has never told us how old he is but there are legends about him that date as far back as the Viking raids.

  Fairies never physically age after thirty years old and each sub-race resembles an element. Darren is from the fire line so when he doesn’t have his human glamor on, he’s completely red with the tips of his pointed ears lit with fire and though he can cast any elemental spell, he’s best with fire.

  He also has one hell of a short temper so instead of dragging my feet, I grab my stiletto daggers and yell for my oldest sister.

  “Yeah! I'm coming, shit.” Rory’s breathless voice comes from down the hall.

  "That's what she said!" I yell back.

  Ignoring my dirty joke, Rory comes through the doorway looking as frazzled as a preacher getting a lap dance.

  “Did you get the call too?” I ask as I’m pulling on my thigh straps. I don’t know what we’re facing so I grab my vials of basic potions, the only kind I know how to make.

  “Yes, I did. Roxy is already in the Quarter so grab the stridor.” whistle.

  As the leader of our group and family, Rory is always put together, but right now she looks like a mess. Her silver hair is in disarray and she keeps patting herself like she's looking for car keys.

  “You want me to grab your scythes?” I ask with a cocked brow as I finish buckling my straps. What the fuck is up with my sister? This is not like her at all.

  “I, ahem. Uh, yeah… I'll just get the damn things myself, Ronny. Geez. Always with the questions.” I don’t get to say anything because she stomps out of the room.

  Ooookay.

  She’s acting way out of character. It reminds me of the time Roxy came out of Rory's bedroom with a video of Nymphs getting their freak on. I couldn’t stop laughing when Roxy held up the Elf made 3D video cube playing the porno.

  Rory is a terrible liar. She stumbles over her words and sputters like it’s her job to let everyone around her know she’s hiding something.

  I wonder if she’s seeing someone?

  Recently she confessed she’s lonely and wants a mate. She’s not looking for someone to fuck, she wants someone who’ll fit with her. Someone to come home to, someone to share her bed with.

  I love my sisters with every fiber in my being. I’d take their places in hellfire without a second thought so when Rory told us this my heart clenched.

  I want to make her happy. She’s been everything for Roxy and me.

  Rory became our mom and dad when our parents packed up and left us a year after Roxy was born. She made sure we were fed, clothed and protected. So if Rory wants a mate, I want to hel
p her find him. She wants children? I’ll buy her a hundred fertility spells.

  Anything to see her happy.

  The feel of magic weaving around the house breaks me from my thoughts while Rory's voice echoes in my head as she teleports herself to the Quarter. Yep, that's correct, we can mind-speak.

  I got my scythes, we'll meet you there.

  Oh yeah, Rory is definitely hiding something.

  Alright, sister dear.

  I throw in as much sarcasm as I can into the thought.

  I grab the whistle at the last second, the silver sphere is covered in runes that really come in handy during a fight. Whispering the name of the supernatural race you’re facing while tracing the rune with your finger causes the sphere to emit a piercing whistle only audible to that specific race. It’ll knock out anyone within ten feet of it and give us plenty of time to overpower an enemy.

  Once I have everything I need, I whisper the teleport spell.

  “Corvos copulare.” Join the Crows.

  The Latin words take me wherever my sisters are, which happens to be the butterfly garden in the French Quarter of New Orleans.

  Nola is home to most of America's supernaturals because the nightlife calls to us more than any other city in the country. Plus they have fantastic food. Human and otherwise.

  I appear next to Darren who is glammed up, looking all GQ human. He still retains his height, build and basic bone structure but of course his skin and eye color are human-like.

  “What’s got you in a fire, Darren?” My pink haired sister asks with a childlike giggle. Being the youngest, Roxy doesn’t have a single care in the world. She is the kind of girl who’ll enjoy the rain while everyone else runs inside to stay dry. She’s also a bit psychotic.

  Bubbly and looney. Harley Quinn, if you will... minus the baseball bat.