Highland Blood Moon: A Cassidy Edwards Novella - Book 3.6

by Carmen Caine

  The vampire’s eyes narrowed, and then everything began to fade.

  Dorian felt his hands turn cold, then numb.

  As his consciousness drifted away, he heard Jacques whisper in his ear, “Vampires, the Chosen Ones, share minds, mon ami. I will feel your pain in the shadow of my own for an eternity. I will feel what you feel. I will suffer as you suffer. The both of you.”

  The next moment, he felt the sharp prick of fangs on his neck.

  The Choosing

  The Choosing. Aye, choosing to return was easy enough—for him. Ignoring the pull to travel to the unknown would have been nigh impossible if not for Gloria and Elizabeth. Nay, he needed to see them safe. He had to fight for them. They needed his strength. And with that in mind, he fled the call of the unknown.

  But after escaping the pull, darkness descended upon him.

  The voices came next, voices whispering to each other in an unknown tongue … voices terrible to hear.

  He ran past them, calling out for Gloria as loud as he could.

  What had he done?

  Had he failed his wee sister again? Had he condemned her to an eternity of fear?

  Suddenly, her anguished screams echoed in his mind.

  “Fight this, Gloria!” Dorian cried back.

  “Dorian?” her voice whispered in reply.

  He drew strength and took heart. “Aye, wee fool of a lass, hold onto my strength,” he thought at her, sending every ounce of strength he possessed. “Dinna leave me. Not now!”

  “Dorian?” she began to sob hysterically. “I’m afraid. I canna see!”

  Complete, utter darkness surrounded him from every angle.

  “Nor can I,” he admitted. “But that will not stop a highlander, aye? Follow the sound of my voice, lass. I will find our way back.”

  Desperately, he searched in all directions, speaking calmly to his sister all the while as he battled his own fear of the utter darkness. He wandered for what seemed an eternity. The voices came and went. Fear rolled in waves. Raw fear. The kind of fear he hadn’t even known existed.

  The kind of fear that could wear even the most valiant of men down.

  The kind of fear he could lose to … and finally, did.

  At last, he fell to his knees, still sending his wee sister a litany of lies in his mind. “Aye, ‘twill not be long now, lass.” “Hold on, you’re a Ramsey.” “I willna fail ye, I swear it!”

  But he had.

  He’d failed her … and his Elizabeth.

  Fighting tears, he let his mind wander over Elizabeth again.

  His Elizabeth. Her strength. Her beauty. Her wit.

  Aye, a lady to die for.

  Slowly, he became aware of a warmth stealing over him.

  And then he heard it.

  The soft hoot of an owl.

  And even though he knew he couldn’t see in the darkness around him, he lifted his lashes, puzzled.

  An … owl? Here?

  He saw it then. The faintest glimmer of light. Red light, guiding his way. The light of Wolf Blood Moon.

  * * *

  Dorian noticed his skin first. ‘Twas as cold as ice. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He lay on the croft floor, bathed in the dim light of candles and surrounded by a ring of wolves.

  Gloria lay by his side, pale and still, but with the bite marks on her neck already closing.

  “I stand in awe,” a quiet voice echoed in his mind.

  Dorian glanced up to see Jacques standing by the table with a massive wolf on each side, their lips pulled back in wide grins that exposed rows of shiny teeth.

  “Never have I seen such a quick choosing and on this night of all nights,” the vampire shook his head in wonder as his voice continued to murmur in Dorian’s mind. “Do not tell the wolves, mon ami, but forever will I name this moon ‘Highlander Blood Moon’.”

  Dorian felt his lips twitch in amusement and he sat up, flexing his muscles as the bones in his body straightened, knitting themselves together.

  Suddenly, Gloria’s arms enveloped him in a hug. “You didn’t leave me,” she said, squeezing him fiercely. “You led me back.”

  “Nay, never will I leave you, lass,” he replied with a chuckle before holding her at arm’s length.

  Already, she’d been restored to the full picture of health, but like himself, felt cold to the touch.

  Rising to his feet, he spied Elizabeth’s silver dagger on the floor. He bent to retrieve it, but his fingers had scarcely closed over the hilt before a white-hot pain shot through his hand. He dropped the blade with a hiss and looked at his burnt fingers.

  “’Tis silver, mon ami,” Jacques’ amused tones filled his mind. “You are vampire, remember?”

  Astonished, Dorian watched the burns fade away and in seconds, his skin had healed.

  “I will keep it for you,” Bianca offered, padding up to his side.

  Elizabeth’s dagger… He felt his heart tear asunder. Elizabeth was lost to him now. She tasted of sunshine, but he now stood as a creature of the night. His Elizabeth … he bowed his head, knowing he could not think of her now.

  “Aye, then, Bianca,” he agreed in a hoarse voice. “Take it and guard it well.”

  He turned away.

  He felt the first pang of hunger then, a raw hunger burning his gut.

  The thirst for blood.

  He drew his lips back, feeling his fangs extend as a strength stronger than he’d ever felt coursed through him in pounding waves. He flashed to the door and looked down at his sister standing by his side.

  “Gloria, we will track him down,” he promised. “We will win.”

  A matching fury danced across his sister’s face. “Aye,” was all she said.

  Again, a strong pang of hunger ripped through his soul.

  He lifted his head and stared into the waning night. "Emilio, I will find you in the long, dark days ahead," he swore.

  But first, he must feed.

  Dorian’s story continues in the Cassidy Edwards “Monster” series.

  My Name is Raven

  My name is Raven. They call me a Bonepicker—a lone wolf, a wolf without a pack—but I’m no ordinary wolf. I’m a wolf of the Mists and I feed on carrion of a special kind, the Carrion of the Reaches. There’s not a Reach I can’t break into nor a place I can’t escape—in spite of having so many prices on my head, they’d confuse a calculator.

  Bonepicker

  Memories swirl on the nebulous edge of my dreams—hazy images, at best. Running with my pack. Biting my siblings’ ears. Doting parents. Howling at the moon, my fledgling voice lost in the thunderous chorus of my pack.

  But disaster struck early. On one single night, I lost everything, family as well as the ‘village’ of a friendly wolf pack. After that devastating event, the Lower Reach Wolves of the Mist faded into the realms of legend. Wolves who walked the mysterious paths of the Magi. Wolves with unique abilities long kept secret.

  All but one—me.

  I’d just turned five weeks old. I’d only survived because I’d grown weary of having my heels nipped by the stronger and older pups. Deciding to nap, I’d wedged myself under the low-hanging ledges at the back of the cavern. Sometime later, I awoke to the screams … blood in the snow…

  I push those memories away, even in my dreams.

  But I will never forget—cannot forget—his scent. A vampire. A Chosen One. His cloying stench hangs in my nostrils as if I’d just encountered it yesterday.

  After he’d gone, I’d wailed and wept until there were no more tears to shed. I howled at the moon the entire night, my reedy voice cracking with tears as I dedicated my life to revenge. When the sun rose, I fled the only home I’d ever known and entered the Reaches as a lone wolf, a bonepicker.

  I’ve been hunting him ever since.

  * * *

  “We’ll lose the contract,” Jax grumbled, nervously picking the brown scruff masquerading as a beard on his chin. “This one can’t wait.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t care.
Nothing stood in the way of my morning coffee. Burrowing deeper into my jacket against the cold, I timed the traffic and dashed across the street.

  “Hey! Wait up!” Jax shouted.

  Since when did I listen to Jax—or anyone for that matter? Especially when he merely plodded towards the nearest crosswalk instead of bolting across the street after me. I wasn’t in the mood to wait. But again—when did I ever wait?

  I straightened my shoulders and plowed through the bundled pedestrians, stalking the seductive scent of coffee already teasing my slumbering wolf senses awake. Above me, snowflakes drifted down from the gray clouds squatting over New York City. As much as I hated snow, at least it provided the illusion of silence, even on a crowded city street—but then, that’s the thing about big cities. It’s easy to isolate yourself amongst rats in the rat race when all they do is spend their time, scurrying around to get the biggest crumb of cheese.

  A snowflake landed on the tip of my nose. I growled under my breath, refusing to let it awaken the memories of the traumatic events that gave rise to my debut as a bonepicker.

  I scowled. Yeah, my shoulder still hurt from that last job, but this new contract might be just what I needed right now. Chasing hard-bitten criminals would definitely distract me from the various forms of in-your-face ‘Holiday Cheer’ saturating New York City, starting with that damn tree propped up in Times Square. As a wolf, I felt nothing but pity for that tree, cut in its prime from the forest where the wind sings through the leaves under the mystery of the midnight moon.

  With my mood souring by the second, I dashed across West 42nd St., narrowly avoiding the bus barreling into the Port Authority Bus Terminal. It slammed its brakes and the driver yelled, jerking his hands in an obscene gesture as to my right, a man shouted above a sudden chorus of honking horns, “Hey, watch it, lady!”

  I turned my head, my gray wolf eyes immediately zeroing in on my critic—a pot-bellied man with greasy black hair smoking a cheap cigar about six cars away. An easy takedown, but not worth the effort. Not before coffee, anyway. I lifted my lip and growled at him instead—yeah, not exactly a human response, but then, as a bonepicker, I had few rules to follow in life.

  The snow at the bus terminal had melted into a dirty gray slush. I hated wet feet. Scowling, I dashed across another street and up to the street corner coffee shop at last.

  I reached for aluminum door bar handle, but my reflection in the door’s plate glass made me pause. An unusually tall, slim-legged woman wearing jeans and a distressed brown-leather bomber jacket with her long, black hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail gazed back at me. Something about her scared people. After the first glance, they invariably scooted away, some faster than others. They saw something in her, something that screamed dangerous. Was it her face? The high and wide cheekbones? The strong nose? The lip seemingly etched in a permanent, sarcastic sneer? Or maybe it was the eyes, the by far larger-than-usual human eyes, the Wolf of the Lower Reach Mists gray eyes.

  I shook my head, jolting myself out of my unusual reverie.

  Well, whatever it was, who cared? I didn’t need them. I didn’t need anyone.

  “Raven! Wait up!” Jax huffed from the end of the block.

  I rolled my eyes. Above all, I really didn’t need Jax. “Time to move,” I muttered under my breath and striking the door bar, half-kicked it open and strode inside.

  Yeah, they all looked up. I made an entrance, as usual, but this time, I hadn’t even tried for the grandiose. Whatever. I let my long lashes drift down in pure bliss as the welcome scent of coffee washed over me and then with long, bold strides, headed for the tail of the order line. Swirls of red and green Christmas decorations teased my outer vision and strains of a Nat King Cole Christmas carol battled the surrounding din of voices for dominance. I rolled my eyes. What was it with humans and these useless, silly traditions?

  For a brief moment, my memories betrayed me, summoning a long forgotten event, a three-second slice of time. Myself crawling over my siblings in the snow, my laughing mother—in human form—making a snow angel nearby.

  Growling at the unwelcome intrusion from the past, I folded my arms in a creak of leather and began tapping the toe of my boot on the hardwood floor. The woman in front of me tossed a look of muted disapproval over her shoulder.

  I cocked a brow, feeling suddenly confrontational, but fate spared her. Jax chose that moment to finally arrive.

  “You’re gonna miss the train,” he began in a whisper-shout. His voice started out strong but after catching my expression, ended in a hound dog whine.

  “Then I’ll take your car,” I grunted, and then added, “Providing I decide to go anywhere.”

  That made him promptly shut his mouth. Good boy.

  The hiss of the copper-bedecked espresso machine cut further conversation short, and then it was my turn to step up to the counter and place my order. After paying, I joined the crowd clustered at the other end of the bar to wait for my drink, pretending not to notice as they edged away.

  Jax tried for patience, but failed miserably. He hovered at my elbow, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to drag me away, but of course, he knew better than to try. Nothing interrupted my morning ritual. Ignoring him, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the perfume of the various coffee beans wafting around me as only a wolf can.

  “Venti-quad half-sweet brevi caramel extra-hot macchiato with whip-chocolate drizzle and cinnamon,” the barista barreled the words out like bullets.

  Snapping out of my meditative state, I grabbed my drink and stalked to the nearest wooden table to sit down and prop my boots on a nearby chair.

  A move Jax clearly mistook as an invitation. “This is a hot one,” he began, yanking the chair opposite mine and falling into it. “You’re—”

  “Mmmrrr,” I half grunted, half growled as I lifted a silencing hand.

  He swallowed, gritting his teeth, but again, obligingly fell silent.

  I downed half of my macchiato in one go, relishing the hot rush of mega-caffeine before savoring the rest at a slower pace.

  As always, it took six minutes. Six minutes of pure heaven.

  Satisfied, I dropped the paper cup onto the table and turned my gray wolf gaze onto Jax, subjecting him to a critical inspection. He was nothing special. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Rimless glasses. Chubby. Wearing a red hoodie and faded jeans. Just your normal, medium-height human male in his mid-thirties still struggling to grow a beard. He found me intimidating. I knew that. My height alone was enough, but combine that with my attitude and I could have the man quaking in his shoes in seconds.

  He just sat there, perched on the edge of his chair, swallowing nervously like he was Little Red Riding Hood facing the Big Bad Wolf.

  But then, he was.

  I grinned, wondering what he’d do should he discover I wasn’t a simple human, like himself.

  “What is it this time?” I finally asked.

  He nodded, relieved to speak at last, but instead of offering me information on the case, he pushed a white envelope across the table instead. I cocked a curious brow, noting the envelope’s substantial girth, much thicker than usual.

  Must be a really rotten job if he started out with paying me first.

  “In twenties, just like you like it,” he said, obviously trying to sweeten the deal.

  I didn’t move. I just sat there, waiting for him to continue. I only took cases I liked, ones that complimented my own agenda. Jax knew that well enough. On average, I accepted only one in ten offers from him, but even with that track record, I’d made his little Bail and Bonds company rich the past year.

  He wilted under my stare and immediately shifted gears into begging mode. “I really need you to take this one, Raven,” he said, clearing his throat as he pulled a plastic Ziploc bag out of his hoodie pocket. “We’ve gotta keep it quiet, though. It’s strictly off the books, but it’s really hot. You bring this in and I can take the company to a whole new level. It’s more of a privat
e investigation, really. A really rich dude. English royalty. Lord Lucian Rowle. He’s after someone, and …”

  He kept talking but I tuned him out, waffling between accepting the case just to get away from the holidays and going back to my tiny apartment to sleep through them instead—and finally rest my shoulder.

  Rest and sleep won.

  “Not today, Jax,” I said, interrupting his spiel about how he’d make a fortune running a private investigation firm. “I’m sitting this one out.”

  He pushed the Ziploc bag across the table. “I’ve got the evidence right here,” he said quickly. “Just like you like it, sealed in plastic. Just check it out first, ok? It looks interesting, like your kind of thing.”

  My kind of thing? My lip quirked. So, he’d been studying me and the kind of cases I’d accepted?

  My eyes dropped to the plastic bag. I’d convinced him I was a psychic to throw him off the wolf trail—not that he was looking, but as a bonepicker, I couldn’t be too cautious. Seal the evidence in plastic to keep the karma fresh, I’d said. Couldn’t have him catching me sniffing it like a beagle.

  Whatever. I yawned and removed my boots from the chair.

  “Just check it out, Raven,” he said, grabbing the bag.

  “Not in the mood,” I said, moving to get up.

  He pulled the bag open and dumped its contents on the table. Was that a hair barrette with a dead spider glued on top? A zombie fashion statement?

  But then, the first faint odor tickled my nostrils.

  I moved so fast, I nearly knocked Jax off his chair onto the floor.

  Gripping his shoulders, I shook him hard, barely able to restrain myself from losing control of my human form.

  “Where did you get that?” I snarled at Jax.

  That odor.

  That stench.

  As faint as it was, I knew it.

  It had haunted my every waking moment.

  Him.

  I’d found him—at last.