The Serenity Series: Box Set: Books 1-3

by Marissa Farrar

  Serenity groaned and put her head in her hands. Could she be any more pathetic? Perhaps her feelings for Sebastian were never real? Maybe she’d seen what she wanted—a handsome knight to rescue her—and her sick mind had conjured up the emotions needed to escape Jackson?

  The ache in her heart told a different story.

  She couldn’t love Sebastian. He was a fucking vampire! Even the thought made her brain hurt, as though the idea was too much. Every instinct told her Sebastian being a vampire was impossible, but she couldn’t deny what she’d seen. In so many ways, he just seemed like a man who’d shown her the possibility of a normal life. For the first time, she’d believed it possible to have someone in her life that actually cared about her. She didn’t want to think about what he was, yet the memory of his fingertips on her skin and the way he looked at her filled Serenity’s mind.

  Her lower lip quivered and a lump choked her throat. She wished she could take back the knowledge, rewind the last twelve hours and return to the safe, warm place of not knowing.

  The sound of the doorbell startled Serenity from her thoughts and set her heart racing. No one ever rang the bell.

  She wiped away the tears dampening her cheeks. The mailman probably had a package too big for the box; Jackson liked to order things on the Internet. The thought didn’t stop the flutter of nervous butterflies playing havoc in her stomach and a thin sheen of cold sweat coated her palms.

  She had fallen asleep fully dressed minus her shoes and didn’t need to worry about answering the door in her nightwear. Nevertheless, she hadn’t made it out of her bedroom door before the person rang the bell twice more.

  That got her moving.

  Perhaps it’s Sebastian, the stupid, hopeful little part of her thought. No, since when did he bother to ring the bell? Hell, when did he bother to use the door?

  Anyway, it’s daytime. Vampires can’t come out in the light.

  The notion sent a shiver through her.

  Shaking off the idea, and with the doorbell still ringing in short, insistent bursts, Serenity rushed down the stairs. Through the textured glass in the front door, she made out the silhouettes of two figures. Alarm raced through her.

  Keeping the chain on, she opened the door to find two policemen standing on her doorstep. She peered through the gap.

  “Mrs. Hathaway?” the taller of the officers asked.

  She nodded and closed the door again to remove the chain. Her shaking hands rattled the metal as she unhooked it from the doorframe.

  “How can I help?” she asked, opening the door fully.

  Her face was still wet from tears and her skin felt tight and shiny. Her eyes must be bloodshot from crying and the policemen would notice something amiss.

  The taller of the officers offered her a smile that reached his dark brown eyes, and she allowed herself to relax a little.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mrs. Hathaway,” said the taller officer. “I’m Officer Bently. This is my partner, Officer Dawson.” The older, fatter man gave her a tight smile. “We’re trying to find your husband.”

  Her stomach tightened. “My husband? He’s...,” her voice broke. “He’s not here.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  Her cheeks flushed, but she hoped they’d think it was out of embarrassment as opposed to guilt.

  “My husband,” she said again, “left me. Two days ago. I’m sorry, but I don’t know where he is.”

  The two officers exchanged glances and Serenity thought she might collapse.

  Officer Dawson stepped forward.

  He’s playing the bad-cop, Serenity decided.

  “Do you mind if we come in, Mrs. Hathaway? We’d like to take a look around.”

  She hesitated for a moment, “Can I ask what this is about?”

  Her compulsive need to please rose within her, but alarm bells rang and she didn’t want these men snooping around her house.

  “Of course not” Dawson said. The younger officer beside him cleared his throat and stared awkwardly at the ground. “We’ve had an allegation of an attack.”

  Her heart nearly stopped and the blood drained from her face. She couldn’t speak.

  “An attack?” she managed to whisper.

  The voice in her head shouted, ‘They know! They know! They know!’

  Officer Bently took over. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but a woman came to the station in the early hours of this morning and reported that your husband sexually attacked her late last night.”

  Her mind blurred again, the world around her spinning. “Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

  “The woman in question claims she knows your husband. She said they’ve met on several occasions.”

  She shook her head, her face a mask of confusion. “I don’t understand how this is possible.”

  “I realize how shocking this must be to you, but we need to follow up these allegations. I’m not saying you’re harboring your husband, but we need to be certain. We can always come back with a warrant,” he added.

  “No, no, please come in.” She backed away from the door, allowing the two police officers into her home.

  Images of Jackson’s body, soaked in blood and askew on the floor, flashed through her mind. Would they see it? No, she was being paranoid. They were policemen, not psychics.

  Serenity guided the two men into the living room, desperate not to have them in the kitchen, and both men ended up perched on the edge of her couch. Serenity sat opposite on the occasional chair. She leaned forward, her hands clasped together.

  “When was the last time you saw your husband?” Officer Bently asked.

  Her mind raced, thinking back. “I brought him home from the hospital three days ago, but the next day he felt better and said he was going to the bar for a drink. I went to bed and when I woke up I realized he wasn’t home and some of his stuff was missing.”

  She’d been talking too much, too fast, a stream of consciousness pouring from her mouth.

  “Your husband was in the hospital?” Officer Dawson asked. A frown creased his chubby face.

  “Yeah, I...” she stumbled over her words, feeling sick. “I assumed you already knew.”

  “We wouldn’t check hospital records without good reason,” Bently said.

  “No, of course not.”

  “And what did you do when you realized he’d left you?” Bently continued, “Have you tried to contact him at all? Called his cell?”

  “No,” she said again. “His leaving wasn’t exactly a surprise. We’ve been having some problems...” she trailed off, already feeling like she’d said too much.

  “Could you call him now for us, Mrs. Hathaway?”

  The request came from Dawson and Serenity turned to him and blinked. She hadn’t even thought about Jackson’s cell. She had no idea where it was, or if Sebastian took the phone when he packed the rest of Jackson’s things.

  “Don’t worry,” said Officer Bently. ” You won’t have to speak to him. We just want to see if he answers.”

  She nodded—not trusting herself to speak—and stood and walked over to the phone. She had Jackson’s cell on speed dial and her hand shook as she placed the call.

  From somewhere upstairs came the thin, piping sound of a Nokia ring tone.

  Three sets of eyes rose toward the ceiling and Serenity slowly put down the phone.

  “He’s not up there,” she said, certain she knew their thoughts. They probably thought she had him hidden in the closet or stashed under the bed. If only they knew the truth.

  “Mind if we take a look?” asked Officer Bently, rising to his feet.

  She took a shaky breath and shook her head. They wouldn’t find anything, but she couldn’t help the irrational thoughts pressing their way into her brain—bloodied clothes lying on the bathroom floor, Jackson’s body sprawled on the bed.

  Officer Bently’s partner followed as he mounted the stairs. She wasn’t sure if she should follow but realized she
didn’t want two strange men poking around the bedroom without her.

  So she followed.

  The duplex was small, the tiny landing leading straight onto the bedroom, with doors to the bathroom and Jackson’s study either side. The officers went straight to the bedroom. They did a quick search of the bedroom and Serenity got the impression it wasn’t just Jackson they were looking for. Their eyes seemed to scan every surface, probably noticing more than Serenity would ever take in.

  They took a brief glance in the bathroom, a quick check to make sure toiletries were missing, matching up with Serenity’s story. Every step of the way, Serenity found herself silently thanking Sebastian, but even the thought of him in this intense situation hurt her heart.

  The two officers walked into Jackson’s office and she followed close behind.

  The piles of porn, empty beer cans and the mess made her cringe. She hadn’t bothered to switch off the computer and was thankful it had automatically switched to standby, hiding the streams of filth from the officers.

  Mortified, she hung her head.

  Suddenly, Officer Bently lifted a hand. His palm lunged toward her face and she instinctively flinched, but his hand carried on past as he reached for the shelves mounted on the wall behind her head. He plucked the small silver Nokia off the shelf. The officer checked the display screen and showed it to her.

  One missed call.

  The call she’d just made from downstairs.

  Officer Bently frowned, his eyes searching her face. She knew he recognized what the flinch meant, probably had seen it numerous time with other women. Something passed between them, something that said ‘I know what you are’. Her eyes pleaded with him not to mention what he had deduced.

  “What was your husband in the hospital for?” he asked.

  She blushed. “We had an accident in the bedroom. He fell backward and hit his head on the dresser.”

  “So the man you’re apparently still intimate with has an injury bad enough to warrant a stay in hospital and then he leaves you the next day, but you don’t even bother to try to call him?”

  “We weren’t ‘intimate’,” she said, her cheeks burning with shame. “At least, not willingly.”

  “So your husband has a history of sexual abuse?”

  His words socked her in the stomach.

  “But he couldn’t...” Have done it! she almost blurted.

  “Couldn’t?” he prompted.

  “He couldn’t help it,” she said.

  “So why didn’t you try to call him before now?”

  “I knew he didn’t have his cell,” she said in a hurry.

  “Then why did you place the call?”

  “I forget.”

  The two officers exchanged a glance.

  I’ve said too much, she thought. Oh God, they’ll know what I did.

  A bubble of panic formed in her stomach and she fought to contain the terror. The officer, initially friendly, had now switched to interrogation mode. They knew something wasn’t quite right; they just didn’t know what.

  Officer Bently stared at her, his deep brown eyes locking with hers. She forced herself to maintain eye contact; certain simply glancing away would confirm her guilt. This man seemed to be reading her soul as though her secrets were printed upon her skin.

  Officer Dawson cleared his throat again; almost a nervous tick rather than trying to get attention.

  “Okay, Mrs. Hathaway,” he said, and she tore her eyes from his partner. “I’m sure you realize this is a very serious matter. If you have any information on the whereabouts of your husband, please contact us.”

  She nodded and they traipsed down the stairs toward the front door.

  Officer Dawson slipped a card into her hand, but her attention focused on Bently. The way he looked at her made her uncomfortable.

  “Thank you for your time,” Dawson said as she opened the front door.

  She gave him a tight smile and stood beside the door, relieved they were leaving.

  Both officers started to walk down the path, but Bently stopped and turned back to her.

  “I’m going to check out your story about the hospital and the timings at the bar, of course. If I’ve got any other questions, you can be sure I’ll be back.”

  She nodded again, but said nothing.

  The two men turned and walked away from the house toward a patrol car parked on the street.

  Emotions whirled through her. How could someone accuse Jackson of attacking them when Jackson was dead?

  Either someone had a huge grudge against Jackson or someone wanted to mess things up for her.

  Officer Bently glanced back at her as he walked away. Quickly, she stepped back and shut the door. How far would they follow this? Would they run a check on his credit cards? She wondered if Sebastian had done as he’d promised and used the cards in another state.

  It seemed strange to think someone like him would even bother to give time to such a mediocre thing.

  A crazy laugh tried to explode from her but, scared of the sound, she held it back.

  The thought of Sebastian hurt her deep down and she desperately wished him beside her. But, once again, she remembered what he was and her eyes filled with tears. How could she believe him a monster when every part of her soul wanted to be with him?

  She put her hand against her cheek, remembering how his palm felt against her skin.

  As though in a trance, Serenity wandered back into the living room and slumped down on the couch. She felt strangely numb and incredibly lonely. Everything she’d depended upon in her life, every routine, had gone. She had no job to go to; no friends or family to visit.

  What does a woman who gets fired from her job, murders her abusive husband and then falls in love with a—she couldn’t even bring herself to think the word—do with her day?

  She needed to get out of the house. She would have packed the same bag she’d packed the night she decided to leave Jackson, only Sebastian had already taken it, filled with Jackson’s things.

  Two things worried her. She didn’t want the police to think she was running away; nor did she want them to be any more suspicious. There was also the thing that had been bothering her that night as well. This was the only place Sebastian knew where to find her.

  She was scared if she left, she would never see him again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  His time had come to feed the previous night; otherwise, he would never have left Serenity alone.

  Sebastian sat on a wall by Venice Beach, watching the weird and wonderful inhabitants of this part of Los Angeles conduct their business.

  Night had fallen once more, but Venice Beach came to life at night. Small stalls selling everything from paintings for tourists, to smoking paraphernalia for the locals, lined the promenade wall. Opposite the stalls, more shops selling much of the same intermixed with tattoo parlors and cheap restaurants. People on skateboards or roller-skates raced down the promenade, many of them with large, brutish dogs on leashes. Everyone shouted to each other, whether they were acquainted or not. Dreadlocks adorned many heads, even the Caucasian men and women, and bright colored, baggy clothing hung from their skinny frames.

  Underhand drug dealing seemed to be taking place everywhere Sebastian turned; money changed hands and small packages followed. A few men sitting on the floor held cards reading, ‘will work for drugs.’ Laughably, another sign requesting, ‘no photographs’ was propped up beside the first. Among them, the tourists wandered with their smart ‘vacation’ clothes and their mouths agape.

  Sebastian hadn’t wanted to leave Serenity last night, but necessity forced his hand. He didn’t have to kill all the time, but once a month was his absolute minimum. Though he stretched the time as much as possible, when the time came he grew weak, his body wracked with pain. He couldn’t risk the need to feed taking over his ability to reason. He refused to envision hurting Serenity as a result of his carelessness. Sebastian thought he’d be able to sneak out; he’d hoped she
’d slept right through, never noticing him gone. He’d written the note just in case.

  The events following his departure interrupted his hunt. Though unable to read thoughts, he was deeply aware of Serenity, of her presence occupying the same night. Sensing something at the house was wrong, he’d headed back immediately. Sebastian hadn’t been fast enough. He should be thankful in a way. Madeline could have slaughtered Serenity when she found her alone. For him to find Serenity shaken but still in one piece had been a relief. But as soon as she turned around and he witnessed the hatred and fear in her eyes, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

  How much could you hate yourself before eventually having to accept what you were?

  He didn’t expect Serenity to see him as a good person, but at the same time the thought of her seeing him as a killer was unbearable.

  There was no happy ending to this story.

  Bringing her to the house had been a mistake. He’d only prolonged the pain. Eventually, he would have had to leave and break her heart, even if she’d never discovered the truth. Serenity wouldn’t have been the only one in pain; leaving her would have destroyed him as well.

  Now she hated him and he needed to let her get on with her life. It was the only way she would ever be happy.

  As he sat, brooding, a bulky black man approached with a portable CD player in his hand.

  “Hey man, you want to listen to my music?” He held out the headphones but Sebastian shook his head.

  “It’s good shit,” the man continued. “Come on, man, you can buy my CD.”

  This tout was common place. Numerous people walked the beach, trying to sell their rap music to tourists, hoping to make it big one day.

  “No, but thank you,” Sebastian said, staring back down at the ground.

  “What’s the matter? You think you’re better than me?” Immediately, the big man’s hackles rose. “Fucking posh, white man too good to listen to my music?”

  The man was angry; Sebastian was angrier.

  He lifted his head, eyes flaming yellow in the dark. Confused horror flashed across the man’s face. He stumbled backward and hurried away, not daring to glance back.