Deep in Crimson (A Return to Sanctuary Novel)

by Sarah Gilman

  “I’ll keep you safe. If you want to rest, please do.”

  She held his gaze for a moment. Though their kind needed sleep only once a week, and only for a couple hours, nothing could wake them from their coma-deep slumber. When sleeping, demons needed to trust their lives to those around them if an emergency arose.

  Sincerity warmed his voice in the same tone he used when he promised her he’d bring Bryce back—so different from his more typical, gruff manner. Though she didn’t know him well, she did trust him enough to close her eyes for a while, even though the men who took her brother were still out there. Would they attack again? She curled up next to Bryce and shut her eyes, trying not to think about it.

  Chapter Five

  Jett paced around the hotel room for hours. Where the hell were Vin and the others? He opened the curtain an inch so he could survey the parking lot. Deserted. With a sigh, he turned back to the bed.

  His thoughts sunk their teeth in Lawrence. Where had the son of a bitch gone? Why attack the colony and kidnap a young demon only to leave that demon to die in the abandoned lab?

  He scoffed at his own questions. All that mattered was finding him. And killing him.

  Both Lexine and Bryce slept, dead to the world and peaceful. Her mouth curved in a grin that complemented the smooth line of her jaw. She murmured in her sleep, the words unintelligible, and laughed.

  Good. She deserved a few nice dreams. He approached the bed and fixed the blanket where it had slipped from her shoulder.

  Her smile vanished. “No.”

  Had her dreams shifted to nightmares?

  She thrashed against the covers and hissed, baring her fangs.

  “Whoa.” He sat on the edge of the bed and held her shoulders. What the hell was he supposed to do? A growl ripped from her throat. He touched her hot, sweat-moistened cheek.

  She jerked her head to the side and her fangs sank into the base of his thumb—narrowly missing the bone—and her jaw locked in place.

  “Fuck!” He stayed still despite the sharp pain. If he pulled away, he’d rip his own flesh. He tried a gentle tug. “Lexine, let go.”

  Still lost to sleep, she didn’t move. The venom spread up his arm, its progress marked by tingling heat, harmless thanks to his natural immunity.

  The warmth spread across his chest to his other arm, stomach, and legs. His muscles relaxed. His cheeks flushed. The immunity wasn’t news…but why the hell did he feel like he’d just downed a double glass of bourbon?

  His gaze settled on her lips. The pain of the bite faded until all he knew was the warmth of the venom in his system and the awareness of her mouth on his skin.

  Clenching his teeth, he stroked her hair with his free hand. Her furrowed brow smoothed, and she released him. She collapsed back on her pillow and groaned.

  Blood and venom poured from the four little wounds at the base of his thumb. He rushed to the bathroom to minimize spilling blood on the carpet—humans tended to freak out over that kind of thing, one more problem he didn’t need. Holding his bleeding hand under running water, he pulled a wad of tissues from the dispenser. Thankfully, her delicate female fangs had left only tiny—but deep—puncture wounds and the blood clotted after a minute.

  He slumped into a chair, languid from whatever her venom had done to him. Lexine settled back into a peaceful sleep. A quiet hour passed. The warmth in his system faded, and he did push-ups and sit-ups to dispel the last of the lazy sensation.

  Lexine stirred. She sat up in bed, blinking rapidly. Bryce remained asleep, but Jett didn’t worry. Children slept longer—he remembered from his own youth.

  “Welcome back.”

  Eyes wide, she licked her fangs and stared at his hand. “Tell me I didn’t—”

  “You did. You were having a nightmare.”

  “Shit. I’m so sorry.” She took his hand and inspected the double set of twin punctures.

  “I’ll live.” Indeed, he felt a little too alive. Her lips on his skin remained in the forefront of his mind. For the first time, leaving the colony sounded like a bad idea. His gaze lingered on those lips. What would it be like to kiss another demon?

  Damn him. How could he consider making a move on her? Her older brother had been murdered before dawn that day and she’d only just gotten her little brother back. A fling had to be the last thing on her mind.

  A female like her deserved more than just a fling, anyway. Did he have it within himself to be a decent companion to a female? A day ago, he’d have spat at the idea. Now, hell, he’d go to a damned etiquette class if that’s what it took to feel her mouth on him again.

  He wouldn’t be staying in the colony, however, so why was he even considering this?

  “Did you dream about Jac?”

  “No. I’ve had the same nightmare for years.” She rubbed her forehead. “I wasn’t dreaming about my brothers. I was dreaming about my mate.”

  Mate? Well, fuck. Wasn’t that physically permanent or some shit? “You’re mated?”

  “No. It’s just a dream. In it, I’m mated.” She studied the floor, apparently oblivious to his reaction.

  “That’s a good thing, yes?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Why?”

  “Can we drop it, please?”

  “You bit me.”

  She dug her fingers through her hair. “Fine. He’s a human, okay? A murderer. An archangel poacher!” She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t imagine why my subconscious would pair me with someone like him.”

  He reached out and brushed her mussed hair from her face. “Like you said, it’s just a dream.”

  “Sorry, again. That must have stung.”

  His gaze settled again on her mouth, on the white curve of her fangs visible past her parted lips. He freed his hand and brushed her lower lip with the tip of his fingers.

  Her large, stunning, copper eyes widened. “Jett?”

  Blinking, he realized how close he’d leaned toward her face. Their noses nearly touched. Straightening, he cleared his throat. “Would you like some food or something? I’m going to the vending machine.”

  “Just some water, thanks. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  He hesitated. She needed more than water after all that had happened today, but it was a start, and it would give him a minute of fresh air to clear his head.

  He took the key, shut the door behind him, and walked to the nearby vending machine. In one of the inner pockets of his jacket, he’s saved a few wrinkled dollars from the day he’d fled Thornton’s hellhole. After flattening a couple ones, he bought a water and a soda. God bless the human who’d invented orange soda.

  Sighing, he leaned against the machine. Maybe he didn’t need to be in such a rush to leave the colony. After he dealt with Lawrence, what would be the harm in staying for a short time, if he wanted? And asking Lexine out, if he wanted? Share a meal with her, perhaps?

  No. Hell, no. He headed back to the room. Him, get the girl? Ridiculous. It’d be better for both of them, and everyone else, if he left the colony as soon as possible and killed Lawrence. Sounds like a plan.

  …

  Lexine set her feet on the floor but remained sitting on the bed, her body heavy from sleep, her heart a lead weight after the nightmare. The dream, identical each time, showed her such joy. Laughter. Tender and passionate touches. At no point did her dream self fret over her mate’s identity: a poacher.

  His face always remained obscured by shadows, but the tattoo on his arm betrayed the truth. That awful depiction of bloody feathers scattered around a sharp blade covered his skin from his shoulder to his elbow. Not that her dream self cared. She covered his entire body with kisses, even that vile tattoo and the odd scars across it.

  Her stomach lurched, and she bolted off the bed. She made it to the bathroom and dry heaved.

  “Lexine?” Jett called.

  “I’m fine.” She stood and rinsed her face in the sink. Jett waited for her in the bedroom with a bottle of wate
r in his hand.

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  She accepted the bottle and took a long gulp of the cleansing water. “Don’t worry, really. Just my standard post-nightmare freak-out.”

  “Standard? How often does this happen?”

  “Every time I sleep.” She sighed and rubbed the spot over her heart. “I don’t know if you know this, but when demons have recurring dreams, they always depict the future.”

  He blinked. “I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s rare.” She took another sip of the water. “But true. I say it’s ‘just a dream,’ but that’s bull. I just don’t understand how I could ever love a heartless killer. I’ll have to turn my back on everyone I care about and leave the colony to have a life with my mate. He’d never be welcome in Sanctuary. Thing is, I do believe love is that powerful. Love overcomes everything.” She drew in a shaky breath. “But right now, I hate him. I hate myself knowing that I’ll one day love him.”

  “Lexine.” Jett took a step forward, his gaze steady. “I agree love is powerful. I’ve seen it in action. But nothing trumps free will. If you don’t want him, you can choose.”

  “I will love him and be his mate freely. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it.” She sighed. “Sorry. You barely know me, and I’m unloading all of this—”

  “It’s fine.” Jett frowned, the expression most intense in his eyes. A shiver ran down her spine. He looked…hurt. She recalled their earlier moment on the bed, when she’d thought he might kiss her. It hadn’t been an accidental lean-in or a trip. He’d seemed entranced. Something deep in her chest clenched. Jett came from a nightmare of a past, but had turned his back on that evil and saved Raphael. He was complicated, but honorable. A good man who would be someone’s loving mate one day.

  Lucky tramp.

  She worried her lower lip with a fang. After the dreams had started in her late teens, she’d dated with abandon. If she took a demon mate, she’d change her fate, or so she’d hoped. But she hadn’t found love, and though she would have settled for less to escape a future with a poacher, none of the males deserved to be used like that.

  But, this male made her heart race and her fingers tremble. Should she give dating another try? Would he be even remotely interested, or would he head back to forest and his hermit ways?

  “Hey, Bryce,” Jett said.

  Lexine turned to see her little brother rubbing his eyes.

  “Hey, Guardian.”

  “Call me Jett.” His shoulders visibly stiffened. Lexine sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed Bryce’s hair.

  “Vin’s here,” Jett said, staring toward the window.

  A black SUV pulled up in front of the motel room and Vin got out of the driver’s seat, a deep frown on his face. Jett went out to meet him. She followed a moment later, holding Bryce’s hand.

  “…not a goddamned thing,” Vin was saying to Jett. “No scents, no paper trail. Not even a pencil was left behind in the house. The locals know nothing. It’s like he dropped off the face of the earth.”

  Jett swore and shoved a hand through his uneven haircut. He took a deep breath. After a pause, he said, “Okay. So we don’t have a trail. Not an obvious one, anyway.”

  Lexine got Bryce settled in the SUV with a pair of sunglasses. She shut the door so he couldn’t hear them talk about the attack.

  “Not an obvious one?” Vin echoed.

  “Today’s events make no logical sense whatsoever,” Jett said. “They killed three children and an adult and kidnapped a fourth child only to drive him three hours away to kill him, too? At the abandoned lab? What could the humans possibly gain from such a show?”

  Lexine shuddered.

  “They could have dumped Bryce anywhere,” Vin said. “They meant for us to find him. Here. No wonder they didn’t kill you.”

  “Yeah, I’m the only one who knew to come here. But how did Lawrence know I’d be there last night, if my role was so important in his plan? How could he even know I was in Sanctuary? He’s the one who raised me to hate the place.”

  Vin’s voice darkened. “I don’t know, but if this is about you, there is something I need you to be very clear about.”

  Lexine glanced from one demon to the other, wringing her hands. Shit, Vin wouldn’t kick Jett out, would he?

  “And what’s that?” Jett said, his tone dry.

  “That we have your back, if you’ll let us.”

  Lexine let out a heavy sigh of relief.

  Jett paused, glanced at Lexine, then back at Vin. “I…”

  “What?”

  “Lexine,” Jett said. “Any luck calling the colony?”

  “I haven’t tried since I woke up,” she said. “Why?”

  Vin pulled out his phone and made a call. He listened for a moment, shook his head, and put the phone away. “Tower’s down, been down for a couple hours…” Vin froze for a long moment and shut his eyes. “Son of a bitch…”

  “They murder demons and kidnap a child,” Jett said. “The Guardians, of course, send their best to get him back. I lead them to a location three hours away.”

  Lexine opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about when the meaning behind his words hit home.

  The colony. This was about the colony. Bryce had been merely a means to weaken Sanctuary’s Guardian protection. This whole thing had been a trap.

  Chapter Six

  Raphael perched on a narrow, rocky outcrop that jutted out from the lakeshore, unable, unwilling, to move. The midmorning sun reflected off the still water. All around him, Sanctuary sat in withdrawn silence and stillness, the buildings hidden from sight by the deep green, late-summer foliage of the forest.

  The attack in the woods had stopped every resident of the colony in their tracks. Jac and three of the children under his supervision: slaughtered. One five-year-old, Jac’s little brother: kidnapped. Human scents all over the scene. Raphael had rushed to them as soon as he’d sensed the injuries, the energy of his healing talent crawling over his skin in warning, but Jac and the children had died during the precious moments it had taken the Guardians to check the area and for Raphael to arrive. Now, his white wings drooped until his flight feathers rested on the surface of the water.

  A dark crack rumbled in the distance, shattering the quiet. He glanced toward the sky. Thunder? The few white clouds didn’t hold much threat of a storm. The smaller feathers along the top of his wings stood on end as foreboding filled his gut. Was the tension getting to him, or were his instincts warning him of real trouble?

  The shrill cry of an infant pierced the air. A second joined in.

  His grandchildren. Raphael’s lips twitched, warmth competing against the ice for room in his chest. He shifted his gaze to the house. Solar lights edged the flight decks, still glowing faintly under the morning shade of the oak tree. The interior of the granite dwelling sat in stillness except for the new fourth-floor addition—his son’s home. His daughter-in-law’s wingless silhouette passed by the open French doors. Though she was half archangel like his son, Ginger took after her human parent.

  With a heavy sigh, he got to his feet and extended his wings, seeking the warmth from the sunlight that beat down. Since finding the bodies in the forest, he’d been unable to shed a deep chill that had risen to the surface, unable to banish the old pain from the time when his mate and his young son had been attacked in the woods. Wren had survived and so much had happened since then, but that sort of horror leaves permanent scars on a person’s soul.

  He stayed in that position, trying to clear his mind of everything but the sunlight on his body, until a voice pierced the silence.

  “Raphael.”

  He folded his wings to his back and turned. A redheaded demon emerged from the woods, the way he moved so subtle and deliberate he seemed to take form from the shadows. Lark, his personal Guardian.

  “Humans have taken out the cell tower with an explosive,” Lark said quietly.

  Poachers. Raphael turned his gaze to the house. Poachers, co
ming for his family, coming for him.

  Not again. Not again!

  “Please go inside,” Lark said. “I’ll take care of this.”

  He flicked his wings and focused on his old friend. “Bring yourself back safe, too.”

  Lark nodded and disappeared into the woods.

  Raphael winged himself to the fourth-floor flight deck. Though the French doors stood open, he wouldn’t have called on his newly mated son unannounced if circumstances had been normal. He tapped his knuckles against the door frame.

  Wren stepped into view, dressed only in black jeans. His white wings framed his body, the black markings at the tips of his feathers standing out like spilled ink. He held an infant, its tiny head resting against his collarbone. Miniature down-covered wings of black, gray, and traces of white, like a stormy sky, splayed across his chest. The newborn stared at Raphael sidelong with a wide, blue-green eye. Unlike human children, archangel young opened their eyes and explored their surroundings soon after birth, eager to take in the world.

  They had no idea what was coming for them.

  “Morning.” With a yawn, Wren stepped back, stretched his wings, and invited Raphael inside.

  Across the room, Ginger sat on a chaise, smoothing the second twin’s feathers. She glanced up, gathered the young, and got to her feet, every slow movement yelling exhaustion. It seemed they hadn’t gotten any sleep after the murders and the kidnapping, either.

  Wren wrapped his mate in the curve of his wing. “Any news of Bryce?”

  “Nothing yet.” Raphael shut the French doors behind him. “There’s something else.”

  “What?” Unease filled Wren’s voice.

  Part of him wanted to keep the information to himself. Silence wouldn’t protect them, though. “The colony is being attacked.”

  Wren and Ginger both blanched and stared in silence. Ginger’s arms tightened around the infant she held. The child, oblivious to the situation, reached up and tugged on her hair. Wren tucked his chin and pressed his cheek to the other infant’s head. When he spoke, his tone could have iced over the lake. “I will kill them myself before they lay a finger on my family.”