Bad Moon Rising (The Crown's Wolves)

by Zoe Forward

  He raised his voice. “How the hell did you call him? Have you been lying to me and playing some other shit behind my back? Do you remember things all of a sudden?”

  “Nothing’s changed in my head. I wish it had.” She pressed on his chest. “Sit. And listen.”

  He collapsed to perch on the edge of the bed and rasped out, “What have you done?”

  “It’s got to be me. We’ve always known that. I called your mother. She contacted Cooper because she knows people who knew people who could find him. She let him believe I was a lycan who needed to die. That you and Flynn have been hunting me. That by doing this he’d be helping you. Cooper needs to prove himself to his organization. He’s going to text you when he’s here and send you a link to watch it live.”

  He took the phone she pushed into his hands, dazed. “No.” He shook his head. “No.”

  She put a finger over his mouth. “I’ll be sedated. Self-induced. Cooper has to bring along a more experienced lycan killer just in case he can’t do it. You’re going to tell your king or handler or whoever needs to see this for confirmation that I escaped but the A.W.L. caught me. That you told them I needed to die. At twelve-fifteen, when you’re with them and have them watching the live online feed, he’s going to do it.”

  He shook his head.

  “Roman, the vampire is right. It has to be me. Look at me.”

  He lifted his head.

  “I have to die. I’m not like you. I don’t have a purpose in this world. I’m dangerous. So much so that my former self said I can’t be allowed to remember. Whatever’s in my head might cause me to go after your king—”

  “He’s not my king,” he interrupted.

  “It might cause me to do other things I don’t want to and can’t control. We don’t know.”

  “Exactly. We don’t know.”

  “You and me…something happened that is tearing me up inside. Something I don’t think my former self anticipated.” She put her hand over his chest. “I’ll be in here. Always. You’ll get off this bed and go to London. You’ll live to fulfill your purpose. I know you’re close to finding a way out of the curse.”

  He blinked.

  “Do this for me.” She knelt in front of him and took his hands in hers. “Please.”

  His hands shook as he pulled one out of her hold and rested it against her cheek, memorizing the silky texture of her skin and the beautiful angles of her face. The air seized up in his lungs as his heart raced. “I was dying on the inside before I met you.” He brought her palm to his mouth where he pressed a kiss. “I didn’t know I could feel like this or have a reason to exist other than for that which I’m forced to do. If I lose you, I’ll have nothing.”

  “That’s not true.” She gripped his hand tight between both of hers and sat next to him.

  “I need you like I need air, Nova.” He kissed her knuckles.

  She swiped her free hand across her eyes to clear the tears. “This hurts so much.”

  He reached out to cup her face once more, letting his thumb pass over her soft skin. “You were meant for me.” He placed one soft kiss on her lips. “I love you. I’ll always love you.”

  “No, you were meant for me.” She hugged him tight. “Watching this is going to hurt. I couldn’t imagine if I had to see you be murdered. But you will survive. You have to. You’re going to hold on to hope. You will grab it tight and not let go. They can steal everything else, but they can’t take that from you. Even on the darkest night, the sun will rise the next day. There is a way to get you free. Somehow, you’ll figure out how to wrangle it out of Antonio.” She rose and kissed him once on the lips. “Then you can learn how to live again.”

  “Nova…” He dropped his head. “I can’t do this.”

  She gripped his chin tight to force eye contact. “Swear to me that you won’t retaliate against Cooper or your mother for helping me with my decision. Swear it.”

  Promising this to her was him agreeing to her death. “I’m not going to watch you die. You’re the one who’s going to go, and Cooper can kill me.”

  The curse’s internal punishment returned. He steeled himself against the pain. He wasn’t letting her do this.

  “Roman, this is our only option. Deep inside, you know I’m right. If you don’t do it this way, Flynn will die when the curse pushes him to hunt me. Ky will die. Your brother, Shane, who might not be dead and may or may not be free of the curse, will die. Or maybe he won’t because he doesn’t know me and might be happy to take me out. Then we’re both dead and no one wins.”

  Breath whooshed out of him. “Fuck.”

  “Your mother couldn’t handle losing all of you. We have no other option. It has to be me. Swear to accept that I’m going to die. This is real. It’s not a trick or magic. It’s going to be ugly. If you feel like I do, it’s going to hurt so much. This is my choice. Don’t take my choice away from me. Let me have dignity in my end.”

  His mind was too clouded between pain from fighting the curse’s will and shock she’d chosen death for herself to respond.

  He swallowed hard and looked upward. “This is wrong. I won’t accept this.”

  Pain from the curse channeled through his body again, deep, hard, and unforgiving. It stole his ability to move his chest. He leaned over wheezing and wiped blood from his nose.

  Her burner phone dinged. “It has to be me. I’m not going to watch you bleed until you’re dead.”

  External pain burned his arm. He jerked away to see she’d injected him with something. She whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I love you. I knew you’d never accept me doing this, so I got something from your mother.” Tears poured down her face, which blurred in and out of focus. “I love you.”

  “Nova…”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Roman blinked, his mind hazy. Someone shook him.

  Flynn said, “Come on, mate. We have to get off the train.”

  “Were you in on this…her plan?” His words sounded slurred to him.

  “No. Mom called me to say you needed help getting off the train. What’d Nova do?”

  “She drugged me. I need to get back to her.”

  “There’s no time. Our meeting with the monarch is in twenty minutes.”

  Him being in London and accepting her death was murder. Pure and simple.

  He gasped as pain lacerated his chest but accepted it. He deserved it. Shit, his nose was bleeding again. He wiped it with his sleeve.

  “We’ll have to hope we have time to clean you up.”

  A blur of time later, they stood in Gerard’s office. Gerard asked, “Where is she? Did you take care of her already?”

  The king fidgeted behind him and scrolled through screens on his cell phone as if none of this mattered to him. Nova’s life was nothing to him but an annoyance.

  Fury poured through him. He slammed his fist down on the desk. “I’m not doing this.”

  Flynn caught his arm on the second descent. “Chill. You’re not doing anything.”

  “I’m done with all of it,” he roared. “Fucking hate it all. The orders, the bullshit, the intolerance…” He swiped a hand across Gerard’s desk sending papers and files flying. “I’m done being cursed to work for narcissistic assholes.”

  Flynn caught his hand on its next descent. He pushed him backward until they were against the wall. In Gaelic he said, “Stop it.”

  He whispered, “I can’t watch whatever’s coming. It’s murder.”

  So low that Gerard couldn’t overhead Flynn said, “What’s murder? I was told she drugged you and put you on the train. Nova ran. She’s gone. The worst is we might be forced to hunt her down.” His phone dinged. “What’s this? From Cooper?”

  “What the hell is going on?” Gerard asked.

  Flynn cleared hi
s throat. “She escaped us, Gerard. We weren’t sure where she went, but I just got this text from someone in the Anti-Werewolf League who knows about us. They—”

  Flynn released Roman to stare at his phone. His forehead furrowed. He plugged his phone into Gerard’s computer so it could transmit the live image on the screen.

  Roman held his breath as an image came up on the screen.

  Gerard and the king breathed behind him, emitting the odors of excitement and sweat. They both stared at the fifty-inch screen. If both humans weren’t protected by the blood curse, he’d annihilate them without guilt. For forcing him to watch the love of his life die.

  The image of Nova, her arms tied behind her in an office chair, came into view. The binding was a joke for one of their kind.

  Her head moved as if tracking Cooper in a way that suggested heavy sedation. Her voice came out slurred. “If he hadn’t drugged me, I’d kill you.”

  Roman hid the tremors that started in his hands and spread up his arms. Flynn would notice.

  “Tell me why this isn’t one of you doing this instead of whoever that guy might be?” the king asked.

  “She escaped us before we got called in,” Flynn said again, gaze transfixed on the screen. He asked Roman in Gaelic, “What’s going on? That’s Cooper and another person from the A.W.L.”

  “Why didn’t you guys kill her on sight?” Gerard asked.

  Roman forced a breath. His heart pounding shredded his ribs. He felt broken, already grieving for Nova. Gerard and the monarch could not learn about the depths of his feelings for her. “I followed your orders. She drugged me and got away.”

  “You failed.” The king waved at the screen. “She’s alive.”

  “Looks like not for long,” Flynn said.

  Roman opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His throat burned. His eyes felt like someone ground sand into them.

  Cooper stood back, and a lanky human hovered in front of Nova, grinning.

  “Who are those guys?” the monarch asked.

  Flynn spoke up, “Members of the A.W.L. They’re good at killing lycans.”

  Liar. Cooper postured, but he’d never actually hurt anyone in his life. This would be his first kill. A part of Roman hoped he couldn’t do it. The other part knew if he failed, the other guy would do it.

  Thunder pounded inside his head.

  He was nothing without her.

  Air barely moved through his chest as he stared at the phone on the edge of the desk, next to the computer. He grabbed it and texted Cooper.

  Stop this.

  On screen, Cooper aimed a gun with a suppressor at her.

  Nova slurred out, “You executing me does nothing. Hope survives.”

  Roman felt her words were meant for him, not Cooper. But she was sedated. Maybe she talked gibberish.

  Cooper dropped his gun arm. He met the gaze of the other guy. “I’m not sure how…if I can.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” The other guy grabbed the gun and shot four successive times into her chest. Her body jolted with the impact of each bullet. Blood spread in small circular holes, saturating the cream-colored shirt she’d worn earlier. He watched helplessly as the human approached, knife in hand, and slit her throat. Not a small slice but a deep score of her neck. That would’ve separated tendons. Blood poured from the wound, soaking the shirt. Hours ago, her clothes had been pristine.

  No coming back from that.

  They watched her gurgle gasp, and then stop breathing. Her eyes dilated as she stilled.

  “Check her pulse,” the other guy ordered Cooper.

  On screen, Cooper cringed as he reached as if to check the pulse in her neck, but stopped. Instead, he lifted her wrist and held his fingers against the pulse point for several long seconds. He shook his head. He stuck his face in front of the camera. “She’s dead.”

  Moments later, the feed ended.

  His mind numb, Roman fought against the howl rising in his throat. Shock spread through him. He was going to crumble any second. He sought to catch Flynn’s gaze, seeking strength and help, but Flynn still stared at the dark screen, equally shattered.

  “Do you accept it’s done?” Flynn asked in a voice far steadier than the horror reflecting in his gaze.

  Pale and affected by the brutality they’d watched, the king nodded. “It’s done. She’s dead and the threat eliminated. What did she mean by saying hope survives?”

  “She was drugged out of her mind. Who knows?” Flynn replied tightly. “Maybe she hopes to return as a ghost and haunt us.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts. Glad she’s dead,” the king said as he exited the office. “Glad all that’s done.”

  A gurgling noise rose from Roman’s throat.

  Flynn clapped a hand on his shoulder before Roman charged the monarch.

  “Gerard, I’m sure there’s some new shitfest you want us to send us to clean up somewhere else in the world, but give us… We’re going downstairs to weapon up.” Flynn hip nudged Roman to move toward the door.

  Roman stumbled and then shuffled to the exit.

  The moment the door of Gerard’s office closed, Flynn slapped a hand over Roman’s mouth. “Not a peep. Not here. Keep it in. They don’t get to see you this way.”

  Flynn used Roman’s wrist to lead him down a level to the refectory. He shut and locked the door, punched a code into the keypad on the wall. “The cameras are off.”

  A raw, torn cry of utter and absolute anguish ripped from Roman’s throat. He dropped to his knees. Shaking set in until he lay on the floor, curled in on himself. Tears ran down his face unchecked. He was afraid they might never stop.

  Flynn rolled him and lifted him upright in order to drape a blanket around him.

  “I loved her,” he said hoarsely. “Fucking loved her. She’s gone. I killed her.”

  “This wasn’t your fault. Don’t even go there and mess up your head.”

  “I should’ve tried harder to stop it. It’s abso-fucking-lutely my fault.”

  “I’m sorry. So sorry. This life has to stop. Them forcing us to do these things…” Flynn worked the blanket tight around him, although it did nothing to ward off the chill settling inside him.

  “Hurts,” he whispered.

  “Please don’t leave me alone to figure out how to get free of this curse. I can’t do what you do. I can’t do this without you and Ky. You must choose life, Roman. They can’t have any more of us.” Flynn wrapped his arms around him and held tight. And didn’t let go.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Twenty-eight days. Life had become an endless torture session. Each day, Roman forced himself through the motions necessary for survival, but time dragged.

  He locked gazes with the ghost in front of him in the brief instant its orange orb-eyes became visible. Within seconds, it went to vaporous form again.

  The ghost was the third vicious preternatural being he’d been ordered to dispatch from the world in the past ten days. He marveled at how fast Gerard could find paranormal creatures that’d gone bad enough they couldn’t wait a few days before being confronted. To get through the missions forced on him, he dulled himself with anything and everything—smoking, drinking, and…okay, the “amnesia” potion bought off a black-market witch had been a huge mistake. He’d turned green for three days. Literally. Green skin accompanied by incessant green puking and the green shits. Which made travel in public impossible and not just because he looked like Kermit the Frog, but also Flynn uncontrollably laughed to the point of tears whenever he looked at him.

  Never trust a witch. Sage advice from his father that he forgot in his desperation to smother his memories.

  He took a swig from the three-quarters-finished Smirnoff bottle in his coat pocket.

  Anger boiled in his stomach, adding to the pressure in his head as the ghost hovered in front of h
im. Why was this demented asshole that had tortured scores of humans to their death allowed the gift of a second life?

  His Nova?

  Dead and gone.

  Why couldn’t memories bring Nova back? They felt strong enough to lure her spirit from wherever it landed. The concept of life after death as nothing but a void shattered him. She’d simply ceased to exist, gone into the nothingness, because of him. There had to be an afterlife. Case in point: the ghost in front of him.

  The reality of death was it left the living to deal with its consequence. For him, that meant to suffer shame over his inability to protect those he should’ve. Nova. Ky. Shane.

  He’d searched the hotel where she’d been executed, finding nothing. He’d camped out for three days in the room. Not a trace of her existence remained. He’d tried every trick he’d learned over the years to conjure her afterlife spirit without success.

  Mind on what’s going on here. She’s gone. You’re here.

  His temper buzzed as he dodged the scythe wielded by the phantasm. Roman wobbled, almost doing a header into a massive stone support column. The being couldn’t get any more generic with weapon choice or venue. From upstairs in the church’s main chamber, the sound of the choir in the midst of a devotional song during mid-morning Sunday service filled the air of the crypt.

  His goal was to keep the apparition downstairs. If the hundred or more humans attending upstairs got a gander of this thing, the incident would require time-consuming, personalized memory wipes. They’d had to do similar before, visiting home-to-home until all in attendance of a horrendous event had their memories adjusted. He lacked patience for that sort of tedious and exhausting business right now.

  The ghost wouldn’t attack the mass upstairs, but it would lure one or two people to him. More victims to fuel its thirst for death.

  He knew too well what he needed to do to destroy the being, but he paused and took another swallow of vodka. The scythe arched dangerously close to his head. If he stayed still, on its next swipe, it would hit its target and likely remove his head from his body. Then his pain would end.

  God, he missed her. Every night. Every day. Every fucking second.