by R. Scarlett
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously.
BODY OF THE CRIME
Copyright © 2017 by R. Scarlett
All rights reserved.
Stock Photo ID: 160909193
Copyright: © Conrado
Back cover photography by Lauren Perry
Edited by Ashley Carlson and Megan Lally
Cover and book design by Mae I Design & Photography
ISBN: 978-0-9952361-1-2-7
Fifteen Years Ago
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Acknowledgments
I see a figure
One that moves with a grace like an almighty god
A vengeful god
And people tell me hush
He’s a sinner like no other
But he is not creation of
He is devotion of
A higher other
He complies
But with strain
He executes
But with strain
His power leaks through the cracks
His love leaks through as well
Though it shouldn’t
Is it wrongful
To love someone so unlike me?
So distinctive
And powerful
But in their own right?
His lips soft as satin
Against my ear
And his whispered words
Are fervored
And swift
His quicksilver eyes glinting in the lamplight
Calculating a wrath
A warpath
To destruction
And to victory
And I will be by his side
Holding his hand
Bloodied and beaten
But all the more worthy
Waiting Game by Banks
Blackest Day by Lana Del Rey
Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby by Cigarettes After Sex
Gangsta by Kehlani
Wicked Game by ft Annaca
You Don’t Own Me by Grace (ft. G Easy) (Candyland Remix)
Into You by Arianna Grande
West Coast by Lana Del Rey (Dan Heath Orchestral Remix)
Lifeblood by Stefano Ruggeri
Mind Games by Banks
Afraid by The Neighborhood
Like Lust by Movement
Dead Man’s Arms by Bishop Briggs
“WHERE’S THE CHILD?” one of the shadows hissed.
Molly Darling sucked in air at the sight of the three dark figures in her living room. She grasped the railing of the elegant staircase, peeking down at the horror unfolding below.
“You’re insane if you think we’re handing over our four-year-old daughter,” Mr. Darling barked, his face contorted in outrage.
“Please, oh god, please,” Mrs. Darling said as she shook her head, black streaks of mascara marring her delicate features.
“My patience is wearing thin, Mr. Darling.” At the mere sound of the tallest figure’s chilling voice, Molly shrunk farther into the shadows. “And when a demon’s patience runs out, we become…violent.”
“There must’ve been some sort of misunderstanding,” Mrs. Darling whispered, whimpering like a homeless dog left out in the snow.
“My family’s waited three hundred years for this,” the intruder said. “A contract was made in blood: our protection in exchange for the one born with those eyes. The child belongs to us.”
The three shadows remained rigid, while Molly’s parents seemed to sway under the strangers’ glares. Her mother caught the edge of the dining room table and leaned against it.
“You can’t take my Molly,” Mr. Darling murmured, all color draining from his features as he grimaced.
Molly held her breath. What are they talking about?
“There’s no way to reverse a contract signed in blood,” the man said coldly, regarding Molly’s father with disdain.
“This isn’t happening,” Mrs. Darling continued, a thin hand twirling the pearl necklace she wore until it bit into her porcelain skin. She glanced up the staircase, bloodshot eyes immediately finding Molly’s.
“Please,” Mr. Darling pressed, “please understand. We didn’t agree to this. There must be another way to appease you.”
“Blood is blood and a contract is a contract,” the shadow barked.
Molly’s father shook his head before combing shaky fingers through his thinning mane. “She’s not going anywhere with you, that’s for damn sure. Get out of my house. Now,” he said, jabbing a finger at the spacious home’s front door.
“We’re not going anywhere until we see the child,” the second shadow answered. Molly frowned; it was a woman’s voice, unexpectedly sweet and tender.
“Leave now,” Mr. Darling repeated, “Or I’ll call the police.”
The male shadow laughed. “We’re not leaving.”
“She’s our daughter, our only daughter,” Mrs. Darling pleaded, beginning to bawl. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s enough, I’m calling the police,” Mr. Darling shouted, storming toward the kitchen. As soon as he took one step forward, the man in the shadows gripped his arm.
“You’ll do no such thing. You don’t seem to be understanding this situation, Mr. Darling,” the stranger hissed, jerking Molly’s father hard enough to dislocate his shoulder. “My family owns your daughter.”
The man pulled an old, weathered cloth from his inside coat pocket and waved it in front of Mr. Darling’s face. From where she was crouched, Molly could make out faint scrawls and a ruddy stain of blood at the bottom.
Mr. Darling’s face contorted as he shook his arm out of the male shadow’s grip. “You’re insane. You’re fucking insane if you believe I’ll agree to any of this.”
Molly couldn’t see the wrath that burst forth from the shadow, but she felt it. The malevolent force swarmed the room like a hive of hornets before wrapping around Mr. Darling’s body and slamming him against the farthest wall.
Molly cried into her palm as she heard the rain of picture frames and plaques being dislodged from their nails to litter the ground around her father.
“If you don’t agree to the contract, I will have to take matters into my own hands,” the shadow stated, moving to tower over Mr. Darling’s crumpled form.
Molly heard her father gasp as the shadow leaned down, pressing a muscled hand against his ribcage.
“I won’t let you take my daughter,” Mr. Darling wheezed, swatting at the shadow and attempting to crawl out from under his grasp.
Molly again f
elt the pulse of undulating anger fill the room, and the male shadow moved his hand up to wind around Mr. Darling’s neck.
As she watched her father writhe and choke, a familiar burning sensation behind Molly’s eyes gathered and her body shook with uncontrollable energy.
“Daddy!” Molly screamed, racing down the stairs to throw herself at the demonic shadow. Her tiny fists slammed into his lower back, but it was like punching concrete. The shadow released Mr. Darling to peer down at her, one dark brow raised in clear amusement.
Molly forced herself to return his gaze. Her lashes were wet with tears, and did nothing to camouflage her abnormally colored eyes.
“You must be little Miss Darling,” the shadow drawled; up this close, Molly decided he looked like a horrid, calculating man. “You have some very special eyes, Miss Darling. Do you know why they’re like that? Do you know what you are?”
Molly twisted her mouth, yanking at her nightgown nervously. She gave a subtle shake of her head, looking at her father across the room. His expression did nothing to quell her terror.
“You’re a daemon,” the awful man continued, dragging one long finger along the plane of her cheek; her skin burned in its wake. “Child, look at me.”
Molly shivered under her robe, refusing his request.
“Look at me now, Miss Darling, or I’ll be forced to hurt your dear old daddy.”
She hurriedly lifted her chin at the threat, meeting the intruder’s icy stare. Dark, wavy locks framed his tanned features, and his eyes were the menacing gray of storms and thunder. For a moment all he did was stare into her eyes, irises flicking back and forth like he was reading a book, desperate to absorb the knowledge it held.
His smile held no warmth when he spoke again. “She has the eyes of a blessed one, of a daemon. She’ll do just fine.”
At some point Molly’s father must’ve risen to join them, because Mr. Darling hurriedly yanked Molly into his embrace as the strange man strode back to his two other shadow companions.
“When’s her birthday?” the man asked.
Mr. Darling tightened his grip on Molly’s shoulders, pulling her closer. “None of your goddamn busin—”
His words were cut short as the man descended again, shoving Molly out of the way to throttle her father until his face went blue.
“June thirteenth!” Mrs. Darling finally screamed, flapping her hands uselessly. “Her birthday is June thirteenth! Please, stop—”
The man dumped Mr. Darling on the floor and both Molly and her mother flew over, wiping the spittle from his chin as he hacked over and over.
The shadow woman wrinkled her brows at the scene, frowning in pity. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, a sound so soft Molly almost missed it.
“Eleanor,” the man snapped, scrunching his nose in displeasure.
Molly studied the shadow woman, taking in her pale skin, chocolate-hued eyes, and raven curls. She was ethereal, her demeanor subdued and compassionate.
The man turned his attention back to the Darlings. “We’ll be back on the child’s birthday.”
A heavy silence followed, punctuated only by Mr. Darling’s thin, haggard attempts at breath. “Would you like to meet our son, Molly?” said the woman, achingly chipper in the Darlings’ cavernous foyer. “He’s your betrothed, after all.”
“N-No,” Molly managed to say; she didn’t know what a betrothed was, but the term made her skin crawl all the same.
“Oh, but the two of you will be such good friends,” the woman went on, undeterred. “Tensley, come here.”
Light footsteps resounded on the marble, and moments later a pair of shiny black dress shoes appeared across from Molly’s bare feet. Curiosity overcame fear and Molly looked up at the boy standing before her.
“Molly, this is Tensley. Tensley Knight,” the woman said, the glimmer of a smile playing at her ruby red lips.
Tensley was taller than Molly and his face was slender and olive-toned, just like his parents’. His irises were such dark pools of gray that they seemed to freeze Molly to the spot, ceasing all her motor function in a second.
“Uh…” Molly gaped, her tongue thick and unwieldy in a too-dry mouth.
Tensley’s expression stayed neutral as he studied her before advancing abruptly to grasp her left hand in his cold ones. He produced a beautiful silver ring from some secret pocket in his suit and—without permission—slid it onto her ring finger.
“We will return for the daemon,” Mr. Knight said as he strolled toward the door, his wife doing the same. It was Tensley who took his time, those eyes undecipherable as he examined Molly’s disheveled appearance—her messy blonde curls, the lopsided nightgown she wore.
“I can taste your fear,” he murmured, moving so close that Molly smelled his breath; it was sort of minty, even though he wasn’t chewing gum. “I won’t hurt you.”
Molly glared at him, her betrothed. “I’m not scared of you.”
“Good,” he said, lips quirking and brightening his face. He immediately appeared youthful, lighter, and a strange comfort settled in Molly’s chest at the transformation. She no longer felt the strong urge to remove her hand from his grip.
“Tensley,” Mr. Knight hissed, moving to snatch Tensley’s arm so roughly that the boy winced.
Tensley released Molly’s fingers and rejoined his family at the front door, all three of them filing soundlessly outside in a swirl of shadows and gloom.
That was the first time Molly met her fiancé, Tensley Knight.
Every year on June thirteenth, Molly and her family waited for the Knights to return, to wreak havoc on the Darling family, to damn Molly to a ruined existence…but none of them ever expected her to fall for the beast that stole her away.
Least of all Molly Darling herself.
INNOCENCE WAS BLISS, and hell, Molly missed it.
She tightened the delicate string of pearls around her neck and cursed her unsteady fingers. One two-hour-long party surrounded by a bunch of demons and she’d be back in her tiny bedroom studying for the upcoming term.
It couldn’t come sooner.
Molly patted more foundation along the bruises dappling her collarbone, hoping Tensley wouldn’t notice; she wasn’t ready for the wrath that would bring. Why she had thought it was a good idea to search for Cree hours before meeting up with Tensley, she didn’t know, but she knew it was stupid—especially since she had run into hunters who decided to jump her.
Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding as she rinsed the remnants of foundation and clamminess from her hands. She needed to get a grip before—
“Molly?”
Molly jumped at the masculine voice and stepped out of the bathroom to find Tensley Knight, her demon fiancé, in the middle of the living room.
She eyed him in the middle of her apartment: six-plus-feet of perfectly controlled male power, clad in a black Armani suit and matching tie. Strong-boned, square-jawed, with gleaming dark hair and those penetrating eyes. Not the little boy from fifteen years ago. No. All man. All hers. Sort of.
“Typically people knock before entering.”
Tensley’s eyes scanned her slowly, so slowly, and she didn’t miss the way a muscle in his jaw flickered.
She bit the inside of her cheek, praying he wouldn’t figure out she’d been breaking a hunter’s arm an hour and a half ago.
Then he cleared his throat and any sign of interest was replaced with annoyance. “If I can just walk in here without a key, then we have a bigger fucking problem than I thought.”
Molly sucked at her teeth. “Tensley, really, we’ll get the lock fixed.” As soon as we have the extra cash. “I’m fine.”
He cursed under his breath and glanced away before drawing in a concentrated breath, composed as ever. “We’ll discuss this later. Are you ready?”
Molly wiped her palms on her sides and nodded. He gave a curt nod for her to follow, jaw slicing the thick, stale air of her apartment like a sharpened blade.
You got this, Molly self-so
othed, leading the way out of the dingy Lower East Side apartment she shared with September. Meeting a bunch of your fiancé’s coworkers is no big deal.
Except that his coworkers were a band of powerful, bloodthirsty, unpredictable demons.
She repeated the notes Illya had given her a few days ago to herself:
Eric Rose, second-in-command. Sly, cunning. Doesn’t like to discuss personal matters, only the demons’ governmental system, the High Court, and of course their king, Fallen. Flattery and wit earn his respect.
He was the most important, but there were a few others Molly needed to be aware of. The party was for Edgar Daniels—eighteen years old, an eager teen ready to join the Knight-helmed group of demons called Scorpios. Molly had felt a distinct kinship with Edgar as Illya shared the details about him; she, too, had once been naïvely corralled into an extremist underground sect when Cree and his demon hunters came calling—and look where that had landed her.
A sleek black car idled on the side of the road outside Molly’s apartment building, pumping white plumes of exhaust across the busy New York City street.
“C’mon.” Tensley placed his large hand on the small of Molly’s back as he opened the car door for her, and her skin vibrated beneath his touch. She scooted in, fully aware of the way her black lace dress rode higher up on her thighs as she did so. Tensley entered through the opposite door and signaled to take off with a firm flick of his wrist.
A heavy sigh left his lips once they had entered the stream of honking traffic, and he deftly straightened his tie.
Molly twisted the chain of her purse around her hand, reciting Illya’s notes over and over in a near-silent mutter. Eric Rose, flattery, no personal comments, he likes witty comments but don’t overdo it, just act normal, totally normal, it’s normal to go to a demon party, it’s not like they could make me disappear without a trace—
Tensley’s calloused hand clamped over Molly’s and she froze. When she stole a look at his face, he smirked. “Breathe.” His vividly dark eyes traveled over her lace dress and up to her heated cheeks. He looked so dark against the bone-colored leather seat, so big next to her.
“You look far too tempting, darling,” he nearly growled, smirk widening.
Molly instantly noticed how heat gathered between her legs; they hadn’t been this close for a while, and it was doing wild things to her senses.