Crimson Sins

by Madeline Pryce

“Stay with me, Bastian,” she cried.

  The pained expression on his face melted away. Terror filled her. The muscles in his jaw, in his cheeks slackened. Dark red blood crawled out from beneath him and soaked through her pale blue uniform until her skin dampened with it.

  “Run, Morgan!” Rory’s deep voice cut through the fog. “Damn it, go!” His voice grew louder as if he was rushing in her direction.

  Jodi fired again, twice more in rapid succession. Bang. Bang. Each shot jerked through Morgan as if she were the one who’d been hit. Something solid crashed to the floor behind her, and she knew in the pit of her gut what that noise meant. She turned, and if felt like she was moving in slow motion. Rory—fear more than pain twisting his face—lay on the floor with his hand curled out in her direction as if even in death he reached for her.

  More screams erupted, and the room around her was mayhem. People scrambled over one another, trying to get away. The only island of calm in the sea of chaos was Jodi, Morgan, and the bodies on the ground. A chill stole over Morgan’s skin, and for an awful moment she was back inside her apartment all those weeks ago, acrid smoke billowing around her. She could see nothing except Ronan’s eyes glowing red like the embers floating around him. Hell of a time to have PTSD.

  “Ah, poor crybaby Morgan,” Jodi cooed. “Not so tough now, are you?” Jodi raised the gun in her hand. “Time to pay up, bitch. I hope Ronan tears you to pieces.”

  Morgan dived to the side. Bang. The bullet whizzed by, and the heat of it stung her cheek. Her magic surged, cold and angry, through her veins. Everything happened at once. Bang. Crimson ice built too late. There wasn’t enough time to lash out before the shot traveling in her direction sank into flesh. Right or wrong, Morgan clutched her abdomen as if mere flesh and bone would protect the child growing within.

  Ice crawled over her arms, stomach, up her chest, and toughened her flesh, but it wasn’t enough. The shot slammed into her shoulder, and her arm jerked. She wondered why she didn’t fly back with the shot like they did in the movies. Then the agony hit and she forgot everything else. The sting quickly faded into numbness.

  She understood now why Bastian and Rory had dropped after they’d been hit. Ronan’s poisonous magic invaded, and the scent of oleander blooms snuffed out every sensation in her body. She went boneless and hit the cold, hard floor cheek first. Venom raced through her blood, washed through her limbs. They were heavy, and then they were gone. Dead.

  The last thing she heard was Jodi and her manic laughter. “Bitch.”

  * * * *

  Nolan readjusted his hands on the steering wheel. Tight. Loose. Tight. Sweat slicked his palms. His gaze moved from the icy, snow-strewn road ahead to his GPS console and the red dot he approached. Almost there.

  He’d paced his hotel room like a caged animal, the hard ball of self-hatred stronger and fiercer than anything he’d experienced in a long time. Considering he had lived with the guilt of his wife and adopted child’s deaths on his shoulders for nearly a hundred years, the emotions reeling through him were a new low. The choices he’d made this time had been his own. No outside influence had forced him to break Morgan’s heart and then his brother’s.

  His car hugged the curving, icy road and barely kept traction. Just as he passed the bend, blinding headlights from the opposite side of the road drifted the swirling flurries right into his eyes. Shit. He slammed on the brakes, veering to avoid a head-on collision when the other car drifted into his lane. Tires from the approaching vehicle squealed like bats racing from hell, and he caught only the vaguest sight of the driver’s messy blonde hair.

  “Bitch,” he growled and watched through the rearview mirror as the red glowing taillights melted into the darkness.

  Sirens up ahead pierced the silence Nolan had driven with for hours. Blue and red lights danced in the night. One by one, black-and-white squad cars skidded into the small, overfilled parking lot of Smithies’ Diner.

  The dot on his GPS blinked. Nolan looked to the screen as a computerized female voice announced, “You have arrived at your destination.”

  Fucking fuck. Dread filled his gut. He slowed his vehicle to a stop across the street from the diner. Lower lip tucked between his teeth, he leaned closer to the windshield and took in the scene. Four cop cars. Two ambulances. Beyond the chaos, in the rear of the parking lot, he spotted Rory’s SUV.

  The never-ending strobe of lights bathed the officers who filed out of their cars with their guns drawn. The glass door to the diner flew open, and a crying redhead dressed in a blue fifties-style waitress uniform ran out to meet them, arms waving frantically. She screamed and pointed in the direction he’d just come from, and all heads turned at her command.

  Nolan exited his car and slammed the door shut behind him. The sharp bite of cold night air soothed his anxiety. He jogged across the street, his boots crunching over snow.

  “You have to catch her! She has them! Oh God, she shot those people, took them, and left!” The redhead’s screeching voice was somehow more piercing than the sirens.

  “Everything is going to be okay, Lexie,” one of the officers said. He pulled the waitress into his arms in a way that spoke of familiarity. “You take a deep breath and tell me what happened. Who are ‘them’?”

  “Morgan, our new waitress, and her boyfriend, or maybe it’s her ex-boyfriend. I don’t know! Oh my God.” Lexie lifted trembling fingers to her mouth. “Morgan is pregnant, and that lunatic put a bullet in her!”

  Nolan stumbled midstride in the middle of the road. Pain lanced through his gut and splayed him wide open. Pregnant? Not fucking possible. A sick type of pressure squeezed his chest, and he found breathing difficult. She’d been carrying his brother’s child, and he’d slashed her heart to shreds before sending her away. Alone. No money. No clothes.

  The police officer patted Lexie’s back and moved her out of the way of the paramedics rushing into the diner. “Morgan. She the brunette with the streaks in her hair?” At the redhead’s nod, he continued, “We’ll find her, Lexie. You just gotta calm down and start from the beginning.”

  “A woman came in.” Lexie drew in a deep breath. “She had crazy blonde hair and this…gleam in her eyes. They were green but all red too, like she was on drugs or something. She started shooting, and people were screaming. After she killed those other two men, she shot Morgan. She put a gun to Gordy’s head, made him carry Bastian—that was his name—to her car while she grabbed Morgan’s foot, and dragged her outside. I tried to stop her, Pete, I swear I did, but she threatened to shoot me. I could tell by the look in her eyes she’d do it. Jesus, I just let that crazy bitch take her! The second she went outside, I called 9-1-1.”

  Jodi. Jesus Fuck. She had Morgan and Bastian. Where the fuck was Rory? At the edge of the parking lot, an overweight officer whose dress blues stretched to the seams met Nolan head-on. He put one hand on the butt of his gun, the other on his baton. “We got a crime scene here, Son. You gotta stay back.”

  Nolan pushed aside the cop and made his way to Lexie with the uniform hot on his heels. His words were low, husky, pained. “Morgan was pregnant. You sure?”

  Lexie’s chin quivered. She nodded, and a fresh bout of tears shimmered down her cheeks. “You know her?”

  “Bastian is my brother. Did the blonde take Rory too, the one with the black-tipped hair?”

  “Your br-r-rother? Oh, honey!” Lexie fought free of the cop she’d been clutching and launched her curvy person into his arms with enough force that he stumbled back a step. Her hot tears soaked through his thick shirt. “There was so much blood, and they weren’t moving. I think…I think she killed them! R-r-ory’s still inside, but he ain’t movin’.”

  His brothers might look dead, but Nolan knew better. He set Lexie on her feet in front of him and ran his hand through his hair. He had to act, and quickly. Rory was injured and needed blood before he rose and got all Night of the Living Dead on someone. The blonde who’d almost run him off the road was most likely Jodi. F
ucking hell, he’d driven right by her. Jesus Christ, he had to get them back.

  First things first, he had to extract Rory. Only one way to do that. Magic surged at his silent command and gathered. Nolan pulled the ice from the air and mixed it with the indigo crystals dripping from his fingers. The mortals around him saw nothing, felt nothing. He blew out a breath and, with it, forced his necromancy into the night. Like purple, rolling mist, his spell engulfed the parking lot and invaded the diner. Everyone around him froze.

  He had minutes at most before his spell shattered and the humans thawed. For them, he’d literally frozen time. Weaving through the ice statues, he navigated the land mines and skidded to a stop at the door. The invading, too-sweet, toxic scent of oleander blooms lingered in the air.

  Ronan. Nolan’s gaze dropped to where Rory lay motionless in a pool of blood. Uniformed paramedics leaned over him, mouths open, hands hovering in their frozen positions.

  Nolan swept his gaze over the grease pit, the motionless tear-stricken diners, before kneeling next to his brother. He drew a finger through the thick, red liquid and brought it to his nose. Oleander. Poison. Holy fuck. Had their father been here? Hiding in the shadows while Jodi did his dirty work? Shit.

  He fitted his hands under Rory’s body, grunted, and lifted. His brother never stirred, never even made a sound as Nolan navigated the ice blocks in his path to his car. He hooked a U-turn in the middle of the road, tires slipping and sliding on ice. Through the rearview mirror, he watched the mortals unfreeze, shake their heads to a what-the-fuck-just-happened tune. In a few minutes, they’d start looking for the body that had vanished right before their eyes.

  Twenty agonizing, utterly silent miles passed before Nolan felt secure enough to pull into a run-down set of rental cabins he’d remembered seeing on the trip up. Every minute he wasted was another Ronan had with Morgan and Bastian. Mari’s glazed, terrified eyes flashed through his memory. By the time he’d found her and Haven, the horrors she’d seen would never have been erased even if she’d survived. The murder he’d been ordered to carry out was probably the most humane thing he could have done for his family.

  Damn it. He couldn’t think about her, not now. He squeezed the steering wheel, looked down at his bloodstained shirt and pants, then into the backseat where Rory lay dead to the world. He looked fresh from the morgue. Pushing the image away, he reached beside him and riffled through his overnight bag for a new shirt and some jeans. He stripped down, put on the fresh clothes, grabbed a spare wallet out of the glove compartment, and was out of the car in less than a minute.

  The moment he pushed open the door to the rental office, the petite brunette behind the desk looked up from her romance novel. Her gaze moved over him. Up and then down. Dimples flashed on either side of her wide mouth with her too-friendly smile.

  She discretely shoved her book into her desk and batted big brown eyes. “Well, hello, handsome. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m gonna need a cabin for the night.” He pulled out his wallet, dropped down a credit card belonging to one Randal Mitchell, and produced an ID with his picture on it to match. She glanced at it, and he shoved the ID into his back pocket before leaning across the high counter. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You think you can do that for me?” He dropped his gaze to the name tag affixed to her breast. Deliberately, he licked his lower lip before settling his attention on her mouth. “Beth-Ann? My, that’s a beautiful name.”

  A pretty pink flush colored her cheeks, and her smile turned coy. She leaned closer to him. Mari’s face haunted him, and he forced back the guilt.

  “You think it’s nice? I always thought it was so boring.”

  “I don’t think you could be boring if you tried.” He rapped his knuckles on her desk, pulled back. “You got a room for me?”

  “I think I got something you might like.” She traced her finger down her neck, and her lids lowered.

  Seriously, this was like taking candy from a baby.

  “You traveling alone tonight?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Me and my brother.”

  She fanned her face, and her blush darkened. “There are two of you? Well, well…”

  His grin felt forced, but he went with it. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you call some of your girlfriends, and we’ll have us a party.”

  “Really?” She pushed a key across the desk with a bright red tag on it that read CABIN #1.

  He stroked the top of her hand before sliding the key ring out of her grasp. “Sure. Give us about an hour to get settled, and then come on by the cabin.” Not waiting for a response, he turned and strolled out the way he came in. Back in the car, he fired up the engine, pulled around to the back of the cabins, and wrestled his brother inside as inconspicuously as was possible when carrying a full-grown man over his shoulder.

  Nolan dropped a first-aid bag next to where he had Rory laid out on the floor. He sank down, ripped open his brother’s blood-soaked shirt, and sat back on his haunches. Rory’s skin was pale and gaunt. In between the ridges of stomach muscles was a puckered bullet wound, the flesh already partially healed.

  Nolan rifled through his medical supplies, found a pair of long metal tweezers, and reopened the wound. Too bad the bullet didn’t want to slide free. If he’d been Bastian, he could have woven some kind of magic to force the bullet out. Rory would have made a neat incision. Nolan, on the other hand, grabbed a knife from his bag, sliced, spread the skin, and shoved his hands inside his brother’s stomach. Fingers coated in his youngest brother’s blood, he fished around until he found the small round metal bullet.

  He brought the slug to his nose and inhaled. Magic. Fucking Ronan had found a way to infuse some kind of spell into the casing. No wonder Bastian hadn’t fought back. Shit, Morgan wasn’t quite immortal yet. Depending on where she’d been shot, poison like this could kill her.

  Purple ice gathered in his palm. He pressed his hand to the wound and concentrated on expelling the lingering traces of toxin. Scarlet strands of Ronan’s spell came at his command, and Nolan focused on separating the facets and pulling them free. His chest tightened, limbs growing heavy from the secondhand effects of whatever paralyzing agent the poison carried. He flexed his fingers, got his blood moving until he could feel his arms again.

  Body now free of poison, the innate healing abilities Nolan’s and his brother’s bodies possessed took over. Skin knitted together, puckered. It wouldn’t be long before he rose. Nolan backed away, hit the wall behind him, and slid down it. They needed to find Morgan and Bastian. He’d used Rory’s cell signal to track them this far, but Rory had his phone, and Bastian’s was still at the hotel. There was only one way, only one person he could think to call.

  He slid his phone from his pocket, swiped the screen, and stared at the square icons. Every breath came quicker than the one before it, and his heart threatened to pound from his chest. He could do this. Had to do this. He’d fucked up. His brothers had been shot, and Morgan had been taken because he’d been an asshole.

  Nolan held his breath, dialed, listened to the tinny ring, and half hoped she wouldn’t pick up.

  “Hello?” a sleepy, feminine voice said through the phone, and for a moment, Nolan pretended it was his Mari. Her smile flashed before his eyes. The soft stroke of her hand trailed down the side of his face.

  “Hello?” the woman asked again, and Nolan’s heart broke. It wasn’t Mari.

  “Abigail, it’s Nathaniel.”

  A sucked-in breath sounded over the phone, and then there was nothing but silence.

  A full minute passed before he found his balls and opened his mouth. “It’s been a long time, I know. I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important, you know that, but—”

  “How’d you get this number? On the Goddess’s soul, give me one reason I shouldn’t hang up this phone right now,” Abby hissed.

  Even though it had been nearly a hundred years since he’d seen her, he recalled her pale blue eyes and the
fire that probably frosted them into blocks of ice. They were the exact shade as his wife’s—Abby’s twin sister.

  “It’s Bastian and his girlfriend, actually. Ronan has them, and we need to get them back. Morgan’s pregnant, injured. Abby, it’s my fault they were taken. Don’t transfer your hatred of me to my brother. Bastian did all he could to save Mari, including shoving a knife through my chest to try to stop me.”

  The memories hit him, and they struck hard. The screams. The tears. Bastian’s fierce gaze holding him hostage, begging him to break Ronan’s thrall. The dull knife sliding through flesh. Even the pain hadn’t stopped him from killing the only woman he’d ever loved.

  Bedsprings creaked; sheets rustled. The noise brought him back to the cheaply constructed cabin he’d holed up in. Nolan hadn’t even thought about what time it was across the pond.

  “What do you need?” she asked.

  “A spell maybe, something that will help us locate them. You can do that, can’t you? I’ve seen Mari—” It had been so long since he’d said her name aloud.

  Abby cut him off. “What the Dracoi can do depends on the circumstances, the distance, if you have anything belonging to whom you search for. Are you still in the UK?”

  Nolan fingered the raven pendant he wore under his shirt, something he’d planned on giving back to Morgan when he caught up with them. “Been stateside for a while. I’m in Vermont, and I’ve got something that belongs to both Bastian and Morgan.”

  She let out a long sigh. “I am too far to help.”

  Hope sank. He clutched the phone and shut his eyes.

  “But”—her voice snapped his eyes open, and he sat up straighter—“we do have a small coven near there. I will put in the call, but know this, it will be Allison’s decision whether to get involved or not. I’m doing this for Bastian, not you, and it will cost.”

  He deserved her anger and so much more. “Whatever the price, I’ll pay it tenfold. You’re our only hope. We find Morgan. We find Ronan. We’ll kill him. Abby, I swear on Mari’s soul, I will make him pay for what he did to her and Haven. I swear it.”