Creatus Series Boxed Set

by Carmen DeSousa

  Deciding on a different approach, she screamed again. “Jonas. Please. Come here! Whatever Tag is telling you isn’t true.” The thought pierced her insides. Would Tag lie? Say she’d willingly left with another man, and now Jonas would hate her. The idea of him hating her, hurt worse than the awareness that if he did, he might keep her locked up in here.

  Her feelings for Jonas weren’t just infatuation; she really liked him…and cared about him, and he’d said he cared about her too. She lifted her hand to her lips, the hand he’d kissed, the hand that had tingled as soon as he’d touched her. Why was she kidding herself? She didn’t just like and care about Jonas; she was in love with him.

  She banged on the door for several minutes, clawed at the edges, dug at the concrete, but then realized it was a waste of energy. Even if she escaped the cell, Tag or one of his lackeys would hear and catch up with her in one of the corridors before she could flee the building. Instead, she sat down on the cot, hoping that the reason Jonas hadn’t come for her was because he was still in the meeting with the other family.

  Like her, Jonas spoke his mind. If Tag had accused her of coming on to that man, Jonas would have been down here, demanding an explanation. Yes, the way he’d looked at the way she was dressed, the way he’d taken her to the safe room to warn her, the way he’d almost kissed her. It was clear he liked her too. He’d lost everyone he cared about, he’d said. He’d just wanted time, but would he recognize how he felt about her?

  It didn’t seem possible that it would happen in just a few short weeks, but she cared deeply for him. The thought that he could be up there, hating her, made her sick to her stomach. She didn’t want him to hate her.

  But what if the man she loved was a killer?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jonas squeezed his fingers around Tag’s throat and slammed him up against the concrete wall of his office.

  Tag might be bigger than he was, but he wasn’t stronger, something that drove the man wild. He’d only kept him around because he had the same goals as he did. At least he thought he did. Lately, he wasn’t so sure. Tag was ruthless.

  He lifted Tag a couple feet in the air. “Where is she?”

  “Down…stairs. In the…cell,” Tag choked out.

  Jonas dropped him and stormed off, racing toward the basement. What she must think of him—all of them. What would he do if she wanted to leave now? He couldn’t let her go. Not just because she could lead Derrick and Reece back to him, but because…he struggled to accept it…didn’t want to admit what he was feeling. For the first time in his life, he could see himself with someone other than Victoria. With a woman who might even return his sentiments. He loved Meghan, he realized.

  He didn’t have time to fall in love with a young, innocent part-human girl, but he was. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The entire time he was with the family from Canada, all he could think about was going back to Meghan.

  Another first, his bloodlust for his brother’s and mother’s deaths had taken a backburner. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was leave the area and make a new life—with Meghan.

  He darted down the last hall to the cell he had constructed in the middle of the building. He’d seen what Reece had escaped from, so he’d made it even stronger. No concrete could hold a creatus. But he’d reinforced it with rebar, which even though he could bend the steel bar, it’d slow down a prisoner long enough that a guard would be able to quell an escape.

  Jonas unlocked the hatch and slid back the door. He smacked his hand on the wall, feeling for the light switch. The fluorescent bulb flickered above him as he scanned the cell, his gaze falling on her.

  Meghan lay curled up on the cot, her back toward him. He lunged toward her, falling to his knees, immediately wrapping his arms around her. “I’m so sorry.” Her skin felt like ice. She must have been in here for hours.

  Her eyes opened, but then darted around the room as though she were scared. “Jonas…I…I…didn’t—”

  “Shh…I’m sorry. He had no right.” He brushed his hand across her forehead, hating that worry lines marred her flawless skin.

  “He…Tag…murdered a man. Right in front of me.”

  Jonas narrowed his eyes. “The man was hurting you—”

  “No, he wasn’t. I’m sure he would’ve tried, but I could’ve handled him. He was just a college kid. He never stood a chance.”

  Not sure what to think, he rubbed his hand back and forth along the light stubble on his chin. Had she really been leaving with that man as Tag had said? Would she have gone home with him if he hadn’t tried to rape her?

  “He…he…ripped out his throat,” Meghan continued. “That’s not what you said we were doing. How will that help us?”

  Jonas shook his head. “It won’t. It’ll only start a war.”

  “I can’t stay here if—”

  “I’ll talk to him.” How could he tell her he couldn’t allow her to leave, that Tag or another of the creatus would kill her if she tried. He couldn’t. If he told her that, she was just stubborn enough to want to leave as a challenge. He had to make her stay for other reasons, and he could only think of one way to convince her…by telling her the truth. “Please don’t leave, Meghan. I don’t want you to leave.”

  She sat up. “You don’t have to worry. I would never say anything, Jonas, but I can’t stay if—”

  Jonas quickly pulled himself off the floor and sat beside her. He brushed back her long hair that always shielded her beautiful green eyes, then trailed his fingers down the side of her face. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay…with me.”

  Even though the room was bright from the overhead fluorescent light, her eyes dilated. She said nothing in response, a first, but her heartbeat accelerated. “Jonas—”

  As he’d done earlier, he pressed his lips against hers to stop her words from escaping. Only this time, he didn’t pull back. He wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her closer. He slid his tongue over her mouth, tasting her, parting her lips, finding his way. She opened up to the kiss, and he dipped inside, touching his tongue to hers.

  He alternated between taking her top lip and gently diving into her mouth. He wanted to consume her, experience everything at once. He’d hungered for those beautiful pink lips for weeks, but had tried to deny the attraction, hoping it was just because he was lonely and she was beautiful.

  He lifted his hand to the back of her head, pulling her closer. She moaned and opened up more to him. Her fingers inched around to his back and under his shirt, sending shivers through his body. She latched onto him, holding him tighter.

  His lips started to feel warm and then his face. He gripped her tighter, realizing this is what he’d longed for his entire life. His fingers tingled, then the feeling moved up his arms. He lifted Meghan and set her on his lap, immersing himself in her soft embrace. How he’d longed to feel her silky soft hands on his skin. A crackling sensation, as if his body was starting to catch fire, traveled through him, igniting every fiber of his being, making its way to his heart. He wanted this, he realized. He had no doubt that he was in love with her, but knowing he was going to fall, something he wanted so desperately to feel. To imagine that they’d be together forever. Everything else—

  Meghan abruptly pulled back, breaking the spell. “Oh, my God! What’s happening?”

  “We’re…falling…” He released a breath of deep need and passion at the loss of her warmth. He wanted the feelings to continue, until they were connected—heart and soul—he tried to pull her back to him, but she held back.

  “What’s falling?”

  “Us…you and me, Meghan. When two creatus decide to be together…and then make love…they fall. It means we will be together always. Nothing or no one will ever come between us.”

  She shook her head. “Jonas, I’ve never… I’ve never had sex.”

  He cupped her face, smoothing his thumb over her luscious mouth. “We don’t have to do anything, Meghan. I don’t expect anything from you
. Besides, when I said ‘make love’, I wasn’t talking about intercourse. If we’re a perfect match, sometimes just a kiss will connect us forever. And, honey, we were. Trust me when I say I’ve never felt that spark with any woman.”

  “Oh…”

  He read the fear in her eyes. Of course she didn’t want to connect herself with him forever. “I understand. I don’t think I’d want to be with me forever either.” He stood up with her in his arms and set her on her feet. “But, Meghan,” he brushed his fingers under her chin, “I do care about you. And I know it may seem quick and poor timing, based on the situation, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

  Tears dropped from her eyes, and he realized, as he’d thought before, she was too young. All her comments had just been flirting. She moved her hands up around his neck. “Oh, Jonas, that’s not what I meant. I love you too, and I want to be with you, but not here.”

  He dropped his head and looked into her eyes. “My room…”

  She gulped. “Not in this situation,” she clarified.

  He pressed his lips against hers again, but pulled back after a few seconds, hating that the magic had stopped. Unlike him, she was strong, able to control her emotions. He’d give in to the sensation right now, because he knew what it would mean. He’d finally have someone who would love him for the rest of his life.

  He knew what she was suggesting, and now that he had a taste of her, he’d do just about anything to have her. He moved his mouth to her ear. “We can’t talk here, but okay, I’ll figure out something.”

  She nodded in understanding.

  Jonas moved to her ear again. “But you can’t be alone. You’ll have to stay in my room, be with me night and day.”

  Meghan narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like someone telling her what to do.

  “Just for the time being…for your safety. But you know,” he brushed his lips along her jaw, “you might enjoy being with me night and day.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Detective Casey O’Brian skirted the loose standing circle of forensic detectives, crime scene photographers, and patrol officers. Evidently, even the men and women in his precinct not directly connected with the investigation had nothing more pressing to do at four a.m. than sip coffee from Styrofoam cups and hang out around another dead body.

  Of course, he could see the attraction in this homicide. Other than the occasional call about a dog that had gotten loose and attacked a neighbor, he’d never seen a murder where the victim’s throat had actually been torn open. Even stranger, the bite marks appeared to be human. It wasn’t enough that the press had started hinting that a vigilante with superior strength was ridding the streets of violent criminals. Now, if he couldn’t find and contain the leak within the department, reporters would hint of some mythological creature roaming the streets of Boston. Just what he needed.

  Technically, he wasn’t in charge of the crime scenes anymore, though, so it really wasn’t his concern. Not now that the Feds had entered the fray. Murder in Boston wasn’t unusual, not to mention the slew of attempted murders and violent crimes, but the actual number of homicides had dropped from the sixty-something it’d been in the last few years. So, more than fifteen homicides in a few months, each with different causes of death, but still reeking of a similar culprit, had brought the Feds into the game, which also meant the murders weren’t part of Boston’s crime statistics anymore. When the Feds took over a case, the stats were on their records. Because of this, Casey sometimes wondered if the police commissioner was the person who called in the Feds, to keep his city stats clean.

  Fine with Casey. At twenty-nine, he’d already seen enough bloodshed to last him a lifetime. Sometimes the victims who hadn’t died haunted his nightmares worse than the corpses did. The dead didn’t scream, begging for the agony to stop. He almost wished the captain had called him off altogether. But nope, he was to assist and run interference when Bostonians had no desire to chat with a West Point grad, who they believed treated them like they were secondhand citizens, even though the new agent had never done any such thing. Local cops were much rougher on suspects, he knew. He’d been privy to enough interrogations over the years. Of course, the department didn’t refer to getting a confession as interrogation anymore; suspects were now interviewed…in the interview room. P.R. 101, his uncle had called it.

  Casey hadn’t gone to West Point, but he’d received his Master’s Degree in Criminal Justice. Had the business cards with M.S.C.J. beside his name and the diploma on his cubicle wall to prove it. College hadn’t taught him anything about working the streets, though. Nothing about how to get people to talk or confess. The moment he suppressed his Boston accent or talked as though he had anything more than a high school education, he’d lose a witness’s trust.

  His uncle, Murphy O’Brian, had taught him everything he needed to know in order to survive. In just four short years, Casey had worked his way from a beat cop to a homicide detective.

  Yeah, some of his peers had said that he got the job because of his uncle, but truth told, almost all the cops in Boston had a relation who’d worked for the force for years. Unfortunately, if a relative had a bad rep, it could hurt a new recruit almost as much as having a relative with a clean record helped.

  Murphy was dead now, though, and Casey couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection. A young girl he’d had an appointment with at her apartment had found him, which was also strange. His uncle had been the first detective on scene of the girl’s mother’s death fourteen years earlier, and then he’d been the responding officer to her attempted suicide off the Tobin Bridge. Next thing Casey heard was that his uncle had been murdered in her apartment. The girl was innocent, he was certain. No way could she have snapped his uncle’s neck. But he couldn’t dispel his suspicion that somehow, Kristina Heskin—rather, her new in-laws, the Ashtons—were connected to his uncle’s death, along with all the other mysterious deaths in Boston in the last few months. The family of doctors, nurses, attorneys, and other high-ranking officials in the Boston area all had clean records, but there was something suspicious about the family. Then, Frank Cooper, a federal agent who’d been investigating the serial murders, had been murdered by the supposed suspect he’d been chasing for months—in the parking garage of the family’s hospital. It was just too coincidental—

  “O’Brian,” the lead Fed, Roger Wardell, called to him.

  Accustomed to fellow officers referring to him by his last name only, even if he preferred Casey to O’Brian, he lifted his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah?”

  “You reach the manager of the club?”

  “Yes, Sir. On his way.”

  “Why don’t you head up there, then?”

  Casey had been waiting for just that. He’d rather interrogate than stand around a crime scene any day. “You got the stiff’s DL? I’d like to flash it around and see if any of the club’s security recognizes him. Maybe he was a regular. Plus, he is—was—a big dude. Chances are he played sports, so they might recognize him if he played for any of the local colleges.”

  Roger handed over the sealed baggie, and Casey snapped an image of the DL through the thin plastic, then handed it back. “If you need a runner, use Mills. He gets squeamish around the bodies, but he’s a good investigator.”

  “I’ve noticed,” the agent said through a chuckle. “He practically turned green earlier. He’ll get used to it.”

  After a nod of agreement, Casey trotted off. At least Roger wasn’t a jerk. The agent had made it clear that he was in charge during their first powwow, and since Casey had never usurped a scene where Roger was involved, he’d been fairly easy to work with.

  The case had been baffling, to say the least, so Roger seemed to appreciate his opinion. The first few victims were random and had been dead before their limbs had been torn from their bodies. But the next victims’ causes of deaths had gotten increasingly vicious. The first violent murder connected via the red ‘C’ had been a man who’d just raped and,
according to the victim, had planned to kill her. But then someone, after somehow getting the man up to the roof of a building within seconds, had beaten the man to smithereens, then dropped him off said rooftop. The next had been a sexually abusive stepfather. That man had also been beaten to a pulp and hung from the rafters of his own shed. His blood had been used to draw a six-foot wide ‘C’ similar to the one that had previously just been finger-painted on a victim or had actually been a wax seal.

  The cases appeared to be connected with violent crimes, as though the vigilante were trying to send a message. More than likely, a husband, father, or other person connected to a victim of a violent crime, who knew no other way to get retribution, had taken it upon himself to make other would-be killers pay.

  Instead of trying to move his car through the gridlock of police and emergency vehicles that lined the narrow street, Casey strolled down the sidewalk toward the club. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t use a little extra exercise. The last thing he wanted was to ever look like some of the detectives on the force. If his size thirty-four jeans ever got tight, he stepped up his daily gym routine, even if he had to get up an hour early. At six-foot-one and 190 pounds, he could still run down a suspect if need be, and he planned to keep it that way.

  Casey knocked on the door of the club, then stepped away from the door, never sure what awaited him on the other side. More than likely, the club or its employees didn’t have anything to do with Rick William’s murder. But he always kept up his guard, so he’d be prepared when the time arrived that he needed to be ready.

  “You the detective?” a man that Casey was sure had been a linebacker for the Patriots asked.

  “Yeah, that’s me.” Casey stood as straight as possible, so his six-one stature wouldn’t feel so diminutive next to the giant of a man who looked like a little boy in a giant’s body with his round cheeks, blond hair, and baby blue eyes. “I spoke with your boss.”