Whiskey, Vamps, and Thieves (Southern Vampire Detective #1)

by Selene Charles

  But he’d always shut me down. From the word go, Merc had made it very clear that he would help guide me through the afterlife as a brother only. It sucked to see him and know he was definitely not my brother, but eventually I’d turned off my attraction to him until I really did see him only as a brother.

  Sort of.

  No, not really. Not at all. But it was easy to shove aside feelings when they were never reciprocated.

  I’d never seen him with another woman, ever. I was halfway sure he was a closeted gay man. Not that there was anything wrong with that. There were a few out-of-the-closet shifters in our pack but very few. With most pack members being well over a hundred, prejudices were hard to overcome, even in a more modern day and age, and most of them preferred to remain private.

  Moving his hands up until he framed my face, he inhaled deeply, causing his chest to graze mine, and damn if I didn’t feel that same warmth blossom through me as I had earlier in the bar.

  Why was Merc being so touchy-feely all of a sudden? Was he jealous? I stared into his beautiful blue-green eyes and frowned, confused all over again.

  “You lied to me, Merc. You told me you didn’t know why he’d left, but you did. You lied to me.”

  My words weren’t snappy. In fact, they were soft, almost breathy. I wrapped my small hands around his broad wrists and squeezed, and his lashes fluttered.

  He had long blond lashes. Long ago, I’d been a bottle blonde. I loved blond. I’d stopped dying my hair after death, since it made no sense to try to gussy up for boys that never came around anymore.

  I’d had only three serious relationships in my life—Boo, Carter, with whom I had a brief but very intense and passionate affair, and James, which hadn’t been anything more than sex. But the sex had been explosive, amazing, and still woke me up when I dreamed of it. Maybe if I lived among my kind, James wouldn’t have become such a huge issue for me...but I was alone. Lonely. And he’d been there for me when I’d needed a warm body to hold me.

  As though Mercer knew exactly what I was thinking, he brushed his thumb along the ridge of my cheekbone. That was when I realized I’d been crying. I smelled my blood on his flesh.

  The voluntary giving of blood between Veilers was a sacred thing, always revered. Mercer brought his thumb to his mouth and pressed it against his bottom lip. The red stain made my fingers twitch.

  Poking his tongue out, he swiped it up, and I shuddered, hardly able to breathe.

  Then he paused, looked at me deeply—one of those soul-deep looks that made me feel naked—and said, “I didn’t send him away to hurt you, Scar. You have to trust me. But you were a game for him, and I couldn’t stand by and watch him do that to you.”

  Still shaken up by the offering of my blood, I had to clear my throat twice just to be able to speak. “I do trust you, Merc. With all my heart. But you don’t get to decide my life for me.”

  I turned as though to go, but he gripped my elbow, stalling me.

  “I think Dad called him back.”

  I cocked my head and frowned, confused by the sudden change in direction. “What?”

  “It had to have been Clarence.” He released me.

  I rubbed idly at my tingling elbow. Mercer was losing his composure; I wasn’t sure how I knew that, other than the fact that tonight he’d touched me far more often than he ever had. Maybe he didn’t see me quite as the sister after all?

  Was he bisexual, then? Did it matter? I wasn’t sure where that thought had come from. But my heart beat a little harder at the thought that maybe I did have a shot. As soon as I thought it, though, I huffed.

  There was no shot. If there had been, he’d had twenty-five years to tell me so.

  “Scar?” He said my name softly, causing me to jerk.

  “Why?” I asked, realizing I’d been staring silently and stupidly at him for too long.

  Clearing his throat, he stepped away from me, moving to lean his ass on the edge of a whiskey barrel. Only a few feet separated us, but it might as well have been miles because of how distant he suddenly seemed.

  Looking at his feet, he scratched his forehead, and only then did I realize how tired he looked. Mercer would someday become the Alpha of the Silver Creek Shifters. It was only a matter of time. He could be in that position already; if the pack put it to a vote, I had no doubt that Mercer would be their guy.

  But that was not how wolves took the throne.

  Father and son knew the day was coming, but they were both just biding their time. Powder kegs. I was surrounded by sticks of dynamite on all sides and praying to God that I’d be nowhere close when those fuses lit.

  “I’m not really sure, Scar,” he drawled, and I gave him a droll look, not sure I should believe him in light of what I’d just learned.

  He seemed to notice, though, because he looked up and glowered. “Not lying to you. I’m not really sure. You know Dad’s not telling me much these days. But it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  I chewed on my thumbnail. He was right. If there was one thing in the world Clarence feared, it was losing his seat of power. He’d been Alpha for the last five hundred years. One didn’t have to be the oldest to wield the power, only the fiercest.

  And Clarence was ruthless. Always fair by shifter standards, but his justice was swift and brutal. Lately rumors had begun swirling that Clarence might just go to any length to ensure he’d keep the crown a few centuries more.

  “James is an assassin—” I said.

  Mercer looked up at me with a surprised but not-really-surprised look. “You know you give me hell for lying to you, but you do it too.” He snorted, and though I heard amusement in his tone, there was a sharp bite of irritation too.

  I squirmed. “Yeah, but I only did it because it doesn’t quite seem fair to have to beg my brother permission to let me have sex, now does it? You can have sex with whoever you want to. I can’t stop you.”

  His jaw clenched, the mood growing suddenly fraught with tension again. I wasn’t sure what exactly I was saying, but I was definitely not saying the right things. I sighed deeply.

  “Mercer, I hate fighting with you. Can we not?”

  His look was penetrating, but soon I felt that tension roll off him as he shook his head. “I’d like that.”

  A smile ghosted over my lips. “Don’t hate me, then. I don’t think I could handle ever knowing you do.”

  His blue-green eyes filled with deep and powerful emotions. Shifters guarded themselves probably more than any other kind of Veiler I knew. They were secretive, taking privacy to another level of intense. But when they let someone in, as Mercer had me, it was a gift, one I’d do anything to keep.

  My lips parted at the raw sincerity flickering back at me.

  “I never have. And no matter what you ever do down the line, I never will.”

  My stomach flipped.

  Why, Mercer? Why me? Why have you taken me under your wings the way you have? Why do you physically keep me at a distance and yet I feel such overwhelming love pouring off you that sometimes it leaves me weak and shaking?

  Why?

  I wasn’t sure I would ever be brave enough to ask him those questions...but they were never far from my heart.

  He cleared his throat, and I knew the time for truths was over. His stoic, composed mask was back on, and I regretted not being brave enough to have asked him those words.

  Shrugging, Mercer picked at a fleck of white paint on his blue-jeaned knee. “But you’re right”—he sighed after a minute, dropping his hand—“I’ll keep my ears open and try to learn why James is back. You’re absolutely right, he’s an assassin, so if he’s back in town, it could only be because the Alpha has ordered it. It’s the only reason he’d defy my orders.”

  “Did you really send him away just because you thought he’d break my heart?” I crossed my arms.

  His intelligent blue-green eyes looked at me, until finally he shook his head. “Scar, that’s the only answer I have to give you right now.”r />
  I sighed. He’d admitted in a roundabout way that there was more. But my brother was stubborn as a donkey, and when he got firm with me, I knew I’d get no more out of him. “At least you’re honest this time. Fine. Whatever. But mark my words, Merc, I’m gonna find out for real.”

  “Why?” he asked, and again I could sense his testiness. “Why can’t you just be content to leave it alone and trust me?”

  “I’d only trust you if we were lovers. And you were jealous. Which we’re not. And you weren’t.”

  Again he flinched when I said it, and he looked down at his knee with his nostrils flared and one of his fists curled up tight.

  I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. For twenty-five years, Mercer had never acted jealous of me or who I chose to spend my time with. I’d even had a few one-night stands—in addition to my long-term relationships with Boo, Carter, and James—and none of them had ever seemed to faze him. But now James comes back on the scene and the testosterone levels are suddenly turned up to eleven.

  “Merc,” I said, edging closer to him, “talk to me. What’s really going on?”

  He jumped to his feet and gave me a look as cold and indifferent as anything I’d ever seen from him. I shivered, hugging my arms to myself.

  “Keep your eyes and ears open, Scar. That’s all I can say. Things are changing in Silver Creek, and I don’t want you caught in the crosshairs.” Then with those words ringing in my ears, he turned and marched out the door.

  It swung back and forth in his wake like the angry flap of a bat’s wings.

  Chapter 5

  Mercer

  Pissed off and furious, Mercer walked to his office and slammed the door behind him. He walked over to his desk, yanked open the bottom file cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of the good stuff.

  Shifter Brew, from the old world. Designed to get a shifter deep in his cups and skunked off his ass from just one sip. He snatched up a tumbler and poured a fistful of it in.

  “Getting drunk’s not the answer.”

  “Fuck you,” he snarled at the familiar voice he’d heard all his life.

  This time, though, the voice came not from the female darkness but from a male with power just as raw and primordial as hers had been.

  The Veiler, mysterious as ever, came in many guises, but always Mercer recognized the hallmark of its power in its voice.

  This time, he was a man of average height and build with thick brown hair in casual spikes. His skin was pale but not of the undead variety. He was dressed in a steel-gray suit with a snow-white tie. In and of itself, odd, but not the most unusual aspect about him, either. No, that would be his eyes. Tricolored and ringed in green, blue, and red right around the pupils.

  Mercer narrowed his eyes at him. “Who the hell are you playing this time?”

  His grin widened, a cocky, pleased set to it that said he knew he was the shit.

  Sitting casually in the chair across from Mercer’s desk, the ancient Veiler crossed his leg, looked around at the neon glowing on the walls, and drawled, “How elegant. And you can call me Dean.”

  Mercer’s nostrils flared. “What happened to the darkness? Skeleton looked good on you.”

  Dean snorted, laughing easily, and it pissed Mercer off to admit it, but as far as who sat at the top of the pecking chain, they both knew it wasn’t him.

  Inhaling deeply, as though annoyed to have to answer, Dean finally said, “I grew bored with the look. Besides, this is my true-ish form.”

  “Why are you here?” Mercer twirled the liquid amber in his cup.

  Dean pursed his lips. “I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that, dog.”

  He snapped his gaze toward Dean and growled, “Watch it, old man. I’m in a foul mood tonight.”

  Holding up his hands as though he meant no offense, Dean chuckled. “As you wish.” Then brushing his fingers along his pants leg, he gave Mercer a penetrating stare. This creature, this Dean—or whoever the hell he chose to be in the future—had been the bane of Mercer’s existence for far too long.

  “I’ve done everything you told me to do. I even sent James away. And now—” Mercer pounded his fist on the table, snarling and trying to strangle the beast threatening to tear loose.

  “And now he’s back. Wah. Wah. Wah. Cry me a river, wolf. You knew the task when you accepted this charge. So what? Changing your mind? Love made you soft?”

  “Fuck you.” Mercer shoved the desk hard enough to cause the metal legs to squeal against the linoleum.

  Dean sighed heavily. “Are we really back to that again? Expand your repertoire, Shifter.”

  Seething, but trying to remind himself that it was a fight he’d never win, Mercer pinched the bridge of his nose, counted slowly to three, and then said, “What do you want now?”

  “I’m just here to remind you of a few things, wolfman. One”—he held up a long, manicured finger—“regardless of what you might think, Scarlett doesn’t really belong to you. Two, she’s never going to love you back. You made sure of that with all the years of pushing her away.”

  Mercer curled his fingers into a tight fist. He’d only pushed her away because he’d been told to and Dean damn well knew it.

  “And three, it was time for James to come back.”

  “Why?” Mercer barked. “Why now? She’s struggling. Trying to find her way, tossing him into the middle of this will—”

  “What?” Dean frowned. “Hurt her? Wound her? What?” He rolled his wrists. “I told you what would be required when I gave her into your keeping. You didn’t keep your word.”

  “Like hell I didn’t. I’ve stood back each and every time she brings one of those assholes around. Do you know how hard I have to fight not to slit their throats? Do you even understand what it means to feel half the shit I do? Or are you just a heartless, soulless bastard?”

  Mercer half expected the ancient to jump out of his chair and attack him for it, but Dean simply smirked. “Paths. Futures. Destinies. All interconnected, threads bisecting threads. Insignificant moments that build and shape fate. You play your part. She’ll play hers.”

  Mercer licked his lips, closing his eyes and going unnaturally still as he said, “You told me to send James away. I did that. Now you’re telling me to—”

  “Keep your damned nose out of it. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Dean stood, staring down at Mercer, and in his eyes, Mercer saw the heavens roll.

  He shook. Over the years, he’d begun to suspect that he was dealing with a Veiler unlike any other.

  Dean smirked. “You’re finally starting to get it, wolfy.”

  Mercer shook his head. And for the first time since agreeing to become Scarlett’s protector, he wondered what he was doing here. Why he was here? In the twenty-five years since that night, she’d grown strong, far stronger than he’d ever imagined she would. One thing had been cemented for him in that time: Scar wasn’t normal.

  Sure, vampires were sensitive, and some could even see things. But what Scarlett did was more than that. That she could simply kiss James and see that fight they’d had, that wasn’t normal.

  And her powers would only continue to grow. She was still a baby. But a baby what? That was the ten-million-dollar question.

  Sometimes Scarlett turned her gaze inward, and when she did, Mercer couldn’t explain it, but it was as if she were vast. So much more than the shell she inhabited. In some ways, he’d known it when he’d watched her bloom as a human, how different she was, how intriguing he’d found her. But having her so close every day, he was far more viscerally aware of the changes. Her scent. Her movements. It was a small kind of torture to endure.

  His jaw clenched, and he inhaled deeply. She didn’t need him. Not anymore. She wouldn’t break, but he could. He’d seen her with other lovers, always knowing deep down they were nothing to her. Just a body to scratch an itch with, but when James had left the first time, it’d brought Scar so low he’d worried she’d never recover. Having him back...Mercer closed
his eyes. He couldn’t stand by and watch that happen again. Could never pretend to be happy for them. Maybe he’d leave for a while, go up north and see—

  Dean, who’d begun walking away, suddenly returned in the blink of an eye, slamming his hand down on the desk and cracking the thick wood grain right down the center, causing Mercer to jump guiltily.

  Dean’s face twisted, transformed into a thing of nightmares.

  “Never. You’re the guardian. And you will stay as long as I tell you to. Guard her with your life if need be, but you’ll never leave.”

  Outside, thunder rolled and lightning crashed. Mercer held the tumbler full of shifter brew in a nerveless grasp. Dean adjusted his tie and then, as cool as could be, brushed his hand down his jacket looking as unflappable as ever.

  “Tell me who she is. Who she really is.” Mercer asked the same words he always did, wanting, needing to know that all of this did matter. That it was bigger than his wants or needs. That his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

  Dean grinned. “She’s everything, wolf. Everything. I’ll be watching you, Mercer. And her. Don’t disappoint me.” He flashed a grin, then he began whistling a tune by Blue Oyster Cult.

  One blink to the next, the man was gone.

  Nerves stretched to the point of breaking, Mercer downed the tumbler, feeling the brew begin to root itself in his blood. Slamming his fist down, he snapped the desk the rest of the way through, then shifted, howled, and raced from the room.

  Chapter 6

  Scarlett

  Everyone stopped what they were doing when the massive gray wolf haphazardly slammed into bodies as he raced for the doors.

  Naturally, not being a wolf, I had no idea what was going on with Mercer. I glanced at the other shifters in the room, hoping that maybe it was a weird pack thing, but everyone looked just as stumped as I felt.