Redeeming the Night

by Kristine Overbrook

  Redeeming the Night

  Kristine Overbrook

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2015 by Sara K. Murphy.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-9349-3

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9349-9

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-9350-7

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9350-5

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © iStockphoto.com/grahambedingfield; iStockphoto.com/Chris Pritchard; iStockphoto.com/Yuri_Arcurs

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you

  to my family, for your encouragement and support.

  to Laura, my dear friend and butt-kicker.

  to Tara G., your excitement is contagious.

  finally, to Jess V., Annie C., and Julie S., your assistance and insight on this book has helped me become a better writer.

  Thank you for purchasing a Crimson Romance novel. Please sign up for our [weekly newsletter] for information on new releases, contests, discounts and more.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  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

  More from This Author

  Also Available

  Chapter 1

  Smoke rose from torches around the chamber and snaked up the stone walls. The dark cloud pooled against the ceiling before it slipped through the vents. In the flickering light Ashley could easily make out the robed features of the sisterhood, somber in preparation for the coming ritual. The women had welcomed her, supported her, and had given her purpose during the worst part of her life. She owed them everything.

  That was forty years ago. So long? Decades passed easily in the sisterhood. Those who wore the black onyx band of membership didn’t age. As the Mother had slipped the band on Ashley’s finger all those years ago she’d said she only welcomed the worthy. Even now, Ashley thanked the gods she had been chosen.

  Ashley and the other women began to sway. The ritual had begun. Gold embroidery around the hems of their maroon, satin robes glinted in the torchlight. The Mother stood at the center of the chamber, flanked by two women. Thirteen others, including Ashley, formed a circle around them. Their murmuring chant echoed off the stone, the reverberation adding a deep, harmonious counterpoint, as if the chamber chanted with them.

  The women’s onyx rings began to glow. Warmth grew and spread through their bodies. They moved in unison, circling, their steps keeping time with the chant.

  Pressure built, rising within them. It flowed through their bodies. Coursed over their skin. Their breasts.

  Every nerve ignited. They extended their arms toward the center.

  The Mother reached her arms upward and cried out something unintelligible. The awakening began. The sisterhood cried out as waves of release shook them. Their bodies tingled and throbbed. The souls of the dregs of society, harvested for the betterment of womankind, pulsed from them, leaving behind nothing except oneness and satisfaction.

  Slowly, Ashley’s mind cleared from the shared orgasmic fog.

  “Ah, ladies, the harvest of this month was plentiful and your offering bountiful,” the Mother declared, extending her arms wide as if embracing the entire room.

  Ashley nodded along with her sisters. This was the standard statement following the ritual.

  The Mother raised a finger and continued, “So much so, it is time for us to move another to the inner circle.”

  This brought murmuring. The inner circle currently held two sisters: Lena and Ashley's own mentor, Tarma. Those in the inner circle were the honored teachers. They were the closest to the Mother, and they often took part in private rituals with her. Although the outer circle knew nothing of the rites, they all wished to participate.

  The Mother reached a hand toward Ashley. “Sister, you have shown dedication to our course and unity of spirit with your sisters. I will bestow this honor upon you.” Ashley stepped forward and placed her hand in the Mother’s. Her heart sang. She’d done everything she could to garner praise from those in the inner circle. Now her focus had been rewarded. The Mother’s thin fingers belied the strength with which she grasped Ashley’s hand. “There are two tasks you must complete before you can take your place.”

  “Anything,” Ashley whispered. The sisterhood had saved her when she’d been used and discarded by the man she’d trusted. With their help, she had spent years making sure other women wouldn’t have the same struggles.

  “The first task will begin tonight.” The Mother nodded to Tarma, who promptly exited the room. “You will become an official mentor and train the one who will take your place.”

  Ashley nodded. This she could do. She’d helped Tarma educate several of the other sisters. Not everyone stayed; this life wasn’t for everyone. But the three that she’d helped to instruct stood around her and smiled their congratulations.

  • • •

  Once the meeting had dispersed, Ashley remained in the room, and for the first time she participated in an inner circle ritual. She learned a new chant and drank a new potion and welcomed the spirit of her new raison d'être. It was very similar to the ritual she had gone through when she first joined the sisterhood, the one her protégé would have gone through the night before.

  After the ritual, Ashley visited her protégé, Nichole’s, room. She couldn’t wait to meet her student and teach her the ways of the sisterhood. However, after only a few minutes she worried that Nichole would be better suited to a different calling.

  Nichole sat on her bed in her white gown that all the apprentices wore. Ashley still wore her maroon one. The difference in color may help her assert her authority.

  The feeling of wonder permeated the room, so Ashley decided to keep it light. “How are you doing? Once you accepted the spirit and the ring, your powers emerged. You should be noticing a few subtle differences by now.”

  “Oh, great,” Nichole replied. “It’s like I’m becoming a superhero or something. Just when you walked in I could hear what sounded like a snake hissing, but that would be weird, wouldn’t it? I do seem to see a glow about you. A beautiful robin’s egg blue one, with green and gold flecks.” Nichole cocked her head. “It kind of shimmers around you.”

  “Yes, and over time you will be able to recognize your sisters using their auras. Very soon you will be able to accomplish a lot more. You will be able to change your appearance.” To demonstrate, Ashley shifted into a likeness of Diana Ross. “Though you shouldn’t use famous people because they get a lot of attention and the goal is camouflage.” She shifted back into a brunette with a heart-shaped face and blue eyes—the image she used most days. Most sisters didn’t wear themselves very often.
For Ashley, her own face and body reminded her too much of her life before the sisterhood. “With practice, you will even be able to change your clothes.”

  “Really? How does that work?” Nichole asked, her eyes wide with wonder. “I mean, like the science behind it.”

  For some reason, Ashley had never asked that question. All she knew was that it worked. So she answered with her best guess. “It has something to do with being able to control the atomic particles of yourself and everything around you.”

  “Ooh.”

  “This is all so you can perform the primary function of the sisterhood: removing the evil influence of men on our society.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “You will feel more powerful than you’ve ever felt before.” Ashley nodded. She knew she did. “You start by evoking the prey’s worst fear. When they are overcome with terror it exposes their soul—it’s colored the same as their aura, but brighter. When you see it, use your mind and pull on the emotions that hide their true selves. Their fear, strength, and evil. It will feel like a part of you is reaching for them, like a hand you didn’t know you had. You know you have it when you can taste it; every sister tastes something different. I taste ripe peaches.”

  “Doesn’t matter who?”

  “Every time.” Ashley nodded. “When you taste it, you’re there, and you suck all of that evil soul right out of their body.” She was getting hungry just thinking about it.

  “Ew.”

  “No, it’s delicious. It gives you a delightful rush.” She smiled and patted Nichole’s leg until the woman smiled as well. “I always feel so energized after a harvest. So many women are saved by what we do.”

  “What happens to the men?” Nichole asked, still smiling but in a more forced way.

  “What do you mean?” Why should she care what happened to the men?

  “After you remove their souls. What happens to them?”

  “They die.” Ashley shook her head. “Of course.”

  “Do we absolutely have to kill the men?” Nichole asked in a whisper. The petite woman picked at the fringe of her gown.

  “The soul is extracted. Living is no longer possible,” Ashley replied, though she knew the answer wouldn’t satisfy her student.

  “But … ”

  Although Nichole had pledged to support their mission with a whole heart she questioned their methods. Ashley started to worry about Nichole’s commitment.

  She held up a hand and waited a beat. Partially for the calming effect on Nichole, but also because it gave Ashley a chance to be sure her voice would hold a patience she didn’t completely feel. “Would you have wanted your boyfriend to continue abusing you? Could you have left him on your own? For all the free will you had left, he may as well have tied you up. Would you have wanted him to do it to another woman?”

  Nichole responded vehemently, as Ashley had predicted. “No, of course not.”

  The gravitas with which she spoke caused Ashley to smile. And she could see Nichole had more to say, so she waited, a level gaze firmly on her charge. Finally, the reason for the woman’s contrary behavior was about to surface. Best to get it out in the open.

  “It’s just that … ” Nichole’s saucer-like eyes met Ashley’s. “Not all men are evil.”

  Ashley nodded. “We don’t target the ones who are behaving. It’s like weeding a flower garden. We only remove the plants that could harm the others.”

  Nichole went back to picking at her hem. “But some men change,” she whispered.

  Ashley wanted to shake the young woman, to tell her that men whose souls were corrupted couldn’t simply clean them out again. It was only a matter of time before most men strayed down an evil path. It was their nature. But she knew from the way Nichole fidgeted she had yet more to say, so Ashley held her tongue.

  “My dad changed for me.” Again, Nichole lifted her huge eyes and seemed to search Ashley’s face for something. “Before I was born he did drugs and messed around with loads of women. When my ma got pregnant with me he stopped all of that and became my dad.”

  In Ashley’s experience, the male would only make that choice if it were the easiest to make. But Nichole’s voice rang with love and wonder and stilled Ashley’s interruption.

  Nichole smiled as she rubbed at her knees. “Ma said they loved each other so much.”

  The emotion that poured from Nichole felt sweet and soft. In spite of herself, Ashley listened like a child to a fairy tale. She’d believed in love like that—once—long ago.

  Nichole ran her hand over the fringe of frayed fabric and sniffed. “Then, one night, he was in a wreck on the way home. I was eight. Losing him broke our hearts, but Ma always told me how he’d changed when I was born. She said everybody deserves a second chance.” Nichole rocked slightly back and forth, lost in memory.

  Ashley remained quiet. She’d been given a second chance with the sisterhood, an out from an abusive and likely deadly marriage. A chance to help herself and women like her to be strong. How many chances did someone get?

  Nichole’s words burrowed into Ashley’s heart. Could there be a man strong enough to fight the inherent male corruption and love her? Care for her? Live for her? In the years she’d been with the sisterhood she’d never encountered such a man.

  “Nichole,” Ashley said gently, “how many second chances did you give the man we found you with?”

  Nichole nodded and squared her shoulders.

  Still, the thought of a redeemable man tugged at Ashley’s mind. Could one really exist?

  • • •

  The woman seemed to have more arms than an octopus. Eric Adams, private detective, disengaged himself from the grateful woman’s embrace and said, “You’re welcome, Mrs. Jaxon-Miller.”

  He’d attempted to evade her several times already; fortunately, the fifth time seemed to be the charm. Though she pouted, it seemed she got the hint and lit a cigarette instead of trying to kiss him again. She said, “Oh, no. I’m changing my name back to Jaxon. Allison Jaxon won’t be associating herself with that jackass anymore.”

  Two days ago, she’d walked into the closet he called an office and asked him to follow her cheating husband. It had taken Eric less than an hour to snap the photos she’d just chucked across the room. Apparently, her husband cheated regularly, and in the open to boot.

  A few puffs of her cigarette and the room filled with smoke. He was willing to overlook his usual no-smoking rule if it meant Ms. Jaxon was keeping her hands to herself. She dropped the half-finished cylinder into her water bottle and gave him a pointed look. “We really should talk about compensating you for your trouble.”

  She was slightly older, and she was hot. Especially in the tight miniskirt and heels that made her legs look like they went all the way up to her neck. A year ago, he may have taken her up on the offer. Back then, he’d been a ladies’ man. Back then, he’d been a man.

  The Bestial Butcher case ended all that. The Butcher had turned his partner on the police force, Lydia Davis, into a werewolf. A werewolf. Eric had barely believed her when she told him. Then, during the raid that finally brought down the Butcher, the beast ripped Eric apart in an attempt to lure Davis into the open.

  Luckily for Eric, the Butcher had used his mouth to tear open his stomach, and the disease, or whatever it was that changed a human to a werewolf, passed to him. Even as the surgeons operated to close his wounds, they closed on their own.

  Fortunately, the surgeon had seemed content to take the credit for Eric’s miraculous recovery. The next day, the surgeon’s expression was more than a little uneasy as he examined Eric’s healed wounds.

  Then, with the help of Lydia, Eric had checked out of the hospital the following day.

  “Hey, sexy, where did you go?” Allison Jaxon was sitting on his lap, brushing the hair back from his face with one hand while working the fly on his jeans with the other.

  Eric stopped himself from standing up and dumping her onto the floor. The woman needed re
assurance that she was still sexy. While he wouldn’t sleep with her, he could boost her ego a smidge. He caught the hand that was in his hair and moved it to his lips. “Allison, you are one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met, gorgeous, and successful. But you should know I can’t mix business and pleasure.” He lifted her from his lap as he stood and set her on her feet, grabbing her ass and leaning close to whisper into her ear, “No matter how much I want to.”

  Then he stepped back and let his arms drop to his sides. He was taking a chance handling her this way. He hoped he was right that she merely needed some validation. She panted, and for a moment, she looked ready to pounce. Swallowing hard, she reached into her purse and said, “I’ll write you that check.”

  After Ms. Jaxon left, Eric tucked the check into his wallet. Private detective work paid the bills, albeit not well. Being a cop hadn’t paid all that well, either. In some ways, he missed it. But after Lydia left the force to start her family, he realized it was too difficult to explain how he could smell better than any police dog. By scent alone, he could tell if a person in interrogation was lying. Unfortunately, as a cop, he had to prove it. For instance, he would have had to produce cause to search the home of the pedophile who had kidnapped that little boy even though the pervert who answered the door reeked of the child.

  Eric’s new partner hadn’t understood when Eric barged in as the man tried to close the door. He hadn’t understood when Eric punched the man into unconsciousness before the pedophile could draw the 9 mm tucked in his waistband. He hadn’t understood when Eric broke through the closet wall of what seemed to be a bedroom office. As a werewolf, his strength had doubled. Of course, during the full moon, it tripled.

  Eric had found the boy. Saved the day. But the questions didn’t stop, and he couldn’t answer them. He couldn’t work on the force anymore. Not when he couldn’t be honest with his own partner. No sane man would believe him.

  When he talked it over with the incredibly pregnant Lydia, she understood. “I found that the only team I can really trust is family,” she’d said. Then she placed a hand on his shoulder. “And you, you’re family now, you know.” If he ever doubted it, all he had to do was reach out with his mind. Apparently, because of the closeness of the pack, he could talk telepathically with his pack mates.