Crazed Hearts: Grimm’s Circle, Book 3

by Shiloh Walker

  “This is a bunch of crap.” Her brown eyes flashed at him, angry, scared…and hiding in the depths he saw the knowledge.

  No matter what she said, he knew she already believed.

  “What kind of crazy fuck are you, making up shit like this?” she demanded, her voice harsh and low. Angry—so angry.

  Ren came up off the couch. He wanted to go to her, but he knew that wasn’t what she wanted right now. He couldn’t stand still though. He just couldn’t. Blowing out a breath, he slid his hands inside his pockets and studied her. “I’ve been crazy more often than you could even begin to imagine,” he said quietly.

  “But I’m telling you the truth. And you know it.”

  “Like you told me the truth about me wandering around the woods. Or the dog. Or your sister…the girl.” She firmed her jaw and demanded, “Where in the hell is she, anyway?”

  “Mandy… Well, she’s gotten a promotion, you could call it.” There was no way he could tell her that he’d left Mandy behind to be slaughtered—the only way he could possibly have saved Aileas’ neck. Aileas wouldn’t have understood. Plus, it had been Mandy’s choice. A choice she had to make, and one he had to respect.

  “A promotion.” A nervous giggle slipped free and Aileas clapped her hand over her mouth. “You’re telling me that guardian angels get promotions? What, you go from silver wings to gold, then to platinum?”

  Ren watched her, and the sympathy, the understanding she saw in his eyes made her want to punch him. She actually felt her hands curling into fists. She wanted to punch him, right square on that arrogant chin and then she wanted to do it again.

  Then run.

  He felt sorry for her. He understood why she felt so damned afraid, borderline hysterical.

  She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her, or understanding…crazy people who thought they were guardian angels should be too delusional for that kind of crazy crap.

  She didn’t want him to feel sorry.

  She didn’t want him to be telling the truth. She wanted him to be wrong, to be lying. Or even just insane.

  Somewhere, deep inside, there was a quiet little voice that she just couldn’t silence.

  He isn’t crazy.

  You know he isn’t crazy.

  Remember how your brother changed? Something was wrong. You knew something was wrong, and you thought it was drugs. But it wasn’t drugs. It was…oh, shit. Oh, shit, no…no way…

  Swallowing the knot in her throat, swiping her sweaty palms down the front of her jeans, she said, “I want to leave now. Right now.”

  “You can’t.”

  I can’t, huh? She narrowed her eyes. “I’m leaving,” she said quietly. Then she started toward the door.

  In the microsecond it took her to blink, Ren was in front of her.

  She never even saw him move.

  One second, he was still off across the side of the room, and then he was between her and the door.

  She never saw him move, and she never heard him move.

  Coming to a dead stop, she gaped at him.

  He watched her with sad, serious eyes. “Ali, you can’t leave,” he said softly.

  “Don’t call me Ali,” she said, gritting her teeth. “And the hell I can’t leave.”

  “It’s not safe for you outside these walls.” He gestured to the simple, elegant cabin, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just not.”

  “And what’s so special about here?” she asked, curling her lip in a sneer.

  “It’s protected from demon-kind. It’s set in a…blind, of sorts. The only way they’d find it would be if I literally led one to it, and I’m careful not to do that. They can’t see this place, they can’t sense it, and as long as you’re in here, they can’t sense you.”

  He took one step toward her.

  Aileas backed away.

  He went still. He barely seemed to breathe. She saw that look in his eyes—the one she’d seen before, the one that made her think she’d hurt him somehow. How? By backing away from the crazy man who thought he was a guardian angel? It hurt his feelings?

  He isn’t crazy, Aileas. You need to trust him.

  No. Because the thought of trusting him was just too damn terrifying. Demons…after her. No. No fucking way.

  Slowly, carefully, she backed away from him. From the corner of her eye, she could see the kitchen and that was her goal. There was another door there, one that opened out onto a balcony. There was also a big, shiny display of knives.

  Not that she was actually going to try using one on him. But if she could get her hands on one, she’d feel better.

  He wasn’t trying to come after her. He stayed where he was by the front door. He didn’t even blink when she grabbed one of those big, shiny knives from the big, shiny display. It flashed in the light as she inched closer to the door off the kitchen. “I’m leaving,” she said softly, and she was pleased to hear that her voice wasn’t shaking. She reached behind her, groping for the door. She managed to get the lock on the knob itself undone, but the rest of the locks, she couldn’t do by touch alone. Shifting, keeping him in the line of her vision, she darted one quick look at the locks and then back at him.

  “I’ve had enough of crazy shit, enough of weirdness. I’ve lost my brother, I don’t need some psycho who thinks he’s a—”

  Ren was there.

  Again, just that easy, just that quick.

  One of his beautiful, long-fingered hands pressed against the door over her head, keeping her from opening it. “I’m sorry for your brother, Ali…Aileas. But running out and getting yourself hurt will not bring him back,” Ren said quietly. “Stay here, until I know it’s safe. Then you can go wherever you want. I’ll take you there myself.”

  The calm, rational voice inside her head insisted she listen.

  But the terrified screecher seemed to be in control and it ranted on, and on… Oh, really. He will, huh? And when will that be? How will he know when it’s safe? Does God tell him?

  Underneath the voice, she heard a sibilant, terribly familiar whisper, and although she knew where it was coming from, she couldn’t block it out.

  She had to get away.

  She had to.

  Swallowing, she glanced down at the knife she held. Clutching it in her sweaty, shaking fist, a red haze settling over her eyes, she swiped out.

  The smell of blood flooded her head. She knew that smell…she dealt with it damn near every day in her work. But she’d never actually intentionally hurt somebody.

  Dazed, she lowered her hand and stared at what she’d done.

  The knife started to slip from her fingers. Ren swore and caught it—bladed side down in his uninjured hand—but she didn’t notice.

  She was too acutely aware of what she’d done.

  The red haze fogging her vision was gone like it had ever existed.

  What had she done?

  “Fuck, Ali, have a care, would you?” Ren muttered. “Do you want to cut yourself?”

  But she didn’t even hear. The blood roaring in her ears deafened her to everything else.

  He was bleeding.

  And she’d done that.

  A vicious, crimson flood gushed from his arm, and after a few seconds of frozen terror, she leaped into action, grabbing a towel from the counter and pressing it to his arm. Babbled apologies sprang to her lips, but she bit them back. She’d damn near sliced a chunk of his arm—she could be sorry all she wanted. It wouldn’t mean a whole hell of a lot right now, would it?

  Inside, her stomach was a tangled, slippery knot of nerves, but she kept her voice cool, calm as she said, “Do you have a first-aid kit?”

  A gentle hand brushed across hers. Blood smeared the back of it. She stared at the bright red smear. “I won’t need it. It’s all right, Ali. Let go.”

  Let go. She swallowed. She couldn’t. She couldn’t have severed anything important—it had been the middle of his forearm, the posterior side, but they’d have a long drive ahead of them to the nearest
hospital and considering how much he’d already…lost…what…was…

  Ren tugged the towel away from her despite her attempts otherwise. She fought him, but she might as well have fought a fucking grizzly for all the good it did.

  Once he had the towel in his hand, he used it to start wiping up the blood. “Look,” he said.

  She tried to jerk the towel away. She needed to stop the blood. Needed…

  He was holding his arm up.

  There was hardly any bleeding at all.

  And right before her eyes, as she watched, his flesh was knitting together. Bit by bit, smoothing out with every slow, shaking breath.

  “Shit. Holy, holy shit,” she whispered.

  She would have backed away—hell, run away.

  Except she couldn’t move.

  She didn’t move, she didn’t blink, she barely even breathed for the two minutes it took for the wound to completely smooth out and heal. When it was nothing but a scar on her memory, he went to wash his hands off, and his arm, taking care to get all the blood off.

  When he turned back to look at her, she was still staring at the exact spot where he had been, still reliving those last few minutes, over and over.

  He’d healed. Right before her very eyes.

  It was like watching… Hell. She didn’t even know how to describe it. She’d never seen anything like that before, except on movies.

  As he moved to stand in front of her again, she swallowed and jerked her eyes away from him, barely able to look at him. She could still see the blood splattered on his chest—she’d cut him.

  Why had she done that? Why?

  “How did you do that?” she whispered. “How?”

  “Goes with the territory.” He sighed and skimmed a hand back over his naked scalp. “I was human once…just like you. When I was human, I could be hurt the same as any human. I could be hurt, wounded…I could take ill.” A humorless smile twisted his lips and he added, “And I took ill. Often.”

  Then the smile faded. “I could die. I did die. Before my death, I made a choice. To become…this.”

  As he said that, he stroked the black cuff at his wrist.

  That was when she saw the silvery disc, the one that had held her attention so acutely a number of times. Etched upswept wings. And right now, it was glowing a soft, silvery glow that reflected ever so lightly on his skin, although she doubted he noticed. He traced the disc with the tip of one finger, over and over, staring out the window with unseeing eyes.

  “I became this—a Grimm. I hunt demons, protect people from those who’d try and claim their bodies. Either I succeed and the mortal goes free of the demonic influence. Or I…fail. Sometimes miserably. Either way, those who’ve been taken by demons, they die.” He shot her a tired, frustrated look.

  She licked her lips and looked down at her hands. She saw a few specks of blood and she froze. She’d cut him. Hurt him.

  Nausea churned inside her gut and darkness edged in over her vision.

  She swayed, staggered. But before she could fall, strong, gentle hands caught her.

  “Aileas, stop.”

  Her teeth chattered.

  Shock. Some still functioning part of her mind knew exactly what was happening. She was in shock.

  But that small, sane, rational bit of her mind wasn’t strong enough to keep her chaotic thoughts under control, wasn’t enough to stem the rising flood of adrenaline coursing through her system. Shaking, she struggled against his hands. Why had she done that?

  “Enough!”

  His voice, hard and sharp, didn’t quite penetrate the fog in her brain.

  But his mouth, hungry and demanding, that made an impression.

  One hand tangled in her hair, jerking her head back as he kissed her.

  Kissed her like he could consume her…like he would consume her.

  And she didn’t mind at all.

  She was breathless by the time he stopped, and her heart was racing, but it was for entirely different reasons. Dazed, she stared at him. “What…” She licked her lips, could have moaned as she tasted him. “What was that for?”

  “It seemed to be the right thing to do,” he said, reaching up to trace the curve of her mouth. Then he eased back, took her arm and guided her over to the sink. She stood still and silent, watching him. It wasn’t until he started to wash the splatters of blood from her hands that she realized what he was doing.

  Embarrassed and still racked with guilt, she tugged on her hands and said, “Stop it.”

  “No.”

  “Why aren’t you pissed off at me? I cut you,” she said. Once more, she found herself staring at his arm. Once more, she found herself shaken by the smooth, unmarred perfection of his skin. Sleek, tawny gold, unscarred, unscathed.

  If it wasn’t for the blood she had on her hands, nobody would ever know she’d marked him.

  I know, she thought, a knot settling in her throat. I know…and that’s enough.

  I know…and if all of this is for real, if he really is…if he’s really an angel, then I hurt him and all he’s ever done is try to help me.

  He didn’t answer her question, just rinsed the soapy water from her hands, even drying them off. But when he went to lace his fingers with hers, she snatched her hands back and moved away, shaking her head. “Why aren’t you mad? How can’t you be mad? I cut you. I hurt you.”

  Ren’s mouth quirked up in a faint smile. “Love, I’ve hurt myself worse shaving.”

  She eyed his smooth, clean shaven face. “I doubt it.”

  He scowled. “All right then. I’ve hurt myself worse wrestling with my dogs, and that I can promise.” He held out his arm, twisting it one way then other, so she could see the smooth, unbroken skin. “Do you see a mark on me? I’m not hurt. I heal fast, and I have had much worse injuries than a little slice on the arm.”

  “I guess fighting demons is hazardous.” She tried to smile, but it fell flat. Hell. How insane had her life become? She was talking to a man who was almost too gorgeous, too perfect to be real…and he was a fricking angel. And he fought demons. And she even believed all of this insanity.

  A far-off look entered his eyes. “I took worse injuries long before I became one of the Grimm,” he murmured.

  There it was again, that sadness in his eyes. That pain.

  “Grim seems a weird thing to call guardian angels.” Because he was there, because he was so close, she reached out and stroked a hand down his arm. “Shouldn’t it be something cheery, happy?”

  “My boss has a strange sense of humor. But it’s not the grim you’re thinking of. Think of the Brothers Grimm. The fairy tales. Up until a few hundred years ago, there wasn’t much of a name for us. We just were.”

  Aileas stared at him. “The Brothers Grimm. As in the fairy tales. Why would you be named after the authors of a bunch of fairy tales?”

  “Well, the brothers weren’t truly the authors. They just collected the tales and put them down on paper.” Ren brushed her hair back from her face, trailed a finger across her brow, down the line of her nose.

  There was something about the way he looked at her, like he wanted to commit her face to memory.

  She certainly wanted to do just that with his. Not that it was necessary. There was no way she could ever forget a thing about him. Not a moment with him.

  He’d leave soon, she realized.

  And why in the hell did that hurt so bad?

  She wanted to cry even thinking about it, and because she didn’t understand it, she turned away and stared outside. “So why Grimm? There’s got to be some weird significance.”

  “There is. Sooner or later, we do things, or things happen to us, either in our mortal lives or in our second lives that are noticed. It was…decided…that those things would get less notice if they were made more fantastical than they really were. A boy and girl following a trail of bread crumbs. A poor servant girl finding true love thanks to a fairy godmother and a glass slipper. A princess and her long hair locked in a to
wer.”

  Aileas snorted. “A bunch of kid’s tales.”

  “Originally, they were anything but,” Ren murmured. He nuzzled her nape.

  It sent a shiver down her spine, one she tried to ignore.

  “But the point isn’t the tales…it’s what lay behind them.” His hands stroked down her arms. “What is easier to brush off as a fairy tale, Ali? That a boy and girl followed a trail of breadcrumbs to a house made of gingerbread? Or that a girl was neglected and mistreated by a stepmother, a stepbrother, violently so…so much that she caught the attention of a woman who was…more than just a woman?”

  Aileas stilled in his arms. Her heart knocked against her ribs as his question circled around through her head. The words made sense. In a distant, not quite connected sort of way.

  But it took a full minute before she truly grasped it.

  Then she knocked his arms aside and spun around, gaping at him.

  “Are you telling me that Hansel and Gretel are real? That they are some kind of guardian angels and that their story was cooked up just to hide their real history?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Oh.” She took a deep breath, feeling slightly foolish…but a little bit better. A little less insane.

  “His name was Hans, and he’s rotting in hell if there’s any justice in the world.” Ren’s mouth quirked in a smile as he added, “And she prefers the name Greta. But yes, she’s real…and she’s an angel. She was one of my first trainers.”

  Aileas covered her face with her hands.

  Chapter Ten

  Ren had to admit, she was taking it…rather well.

  An hour later, she was still staring at him from the corner of her eye as if she expected him to point out a hidden camera, but in her heart, in her soul, she’d already accepted the truth.

  Part of him knew it would have been easier if she had fought it.

  It would make it easier when he disappeared from her life, as he knew he would have to do.

  Angels, mortals…they didn’t mix.

  Aileas wasn’t meant to be one of them.

  There were all these crazy tales that the Grimms felt it when one of them were called to those they were intended to mentor, and that wasn’t what he felt toward Aileas. No, what he wanted was to get her out of here. Far and away and out of this life, before it touched her life anymore.