Sever the Crown: Vampire Reverse Harem Complete Series

by Mysti Parker

  “Plausible deniability?” I asked, smiling sweetly as Zac used his thumb to open the door to the parking garage.

  “Something like that. Follow me.” His usual grumpy frown deepened, but with it, a hint of pain in his eyes as his gaze met mine. Quickly, he hurried ahead.

  Zac was always so afraid to show vulnerability. I could understand why. He’d seen what we were capable of. Even a human as deadly as he was could be taken out by three vampires if we so desired. Had he been hurt by our kind in the past? It wouldn’t surprise me. Ravana seemed indiscriminate when it came to species.

  He led us to an unmarked black van and opened the side door. I expected another unceremonious ride on an uncarpeted van floor, but this time, there were seats with actual seat belts.

  “Whoa, what did we do to deserve the luxury treatment?” I asked as I climbed in.

  “You’re a queen, or so they say,” Zac said, one corner of his mouth turned up in what might be construed as a smile.

  “That she is,” Charles said. “But what about the windows? It’s dawn already.”

  “They’re specially tinted to block all UV light. Plus there are curtains, so you have double the sun protection.”

  “Alrighty then. So where are we going? Wait…did you say crypt earlier?” Charles asked.

  Zac briefly met Marlowe’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

  “Yes, sort of,” Marlowe mumbled.

  I put my hand on his knee until he looked me in the eye. “I told you already, no more secrets. Spill it.”

  “It’s the Lafayette Cemetery.”

  Charles groaned. “Really? Can’t you have your guy meet us somewhere less…shitty?” He threw his hands up in the air, angrier than I’d seen him since he kidnapped me.

  “No, I can’t. He doesn’t know we’re coming, and it’s the best place to find him. I’m sorry, Wren.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. We’ll do what we have to do.” Though I tried to sound strong and determined, my gut twisted into a familiar ache—the one that left me feeling hollow and hungry, cold and alone.

  Lafayette Cemetery was the last place my mother and I hid before she died. She had only come out of hiding to find fresh blood for me since I’d mistakenly bit into a poisoned rat. Not a quarter mile from that cemetery, in an alley, she had been ambushed while I hid in a dumpster.

  Just a stupid, useless little kid who didn’t know a poisoned rat from a hole in the ground.

  I swallowed past the knot in my throat. I must have been reliving the memories too long to notice that we had already arrived.

  Zac dug through his ever-present backpack and pulled out four white cloaks. “These are sun-blocking cloaks. We don’t have far to walk, so keep covered.”

  “They’ll also help us blend in. The people who frequent this place wear similar items,” Marlowe added.

  “Okay then.” I slipped on my cloak as the men did the same. “Let’s meet this guy and go find Ashe.”

  Marlowe led the way. We kept our heads down as much as possible. The sun was already bright enough to burn us, but luckily the cloak seemed to work just fine. I wished I’d had this thing from the beginning. It’d be a real shame if I accidentally kept it.

  We walked off the paved road through the cemetery. I didn’t have to look around to remember exactly what this place was like. It smelled like Death himself lived here among the centuries-old crypts. Moss-covered statues of angels, cherubs, and the Virgin Mary stared solemnly down on us as we passed. We came to a non-descript crypt with a scene of the Archangel Michael battling a horde of demons on the door.

  It looked solidly sealed, even though Marlowe studied the carving for a moment before he reached out to touch the wings of the angel.

  “Is he meeting us here?” I whispered. “We have no shade.”

  “No, I’m just trying to remember the code. Oh, right.” He touched a few different feathers of the wings in sequence. The whole scene sparkled briefly, the door trembled, and it slid open. Instead of a musty smell, out wafted the aromas of bourbon, smoked meat, and exotic perfume.

  The familiar sounds of New Orleans jazz drifted up a flight of stone steps that led to a dimly lit chamber below.

  “What the hell?” I followed Marlowe down as he chuckled.

  “Keep your hood on until we find him.”

  At the bottom, I could finally see the whole room—a large bar with bourbon barrel tables and impressively large wine cabinets lining the walls. People in various shades of white cloaks sat around the tables, talking and drinking. A few eyed us curiously, but I was careful not to look them in the eye. I wasn’t wearing a disguise since I’d practically run out of the bunker. My eyes alone would give me away. The music came from a jukebox in the corner. That’s where Marlowe led us.

  He stopped at a table by the jukebox. “Hello, Angelo.”

  Only then did I look up to see who he was talking to. The man was hunched over a nearly empty glass of bourbon. He lifted his eyes to Marlowe. They swirled with a sparkling golden light before they settled to a warm caramel.

  “Holy shit.” It came out before I could stop it.

  “Holy, maybe. Shit, not so much.” He had a soft Hispanic accent, kind of like Ricky Martin. Looked like him too. Then he stood, taking off his cloak at the same time. Feathered tattoos wrapped around his arms and shoulders. Suddenly, they glowed like his eyes had done and unfurled into a set of glittering wings that almost spanned the length of the entire wall and seemed composed entirely of magic.

  I gazed at them in wonder with my mouth hanging open. His wings were gorgeous.

  “We need your help,” Marlowe said.

  Angelo flicked his gaze to me, ignoring the question. “Who’s the chick?”

  I lowered my hood and looked him right in the eye.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. She’s not the queen.” He waved a dismissive hand at me.

  “What makes you say that?” Charles asked.

  Sneering as though my second mate had no right to speak to him, Angelo slowly shifted his attention to Charles. “Because I watched her die.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marlowe

  "Uh, I beg to differ.” Wren glanced at me, her frown drawing her eyebrows together. “I may be dead, but I haven't died. Therefore, you haven't watched me die."

  "You're not Bronwen. You must be wearing a glamour or had plastic surgery or something." Angelo raised his finger at a passing waitress who wore cat ears on top of the hood of her cloak and pointed to his almost empty glass of bourbon. "I don't have time for fakes."

  "Right, because you seem so busy,” Wren said dryly. “Do you want me to prove I’m her daughter? Is that it?"

  Angelo tipped back the rest of his drink, the ice tinkling against the sides before another moody jazz song began playing from the jukebox. “I don't see how you would, and I don't care enough anyway."

  I stepped toward his table, my hands fisted and my back teeth crashing together. Angelo hated vampires, and while other celestials tolerated us, he’d outright say we were all vermin straight to our faces.

  Except Bronwen. He’d had a soft spot for her and had claimed during the SFBI investigation of her death that he’d arrived a second too late to the scene disguised as a homeless man. Disguised, because at the time, tensions between celestials and demons had run hot. Witness Protection even stepped in to help, hence how I knew Angelo, but the offer had largely gone ignored.

  "Look,” I said, trying to keep my tone leveled, “we asked for your help. Remember the time I offered to help you?”

  He gave me a pointed glare. “Vampire help is the worst kind of help.”

  “Fine.” I bit back a growl, but just barely. “Then can you pretend to care to at least see what's in it for you?"

  His light-brown eyes flashed with interest. "What did you have in mind?"

  Not much, actually. Between the four of us who stood before him, we probably had a grand total of a hundred bucks between us at the moment. No, better make that
two hundred since Charles just lifted some passing guy's expensive-looking wallet with a sleight of hand. How had he done that with no one the wiser?

  "Two hundred bucks?" I guessed.

  Angelo snorted. "You're kidding me."

  “All right, all right.” Charles stepped to my side and held up his hand toward Angelo while his other slipped the wallet into his jacket. “How about you tell us what you want. Within reason."

  "Or,” Zac said from next to Wren, “maybe a certain ruling power wronged you in some way, and you want revenge."

  “Well…” Angelo turned his drink glass in a circle, leaving wet rings around the fleur-de-lis coaster. "I did get into a little fender bender."

  Charles shook his head. "Sorry, buddy. Do we look like lawyers? We're not passing out business cards here."

  "No, the little fender bender was with the queen herself." Angelo turned his gaze to Wren. "Not you, Fake Bronwen."

  She sighed. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

  “Queen Ravana was not happy I dented her Rolls-Royce, even though it was her driver who cut in front of me.” The waitress brought him his drink, a bowl of green grapes, and a wink, all of which went unnoticed. “So unhappy that she had my driver's license suspended."

  "We don’t work for the DMV either," Charles told him and rolled his eyes.

  "Yeah, but we do have connections." I gestured for Angelo to continue.

  "That's what I want,” he said. “My license back. If you can promise to make that happen, I'll help you."

  Zac crossed his arms, clearly skeptical. "We'll make a promise, and you'll just believe us?"

  Charles nodded slowly. "Have you met us?"

  "Not just any promise.” Angelo gazed at all of us in turn. “A celestial promise."

  I groaned. I should’ve known it would come to this, but I kept hoping it wouldn’t.

  "Someone catch me up,” Wren said. “What's a celestial promise?"

  "A heavenly promise.” Angelo took a long swig of his bourbon. “If you keep it, Fake Bronwen, I give you a lucky feather from my wings, any one you want.”

  “Notice that he has all his feathers,” I ground out. “Not a single one is missing, and I know for a fact this isn’t his first celestial promise.”

  Wren bit her lip. “And if the promise is broken?”

  "If you do not fulfill the promise before your death, your soul burns in hellfire for all eternity," he answered.

  Hellfire as in actual hell, the kind that made Eternal-brand cigarettes look like candy sticks. Definitely not something I'd be interested in, or wish for Wren either.

  Angelo was watching me carefully. “What’s the matter? Feeling a little hot under the collar there, Marlowe?”

  “No,” I growled, and then realized what he was asking.

  Was he afraid I’d spontaneously combust something? How the fuck did he know about that, and why did he feel the need to talk about it in such a public place?

  “If you say so.” He winked as he flicked a grape in his mouth. “Must be raining outside.”

  “It’s not raining. What’s that got to do with anything?” Wren asked.

  Angelo popped another grape in his mouth and smirked at me as he shrugged.

  “A celestial promise is never going to happen.” I turned to leave.

  But Wren grabbed my hand. "Which makes you what?” she said to Angelo. “An angel?"

  “A celestial,” he said and popped a grape in his mouth. “Same thing, different package.”

  “And you can send people to hell? That’s in your job description?” she asked.

  “Without a license, I’m more of a mercenary. Wings for hire now that demons are content with their healthcare plan again.” He glanced at me as he said it and then leaned back in his chair and rested one arm on the back of a neighboring chair. “Even celestials have to pay the bills somehow.”

  "So what's so important about having your license back that you'd make a celestial promise with someone?" Wren asked.

  “Glad you asked.” Angelo took his phone from his pocket, swiped over it a few times, and then laid it on the table for all of us to see a picture of a purple car. "Without my license, I can't drive my Prowler."

  Wren whistled as she picked up his phone to stare. "A 1999 purple Prowler with a V6 engine and 253 horsepower?"

  Angelo blinked at her with his mouth slightly open. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

  "Hey, back off, feather boy,” Charles warned, giving him a hard stare. “She's taken."

  Laughing, Wren stuck out her hand for Angelo to shake. "Name's Wren. Bronwen's daughter, like I said before. I swear on her name."

  He shook while nodding slowly. "You’re the spitting image of her.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she said.

  “Do we have ourselves a deal, Wren, Bronwen’s daughter?"

  “Absolutely not.” I turned to Wren and recoiled at the flare of hope on her face because nothing, not even Ashe, was worth her soul burning in hellfire for eternity. “We can find another way.”

  But I might as well have been talking to myself. If there was one thing I'd learned about Wren in the short time I'd known her, it was that she did whatever the fuck she wanted. She wanted Ashe back, no matter what. And she wanted the celestial’s help.

  She licked her lips and turned to Zac, Charles, and then me, likely reading the same answer in all our faces.

  Charles ticked his gaze to Angelo. “How about I make the deal?”

  “No,” Angelo answered before he’d even finished.

  Firming her lips, Wren placed her palm against my chest. "Will you forgive me if I go through with this, knowing what will happen if I can’t fulfill the promise?"

  My mind turned sharply away from everything I thought she was going to say because that definitely wasn't it. "Will I forgive you?"

  She nodded.

  Never mind the celestial and all that he represented—heaven, hell, guilt, and punishment—but would I forgive her?

  Angelo seemed to understand her question, chewing thoughtfully on a grape while he arched his eyebrow at me, but I sure didn't. Zac and Charles looked on, their expressions tight and lined with worry. I could tell they were about as much of a fan of this idea as I was.

  I turned back to Wren. "I wouldn't let you fail."

  "That's not what I asked,” she said, a small, almost pained smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “There are no guarantees that I'll even make it past tomorrow. I could die at any time, before I fulfill the promise, but I have every intention of trying to fulfill it in exchange for Angelo’s help. But will you forgive me if I burn eternally?"

  The thought of it strangled me to the point of crushing my bones. A literal vise. “It's not a matter of forgiveness. It's being terrified every time I think about you dead and…burning."

  She cupped my cheek, a wave of emotions crossing her face. “Still not what I asked.”

  I didn’t get how my forgiveness would mean anything. Was she asking that I trust her? Trust that she would do whatever it took to get Angelo’s license back? Without a doubt. Could I forgive her failures? Of course. It was my failures I couldn’t forgive if I let anything happen to her.

  I covered her hand on my chest with mine. "You're doing this for Ashe, for you, for all of us, and the entire Southern Clan. So yes, I would forgive you.”

  She smiled, and my tattoo echoed it back in a strange flutter. Why had she asked me that? Why was it that lately, even with my mind sharpened over the years by my work at the SFBI, I felt about two steps behind?

  With her chin held high, she stepped away from me and turned to Angelo. "You have yourself a deal. If you help us, I will do everything in my power to reinstate your license and not die beforehand."

  He grinned, and a golden burst of light ruffled down the length of his wings. "Then I'll help you get your mate and your quadruplet witches out of Ravana’s lake house outside of New Orleans."

  Funny thing about Angelo—or I guess not, gi
ven what he was—we’d never actually told him what we needed his help with. Yet he knew. Most likely, he already knew before we even found him.

  ****

  We all must have been dead tired, no pun intended, because as soon as Angelo showed us the carved-out bunks in the basement of the crypt tavern, we climbed in and fell sound asleep. Well, Wren and the other guys did. I stayed awake a while, watching her sleep with her arm lying across my chest. She looked so carefree while she slept. I hoped someday she’d wear that expression when she was awake. But I wasn’t sure what that would look like, being happily settled into life with a queen. Or happily settled with anyone, for that matter. This thing between us felt like it could slip through my fingers at any moment.

  I drifted off some, and then we woke, had some blood that Annie had generously packed for our journey, and prepared to do what needed to be done. But first, I had to confront what had kept me awake most of the day.

  "Spill it.” I caught Wren by the arm and twirled her into a sour-smelling storeroom within a storeroom in the basement of the bar. Night was just an hour away, and that was when we’d leave for the lake house. “What was all that about me forgiving you if you burn in eternal hellfire?"

  She brushed her hands over my shoulders, a sad smile twitching her lips under the light of the single bulb. "If you can forgive me for the same thing you blame yourself for—burning in an eternal fire—then you can forgive yourself."

  “Why would I need to forgive myself?"

  "Because, Marlowe.” She looked at me incredulously. “If you don’t, the guilt will eat you up inside, and I know a thing or two about guilt. My mom… My dad…” She slumped onto a wine barrel by the wall, the weight of her life seeming unbearable.

  She looked like how I imagined I did sometimes—overwhelmed, beaten down—and it felt like a twisting knife to my heart.