Sever the Crown: Vampire Reverse Harem Complete Series

by Mysti Parker

  Ashe nodded. "Do you know what you might do with it?"

  She glanced at me, pausing my headache for precious seconds. "Yes."

  Charles lifted an eyebrow. "Care to share?"

  Smiling, she patted his cheek. "No."

  "A woman with secrets.” He growled and snapped the elastic of her panties. “My favorite."

  "I won't be keeping that particular secret for too much longer. Grab your disguises, guys. And hurry." She swatted Ashe's ass as he stood. "Time's a tickin'."

  I checked the clock on my phone, like I needed a reminder of the “tickin’.” She was right. It was midnight. In exactly seventy-two hours, the world was supposed to end.

  ****

  Marlowe parked our black SUV outside the fence of a cemetery.

  Something growled by my feet. We all flinched. Then I remembered I’d taken Killer along with us because she had severe separation anxiety. The little shit curled herself up in Wren’s lap. It would seem as though animals were as drawn to her as the rest of us.

  “I thought you said we were meeting Angelo at a bar,” I said to Wren from the very back seat. My legs were too long to fit anywhere but straight down the aisle.

  “I did. You’ll see.” She turned from the front seat and tossed back a wad of white fabric. “Put that on so you blend in better. Hopefully it fits you.”

  It turned out to be a white cloak. At least it wasn’t a pair of angel wings.

  “You remember the code?” Marlowe asked. His whole scarred face was tight with worry like he was more nervous than the rest of us.

  “Got it.” Wren blew him a kiss and then flicked up the hood of her own white cloak. “Be back in a jiffy.”

  The others stayed behind as Wren and I wound through the cemetery toward a crypt. It was still night, the moon bright and full above, but our cloaks were so thick that I guessed they’d protect us in daylight.

  Wren studied the winged etching on the crypt and then touched certain parts of it. The stone wall shimmered for a moment and then revealed a door that slid open. Smoke and salt, booze and a sweet scent that smelled like Wren rolled out from inside, as well as the jazzy notes of a live band.

  She looked up at me and grinned. “This is quite the place. Wait till you see it.”

  I bet I could wait, actually. Anticipation twisted through my veins at meeting a celestial. I was no expert, but as an assassin, I expected to be sent to hell. Possibly right when we met this guy, like if Angelo had a button hidden underneath his table, and I stood over a trapdoor.

  The place was packed with white-cloaked bodies gathered around the stage of where the live band performed. Some shouted over each other to be heard, and my headache just wasn’t having it. This was not the place for me, but Wren seemed to pick up on that and took my hand. She led to a table by a jukebox where a man sat alone, eyeing us as we approached. Dressed in a similar white cloak, he seemed like a normal man.

  "Wren. Hawk." He nodded at the two chairs across from him. His voice came through easily without shouting over the music like a bubble had been erected around us.

  In my throbbing head, I thanked him for that, but also narrowed my eyes skeptically as I sat. “I never told you my name.” In fact, I made it a habit of telling very few people anything about me given my line of work.

  “Must be a celestial thing?” Wren sat next to me, watching Angelo closely.

  “Vampires,” he said with a sigh and shook his head. "Yes, I know your name. Your mom had a complicated birth with you, and when you were in the NICU, your grandfather watched you through the window like a hawk, worrying and fussing…and praying. That’s how you got your name."

  Even though I knew it, had heard the story a thousand times, hearing it from a celestial felt like a kick to my dead heart. Grandpa had looked out for me from the very beginning, so I owed it to him to do the same. If Wren changed her mind about what she would do with Angelo's feather, that was her right, but I'd be lying if I said a huge part of me hoped she wouldn't.

  She squeezed my hand, winding her fingers through mine, as she flicked her purple-contacted gaze between us under the hood of her white cloak. "What a beautiful story."

  "Someone must've heard his prayers," I said.

  "Lots of someones." Angelo slung back one of the two bourbon shots in front of him. “Your grandpa is well respected.”

  Not surprising. But what was the consensus about me? I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.

  Angelo turned to Wren. "You have something for me?"

  "Yes." Wren handed over his license, which he studied carefully. "It took some work. People died. But you have your license."

  "I heard." Frowning, he took out his wallet, simple worn black leather, and stuffed the license inside. "Good work though. I expect Hawk will take care of that last little problem that caused Allison’s death?"

  I froze. Was he—a celestial—suggesting that I—

  “Things happen. Accidents happen, especially at big donor parties." He shrugged. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  "Is that right." It wasn't a question, just a shocked statement, because someone like him actually condoned killing. These things did happen, in large part because of me. So I guess that was…okay?

  He shook his head as if I'd asked that question aloud. “It’s not, but what are you gonna do?”

  Wren and I shared a look. “Not do what he does?”

  With a huge sigh, he threw his cloak off, revealing feather tattoos all over his arms. “Look. Just know that most of us pretend not to see while you take out the trash. We know that you have to because of that wacky head of yours.”

  Most of them, he’d said. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel any better, but I didn’t have a whole lot of time to consider because of what Angelo did next.

  His light brown eyes swirled with gold. Then the feathers sparkled on his arms, lifting off his skin until they unfurled into shiny black wings that nearly took up the length of the entire wall behind him.

  I stared in awe. I’d have to tell Grandpa about this.

  "Wren, have at it,” Angelo said, gesturing to her. “Choose whichever one, uh, strikes your fancy for fulfilling your promise."

  Wren's eyes widened as she looked over the array of choices. "You want me to just...pluck it out? Won't it—"

  "It won't hurt," he said with a quick smile. "Go on."

  Slowly, she rose from the table and walked toward the right wing while she studied the left. This kind of felt like a test, not a pass/fail kind, but the kind that would unlock a certain door if she chose correctly. Wren seemed to grasp the weight of it, too, as she eyed each of the feathers that glistened with rainbows under the bar lights like oil. Finally, she chose one near the tip of his right wing and, with a slight wince on her face, she plucked it out.

  “Ow!” he cried out.

  Wren paled and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.”

  Angelo chuckled. “Works every time.”

  She wilted with relief then shook her head with a grin. “Good one.”

  Angelo tossed back the second bourbon shot and signaled a passing waitress for another. "Thanks for the license. Too bad you can't stay. Just remember, this feather grants you exactly one miracle. Choose wisely."

  "That's it, then?” she asked, crossing to her chair. “No hell for me?"

  "Not today." He glanced at me, his jaw becoming rigid. "But time's a tickin' for the rest of us."

  I knew what he meant. Wren did, too, if I read the hard line of her lips right. Giving him a sharp nod, I stood and guided Wren away from the table.

  “Oh, and Wren?” Angelo said before we’d taken two steps.

  She turned around. “Yes?”

  “Remember when trying to discern truth from lies, the truth may overturn everything you thought you knew.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Angelo shook his head. “It’s not for me to say. But I’m only a call away if you need my help.” He tapped his forehead, which I assumed
meant some kind of angelic telepathy. With a final nod, Wren and I walked out of the bar with her new feather tucked inside her cloak.

  When we walked out into the cool, quiet night air, Wren took my hand and squeezed. "You know where we're going next?"

  I took in her silhouette next to me as we followed the path around the headstones. She looked like beautiful danger with a halo of moonlight. "You can change your mind."

  She shook her head while we exited the cemetery. "It's the right thing to do. For you. For Annie, Vincent, and your grandpa."

  "You don't have to do anything for me, Wren." I reached out and touched her cheek, feeling her familiar calm wash away some of my headache when she looked at me. "You've done plenty already. Really."

  She shrugged, her purple contacts shining bright as she stopped next to the SUV. "When you join my harem, you get extra perks. That's just the way it is. I figure I have to make up somehow for all the murders and continuous running for our lives."

  "Well…" I brushed my finger over her bottom lip and stepped into her. "I'm a fan of some of these perks."

  "Yeah?" She smiled as she kissed me, but I licked and sucked it away, tasting her mouth deeply until she moaned. My tattoo pulsated against her ass as I held her closer, grinding her up against me, but the rhythm reminded me too much of a ticking clock.

  I forced myself away from her and held her shoulder at arm's length. "To be continued."

  She chuckled and opened the car door herself. "Damn right."

  "Everything good now?" Ashe asked immediately from the middle row.

  "Everything's good,” she said as she climbed in. “I'm not going to hell. Not today."

  Marlowe’s shoulders slumped with relief in the driver’s seat. “Best news I’ve heard in a long time.”

  I opened the back door to stuff myself inside, grunting as I did.

  “And is everything good down Wren's throat?” Charles asked as I sat down in the back.

  "Felt fantastic to me."

  "Great. Glad to hear it. Even better to see it right outside my window."

  I grinned at the back of his head while attempting to take off the cloak in such a cramped space.

  "Back home, Wren?" Marlowe asked.

  "No, to Hawk's place. I'm using the feather to help his grandpa who's still in a coma after seeing me end the world."

  Marlowe started the car, and a jazzy song similar to what we’d heard in the bar played over the radio. Nobody said a word.

  Wren turned around in her seat to stare at everyone. "Really? No one's going to argue with me? Tell me I need to focus on finding my fifth mate or finding out how I'm supposed to end the world so I don't?"

  Ashe shrugged. "Would you listen to us if we did argue?"

  A faint smile curled her lips. "Probably not."

  "Rule number fifty-seven of being a queen: always go with your gut," Charles said then glanced from me to Wren. “Even we’re still learning that one, but we know your next several decisions are critical, and that they’re yours to make.”

  I nodded at him, noting his almost direct quote from me when I lashed out yesterday at them for not trusting Wren to make her own decisions.

  Wren sighed and shook her head. “That’s a huge rule to learn. I’m sure I’ll get a ton more practice these next few days.”

  I hated that she was probably right.

  When we arrived at my place at the top of the clock tower, we piled into the living room area.

  “Wait here,” I instructed the three other guys and led Wren to the short staircase that led to the loft.

  Charles made himself at home by sprawling out on one of my couches. “We’ll look for more cat toys you can shoot.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Very funny.”

  “Behave,” Wren hissed to them behind me, and then my ass prickled like she’d turned and was staring right at it.

  I smiled as I crested the top of the stairs, and for the first time since Grandpa had fallen into this state, the smile stayed on my face. He lay there peacefully on the bottom bunk, and my chest loosened with the idea that I might be able to talk to my best friend again. Still, though, after nothing else had helped him, there was a little bit of doubt, annoying and constant like a rock in my shoe.

  Duke lay curled up at the foot of the bed between Grandpa’s feet. He yawned then purred when Wren approached.

  “How’d you get here?” she asked.

  “Probably stowed away with us in the SUV. Who knows?”

  Wren stepped forward and sat carefully on the bed, Angelo’s feather in her hands. She scratched Duke under the chin. He closed his eyes and stretched out his neck to take full advantage of the attention.

  Then she looked up at me, her eyebrows drawn together. “I should’ve asked what I’m supposed to do exactly.”

  “Maybe just say what you want out loud,” I said softly, coming up next to her. I tried scratching Duke on the chin like she had. He swatted at me, but I managed to yank my hand away in time to avoid his needle-sharp claws. “Not fair. She don’t even feed you.”

  With a chuckle, Wren gazed down at the feather and twirled the end between her thumb and forefinger. “I want Hawk’s grandpa to wake up and be okay again.”

  The room held still. My nerves stretched thin as I studied every inch of his face for movement.

  Wren peered down at his face too. Seconds ticked by, every single one of them seeming to take years.

  “Surely I didn’t get a dud?” Wren asked. Then she reached out and brushed the feather lightly across his forehead. A sparkling energy rippled down the feather and seemed to sink into Grandpa’s skin.

  Grandpa’s eyes snapped open wide and swiveled toward her. He opened his mouth and screamed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wren

  To say I didn’t expect Phineas to wake up and scream in my face was an understatement. Hawk’s cat darted off the bed and disappeared downstairs at the sudden commotion.

  I held both hands up to show Phineas I was harmless, letting the feather fall onto the floor. “Take it easy. I won’t hurt you.”

  Phineas scooted across the mattress until he hit the wall and pointed at me with a long, trembling finger. “B-Bronwen?” he stammered.

  “No, this is Wren, Bronwen’s daughter.” Hawk sat on the edge of the bed and patted his Grandpa’s knee. “It’s okay. She woke you up. She’s not dangerous.”

  “How is this possible? You died—both of you.”

  “Not both of us,” I said, swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat. “Just my mom.”

  “Then the vision is right. I hoped that this one time, I’d be wrong. Wait…” Phineas sat up, turning his attention to his grandson. “How long was I out?”

  “About a month.”

  Phineas gripped Hawk’s hand, his expression pained. “I’m sorry.”

  Hawk squeezed him right back and shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”

  “You know who she is?” Phineas gave me a sidelong glance.

  Hawk grinned at me and turned back to Phineas. “Yeah, I know her.”

  “Can I get you some blood? Are you hungry?” I asked, feeling the need to do something useful. Plus, I figured I should give him and Hawk a little time alone.

  “Thank you, that would be nice. I’m famished.”

  “I’ll be right back, then.” I stood and kissed Hawk on the forehead, then hurried downstairs when I saw how taken aback his grandpa was by that little gesture of affection. Hawk had already grown on me so much, it didn’t seem odd to me to give him a little peck.

  Mates one through three were all gathered around the foot of the stairs, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern.

  “What was the screaming all about?” Ashe asked.

  “I assume he didn’t wake up well,” Marlowe added.

  I shrugged. “No, he was a little…startled by seeing me is all.”

  Duke, or Archie, as I liked to call him, reappeared from under a chair and wound himself around
my legs, purring so hard he vibrated. I picked him up and snuggled him. He butted his head against my cheek and settled his front paws on my shoulder.

  Charles lit a cigar and puffed out a circle of smoke. “Can you blame him with a supposed-to-be-dead vampire queen staring down at him? Gotta be better than seeing Hawk’s face, though.”

  “Good point.” Marlowe approached, and Archie hissed at him.

  “Be nice,” I said, and put the cat back down. He stuck his nose in the air and trotted away as though I’d insulted his royal cat-ness.

  Marlowe eyed him warily, then took my hand and walked beside me to the tiny kitchen.

  I retrieved a blood pouch from the refrigerator and heated it in the microwave. Ashe and Charles sprawled out in the living room. They all seemed to know when one of them needed a little extra time with me.

  “Are you okay? Did he tell you anything?” Marlowe asked.

  “Not yet. I didn’t want to push him. I thought I’d let him and Hawk have a minute.” I looped my arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly. “And I’m okay.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Disaster. I’m sorry we weren’t there. Those damn warlocks in the car who shot at you kept us occupied just long enough, it would seem. Then they teleported right out of there.”

  “It’s okay. As you can see, I’m all healed up.”

  “Yeah, but what about in here?” He gently touched my temple. “I’m here if you need to talk.”

  “I know.” My sweet Marlowe. If anyone understood scars, both inner and outer, he did. I settled my hands on his waist and rested my forehead on his chest. He stroked my back, which calmed me enough to open up to him a little. “Truth is, I keep picturing him looming over me. I mean, I’ve been at death’s door more than once, but this time was different. It felt more personal.”

  Marlowe nodded, resting his chin on top of my head. “He got in your head. Those kinds of enemies are the most dangerous. I’ve studied this in depth as part of SFBI psychology training. They know how to use your fears against you to make you feel vulnerable and make you doubt yourself. But they do this because they’re afraid that their victims might be more powerful than they are. Which you are, or will be, soon.”