21. Ember

21

EMBER

A screech sounded from inside the mausoleum. Ignacus paused, his claws an inch inside my flesh, and jerked his head toward the sound. The griffin barreled toward us.

The piercing pain in my abdomen made everything that happened next foggy, but one second, I was laid out on the ground, a feast for the fae prince, and the next, I lay there alone, the gouges in my abs and wrist bleeding profusely.

I pressed my injured arm to the puncture in my stomach and applied pressure with my free hand.

The griffin took to the sky, the fae prince’s head in her beak, his body flailing as it dangled from her grip. She flapped her massive wings, turning herself vertically and clutching Ignacus with all four of her murder mittens.

Then, she jerked his head clean off.

She spit, and the head hit the ground, bouncing once before rolling into the ring of fire. With another ear-piercing screech, she shot to the earth, slamming him down and literally ripping him limb from limb and throwing all the pieces into the fire too.

Only his torso remained, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I grabbed the dagger I’d been trying to reach, marched toward our fractured foe, and slammed it beneath a breastplate, piercing his heart.

“Em, the amulet is in the fire,” Ash shouted. “Call yours back.”

I did as she asked and stroked the griffin’s feathers. “Thank you.”

She nodded you’re welcome and turned toward Mayhem.

“She refused to leave until you were safe.” He dropped a lifeless soldier onto the ground. “My cousin Havoc is keeping the demons at bay across the rift, but he can’t hold them forever.”

“Go now.” I threw my arms around her neck and hugged her tightly. “Lay your eggs in peace.”

I walked with her to the mausoleum and stood outside the doorway, careful not to get too close to the rift, lest I try to pull Mayhem through again. As she lifted a paw to step through, she turned to me, thanking me again.

“Thank you .” I pressed my palms together, my chest squeezing as she disappeared into the Underworld. “She said we can call her if we ever need her again.”

“A noble beast, indeed.” Mayhem waved a hand, sealing the rift he’d created.

I turned toward the cemetery and took in the aftermath. The remaining fae scurried through the rift their prince had created, but without his power, they couldn’t seal it. Or maybe they could have, but they preferred to hightail it home and beg the king for forgiveness. Either way, it left the job to Ash and me.

Adrian’s coven had long since retreated, leaving him alone with us. Ash picked up the amulet, and he lunged, his eyes still wild with affliction.

Chaos caught him by the throat. “Are you sure I can’t kill him?”

Ash blinked, looking at him briefly before returning her attention to the amulet lying in her palm. “Yeah, that’s fine. Do whatever.”

“Chaos, don’t,” I shouted as Adrian summoned his witch wind, creating a funnel around himself. “Let him go.”

Chaos scoffed. “Ash told me I?—”

“Ash isn’t herself.” Mayhem crept toward her. “Perhaps I should hold onto that.”

She clenched her fist around the pendant. “The hell you should.”

Chaos released his hold, and Adrian’s tornado whisked him away. Ten minutes in contact with the amulet, and he could already fly. What would it do to my sister?

“Ash, give it to Mayhem.” I cautiously walked toward her. “Remember what that one small piece did to Chrys? I won’t let that happen to you.”

Her nostrils flared, her jaw clenching. “He’s been trying to get his hands on this since we summoned him. No. No way.”

Her sigil glowed, Chaos sending his calming energy into her. “Allow me to hold it, little witch. I’ll keep you, and it, safe.”

She tilted her head at her demon. “My powers have been bound my entire life. I deserve a little boost.”

“Indeed you do, my love. But not with a fractured piece. It will damage your mind.” He held his hand toward her.

“You need to get it,” I whispered to Mayhem. “You’re the only one I trust.”

He moved so quickly, I nearly missed it. I would have if I’d blinked. He shot out an arm, gripping her wrist and yanking the amulet from her grasp before she realized what was happening.

She gasped and stiffened, her lower lip trembling for a moment before her posture slumped. “That was…”

“ Lord of the Rings intense?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She heaved in another breath. “Thanks for taking it.”

Mayhem held the chain between two fingers, letting the pendant dangle in front of him. “We should take this home before anyone else tries to intercept it.”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her palms on her pants. “What about the mess?”

Leave it to my sister to worry about a mess when we had a world to save. Then again, leaving a fae rift open and bodies of overgrown insects littering the ground wasn’t a good idea either.

“Guys, gather the fae parts and shove them through the rift. Ash and I will cremate the witches and pick up the griffin’s blankets.”

Ash applied a salve and bandages to my wounds before we worked together, cleaning up the evidence. My sister and I sealed the rift, and we carried everything to the van. Chaos drove, giving me a chance to recharge in the back seat with Mayhem.

“How are your injuries?” he asked, stroking my hair as I lay in his lap.

“I’ll survive. I got a little boost through Adrian and then Ignacus when they had the amulet. Looks like it speeds up healing too.”

“It is capable of a great many things.” He ran his fingers over my injured wrist. “No pain?”

“Not anymore.” I sat upright and rested my chin on his shoulder. “Why haven’t you used it?”

He blew a breath through his nose and laughed softly. “Why would I? I have everything I’ve ever wanted, all I’ll ever need, right here with you.”

“Me too. Almost.” I snuggled against him and closed my eyes. I had everything I never knew I wanted in him too.

My stomach sank as we pulled into the drive behind our building. This was it. Everything we’d been working toward was about to come to fruition, with a few hours to spare. We remained silent as we entered through the back door, a heaviness settling over us as we trudged upstairs to get the rest of the amulet.

Mayhem set the newest piece on the counter, and I lay a massive blue vibrator next to it.

He chuckled. “I see I’ve changed your opinion on what’s needed for a good time.”

“You have no idea.” I waved my hand over it, disintegrating the shroud and revealing the rest of the stone.

Using Ash’s biggest tweezers, I picked it up and touched it to the shard we’d just obtained. It glowed brightly, blindingly. I shielded my eyes against the flashes and sparks, and when it was through, the most powerful magical artifact I had ever encountered…maybe that even existed…lay on our kitchen counter.

I glanced at the clock. “Next steps. We have to start the All Hallow’s Eve ritual. Ash, take Chaos and gather the coven in the clearing. Start the fire, and then meet us in your studio. I’ll prepare the circle and have everything ready for the summoning when you get back.”

She eyed the amulet and rested her hand next to it. “It really should be you who starts it. I can stay and set everything up.”

“Not a chance.” I grabbed the chain and handed it to Mayhem.

She blinked three times rapidly. “Yeah. You’re right. They should already be gathering, so give me half an hour.”

“Perfect,” I said.

We all headed downstairs, Chaos and Ash hanging a left to go outside, Mayhem and I going right to set up what would be our final summoning circle.

He watched as I poured the salt and used chalk to sketch his eldest brother’s sigil in the center of the ring. “You drew it perfectly, yet I felt ill watching it happen.”

I stood and dusted off my knees. “That’s because you’re my demon. It felt gross to draw it, honestly. I hope I never have to do it again.”

I opened the grimoire we’d used to summon Mayhem. We’d bookmarked both the summoning and the containment spells, but I already had them memorized. “Miles and Shade are good to stay at the ritual, right? Since we have the amulet, Discord should be easy to summon.”

“Relatively.” He grasped my waist and tugged me toward him. “When our siblings return, things will happen quickly.”

“I know.” I swallowed the thickness from my throat. “But it has to be done.”

He searched my eyes, a sheen forming over his as he held my gaze. “I love you, Ember Holland.”

I clasped my hands behind his neck. “And I love you, Mayhem, Prince of Hell.”

He kissed my forehead before resting his against it. “I promise to love you every second of every day, with every fiber of my being, for all of eternity.”

A sob threatened to roll up from my chest, but I cleared my throat, chasing it away. “Me too.”

The insistent sob tried again, and this time, I let it pass my lips. He cupped my face in his hands, the intensity of his gaze rooting me to the spot. I half-expected him to make promises he could never keep. To lie and say he would find a way to return. That everything would be okay.

Part of me wanted him to tell me lies.

But he didn’t say a word.

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a call trying to interrupt our moment. I ignored it and leaned against my demon, holding him tightly and resting my head on his shoulder. Three seconds after the call silenced, it started again.

I sighed heavily and looked at the screen. “It’s Ash. I better answer.”

He held me tighter as I pressed the device to my ear and said, “Hello.”

“You must perform the summoning without us.” It was Chaos, not Ash, and I did not like his alarming tone.

My heart slammed against my chest as I straightened. “Why? What happened?”

He missed a beat…two…three, making my stomach sink. “It’s Ash,” he finally said. “She set Shade on fire.”

* * *

The saga continues in Discord and Cinder …

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* * *

A psychic detective. An alpha wolf. A forbidden love that could tear the pack apart.

Turn the page to read a preview of Werewolves Only …

Werewolves Only

Chapter One

Detective Macey Carpenter ducked under the police tape blocking off an alley on St. Peter Street and smoothed her hair toward the tight bun she wore near the nape of her neck. Storm clouds gathered in the darkening sky, and the summer air hung thick and wet. It was a typical steamy August night in the French Quarter, but the heavy humidity did nothing to quell the chorus of offending odors dancing in the air. She wrinkled her nose.

Slipping her hands into a pair of blue latex gloves, she snapped them at the wrists. The slight sting helped to separate the gruesomeness she’d soon see from the ordinary life she’d return to later. Disconnecting the good from the bad in her mind kept the nightmares at bay.

She paced into the alley, and three men in blue nodded curtly as they passed. “Carpenter,” the blond with a crew cut muttered.

She nodded back and inhaled a deep breath. Angling up her nose to catch the wind, she rifled through the array of scents it presented her. The overpowering aroma of the female victim’s Chanel couldn’t cover the metallic reek of blood. Lucky for the woman, most of the blood seemed to belong to the attacker.

Macey shook her head. Seven sexual assaults in three weeks’ time. In each case, the victims described a different man. Different, yet similar enough that they had to be connected. But how? The assailant had disappeared every time but this one. What the hell was going on in this town?

She stepped into the courtyard and took in the landscape of the crime scene. Six nineteenth-century buildings backed onto a shared park. Willows lined the square, their sorrowful branches looming over the grief-stricken scene. A weathered stone fountain bubbled at the center of the wooded garden, and a thirty-foot magnolia tree towered in the corner, the perfume of its citrusy, white flowers mingling with the stale stench of death, creating a sickly-sweet fragrance that made her stomach turn.

“It’s about time you got here, boss.” Bryce Samuels winked and sauntered toward her.

Macey stopped and put her hands on her hips before shaking her head at her partner. “Traffic. What have we got?” After dropping her bag near a wall, she knelt to examine the alleged rapist’s body. A series of jagged, foot-long gashes stretched from chest to pelvic bone, almost as if it had taken three slashes with the blade to lay the guy open. The pupils were dilated—the blood-red eyes frozen in a look of surprised terror.

“Victim’s over there.” Bryce gestured with his head to a stone bench near the common’s entrance. A green-eyed redhead sat, wrapped in a stiff blanket, giving a statement to a uniform. “Same story as the others. Difference is, this time…there’s evidence.”

Macey followed his gaze to the body that lay before her. “Unless it was a sloth, I don’t see how a dog or a bear could’ve done this with only three nails. Look here.” She traced her gloved hand along each rip in the flesh. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Bryce crossed his arms. “No, it doesn’t. But this is the first time the attacker is actually still at the scene.”

“I know.” Macey pulled off her gloves and dropped them in a trash bag. “Let’s talk to the victim.”

“Shall we?” Bryce motioned with his hands, and Macey took the lead. The uniform had finished his questioning, and the woman sat alone, shivering in the sweltering August heat. Funny how shock could do that to a body.

Her dark green blanket slipped off one slumped shoulder, revealing a black T-shirt with a restaurant name embroidered on the breast. The woman inhaled a shaky breath as Macey approached, but she didn’t lift her gaze from the cobblestone path.

Macey sat on the edge of the bench, the cool stone taming the Louisiana summer. Bryce leaned against the wall behind her.

“Hey there. I’m Detective Macey Carpenter, but you can call me Macey.”

The redhead sniffled and wiped her eyes.

Macey folded her hands in her lap. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Amy. Couldn’t you read that in your report?” Her sarcasm didn’t mask the fear in her voice. She wiped her eyes again and stared straight ahead.

Macey’s chest tightened. She’d dealt with her own personal grief, so she could imagine what this poor woman was going through. Although, Macey had spent more than her fair share of time in denial, and Amy seemed to have skipped that stage and plowed straight into anger. “I could have looked at the report, but I’d rather hear it from you. You know…since you were here and all. I want to help.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Amy wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, her bobbed hair swishing forward to cover her face as she stared at the ground. “Everyone says they want to help, but when you tell the truth, do they believe you?” She blinked at Macey. “Hell no, they don’t. And why am I not in the hospital? I was raped, for Pete’s sake. Just because some… thing saved me and killed the asshole, I have to be questioned first? What? You think I killed him? I didn’t, but believe me, if I could’ve…I would’ve in a heartbeat. Men like that don’t deserve to live.”

Macey took a deep breath. She understood anger. Resentment. Desperation. Those feelings were nothing new to her, though she’d buried them long ago. And though they rarely reared their ugly heads anymore, she still hadn’t mastered acceptance. “What thing saved you, Amy? Was it an animal?”

Amy scoffed. “Animal. Man. Alien. It doesn’t matter. No one believes me anyway.”

Macey placed her hand on Amy’s. “I believe you. Trust me. I’ve been on the trail of this thing for weeks. You aren’t the first victim to tell me this story, but you are the first to have evidence. Please…I need you to tell me everything.”

Amy took a deep breath and looked her square in the eyes. Holding her gaze, Macey gave her all the trust and reassurance she could without words. Amy exhaled and slumped her shoulders. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”

* * *

As Luke Mason stepped through the door of O’Malley’s Pub, a curtain of cool, crisp air blasted his sweat drenched skin. At ninety-eight degrees and one hundred percent humidity, the Vieux Carré felt more like a Dutch oven than a French Quarter. He closed his eyes and let the coolness soothe his aching limbs as he entered the building. The low ceiling and bare brick walls were typical of the nineteenth-century structures in the Quarter. Shaded lights hung from exposed beams, casting a smoky glow over the bar.

He sat on a stool and took a long, refreshing gulp of the Blue Moon beer that sat ready on the counter, waiting for him.

“Rough day at the office?” Chase, the bartender, cocked his head toward the scar across Luke’s bicep. Luke looked at his arm and shrugged. The thin, raised scab had been a gash two hours ago.

“Piece of scaffolding jumped out and got me. No biggie.” He downed the rest of his beer and asked for another.

“Well, if that’s all.” Chase set down the mug he was polishing and poured another Blue Moon. At six foot one, he stood several inches shorter than Luke, but his height didn’t make him any less of a fighter. If Luke trusted anyone to have his back no matter what, it would be him. An intricate series of tattoos sleeved Chase’s arms, and he sported piercings in his ears and eyebrow.

Luke’s only tattoo occupied his right shoulder. A fleur-de-lis designed from a wolf head signified his allegiance to the pack. The star in the center symbolized his bloodline—a direct descendent of the first family. And he wasn’t just a descendent; he was next in line for pack leader. He finished his beer and slid the empty glass to his friend.

“What are you gonna do about James?” Chase placed the glass in the sink.

Luke wiped his hand down his face. “Is he back there?”

Chase nodded. With his hands on the bar, Luke heaved himself from the stool and shuffled toward the back room. He chuckled at the sign on the door— Employees and Werewolves Only —written in marker on a piece of cardboard. It came about as a joke from the customers—that his father, with his long, salt-and-pepper beard and almost-furry arms, looked like a wolf-man. They didn’t know how right they were.

The Crescent City Wolf Pack—at two hundred members strong and growing—was the sixth largest in the nation. Werewolves tended to congregate in towns with immense wooded areas. While New Orleans itself consisted of more city than forest, the vast swamp lands surrounding the area made for prime hunting grounds. And for tough wolves.

Hunting gators wasn’t any easier than it looked on television. While a bite rarely killed a werewolf, it sure hurt like hell. But the thrill of the hunt was worth double the pain. What other choice did they have? Nutria? The beaver-sized swamp rats satisfied the hunger, but they did nothing for the rush. Deer were abundant—and fun to chase—but nothing beat the thrill of hunting gators. They made worthy opponents.

The door shut behind him with a thud . Bright fluorescent lights hummed from above, giving the stone corridor a greenish glow. He turned the corner and descended a short flight of brick steps to the office.

The blinds drawn over the window blocked his view of the scene inside. He tried the knob but found it locked. It must’ve been more serious than he’d thought. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a key to unlock the door. When Luke stepped inside, James sat slouched in a chair, shaking his head. Stephen, third in command and Luke’s cousin, leaned against the oak desk, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you going to do about this?” Stephen spat, shifting his weight to his feet and gesturing to James. “The cops are going to be looking for him.”

Luke raised an eyebrow and regarded his cousin. Everyone knew Stephen wanted to be pack leader—and he already had a mate—but his moral compass didn’t quite point in the right direction.

“No one will know who—or what—to look for.” Luke turned to James. “The woman never saw you in human form?”

“No.” James shook his head and dragged his hands down his face. “I don’t know what happened. He should’ve disintegrated like the others. There wasn’t supposed to be blood. Demons don’t bleed.”

Stephen cut him off. “This obviously wasn’t a demon.”

James sighed as Luke took the chair next to him. “It was a demon, Luke. I smelled it. Its eyes were red, and…”

Luke put a palm on his shoulder, and James covered it with his own four-fingered hand. He’d lost his pinkie on a construction site when he worked for Luke. “It’s okay, man. We’ll figure it out.”

“Figure it out?” Stephen paced the floor, his hands balled into fists. “What’s there to figure out? He killed a human, and he needs to be dealt with. You should put him in the pit.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. His cousin would happily throw people into the pack’s specially designed prison for minor infractions without learning all the facts. “I’ll take that into consideration. You can go now.”

Stephen’s jaw tightened with an audible click . “You’d better take care of this.”

“I said you can go.”

Stephen glared at James and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him.

Luke shook his head. “Ignore him. He’s peeved because he has no power in enforcing.”

“He will if he has his way.”

“He won’t.” The good of the pack always came first. He’d learned that by watching his father lead.

James’s face went serious. “I hope not. I’ll go rogue before I’ll serve a tyrant like that. I know he’s your cousin and all…but, shit. He scares me. A lot of us.”

“Nothing to worry about. He won’t become alpha.”

James furrowed his brow. “You’ve only got about a month before your old man retires. You can find a mate by then?”

“If I’m going to become alpha, I don’t have a choice.” He rose to his feet and stepped around his desk, settling into a large leather office chair that squeaked as it absorbed his weight. He’d have to get the WD-40 after it soon. Picking up a pen and a pad of paper, he squared his gaze on James. No more friendliness. It was time to play his role as enforcer.

“The monster attacking that woman smelled like a demon. He gave you every reason to believe he came straight from hell, but he wasn’t a demon. At least, not full demon.”

James twisted in his seat. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Luke’s main job was to deal with rogues and other rule-breakers. Not a job he enjoyed, but he didn’t have a choice. His father was pack leader, which made Luke second in command. He couldn’t stand seeing his friend cower like this, but he had to keep his aura of power strong to keep the pack under control.

“Tell me what happened, James. From the beginning.”

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