Black Bird (Nevermore Duet #1)

CHAPTER 16

INTO OUR OWN HANDS

“I understand if this is too much, and you never want to see me again.” Rhaena sighed, drinking from her beer as she sat in the open hatch of her SUV next to Jenkins. The smell of burning flesh was almost too much for her heightened senses as they both stared at the charring body of the vampire she’d ask him to help remove from the hotel. Her green dress was ruined. Besides Athan, he was the first person she ever considered bringing to the cabin near Concord. The only place she could think to hide the truth. Jenkins was silent next to her, taking a swallow of his own beer and staring off into the flames. “Please say something, Brandon.”

He had been her first thought as Athan and Sarah fled the storage room. Rhaena realized then how much trust she had in this man. How quickly she had begun to fall for him. She hoped that it hadn’t been a hasty decision … telling him the truth about herself, while also having him abandon his good sense as well as his role in the oaths he took as an officer to assist her in covering up an obvious murder … whether it was justified, or not. A long silence stretched between them. He finally turned his face toward her.

“You look gorgeous, tonight,” he said softly, not meeting her eyes. Rhaena stilled.

“That’s—um … thank you.” She sipped her beer, and he looked back at the burning body.

“This feels like the wrong time to tell you that I love you,” Brandon continued, taking another drink. Rhaena nearly spat hers out. “Or that I’ve probably been in love with you for years now.” She stared at the side of his face. “The truth is, Northwood … I don’t think you could tell me anything—or ask anything of me … that would ever change it.” He finally looked her in her eyes. “So … if you were trying to run me off with your wild stories—”

Rhaena dropped her beer bottle to the ground under their dangling feet and kissed him. He tossed his down as well, kissing her back. It escalated quickly, and clothes started being torn open … the back space of her truck being occupied with their naked bodies, and the burning corpse becoming about as relevant as a normal bonfire. The situation was very different, Rhaena knew … but she couldn’t help but wonder if Athan’s honesty with Sarah could have gone differently had he not waited as long. Sure, the risk was great. But she just told a human man that the woman he loved turned into a monster every month—and not because of a menstrual cycle. She knew Sarah loved him. Loved him and looked at him in the same way that Brandon looked at her right now. Love like that had a solid chance at withstanding the hardships of knowing the truth. All this could go to hell in a handbasket later, but for once … it felt good to know that there were a few more people in her life that she didn’t have to hide from—one of them being someone she could lose herself in.

The truck rocked back and forth while she did exactly that.

Wren bit her nails, staring at the black screen on her phone and waiting for responses from all her unanswered texts. Denver slept obliviously in her lap as she sat cross-legged on Rhaena’s couch, classic black and white TV shows playing quietly in the background. A few minutes later she heard a door close next door and faint sounds on Athan’s side of the wall that the couch sat against. Wren disturbed her chubby feline, springing up and bolting for the door. She made a point to be as obnoxious as possible as she knocked continuously on Athan’s door. When he finally deigned to answer it, he didn’t even really look at her as he turned away and started back toward his bedroom. Wren locked it behind her.

“Did all of you just lose your phones? Or did you forget that I was over here waiting to hear what the hell happened?” she asked, making herself at home as she plopped into his leather chair. She glanced up just as he walked into the hallway by his bedroom door and her eyes caught the bullet holes in the back of his tux. “Whoa, whoa … stop,” she said, extending a hand. He halted and turned around. Blood had bloomed clean across the entirety of his white button-up. Wren gaped. “Did you frickin’ get shot? ”

“It would appear that way,” he said glumly … and in Wren’s opinion, far too casually.

“I’m gonna assume that you’re not hurt.”

“Assume away.” Athan shrugged, looking as if having this conversation was the last thing he wanted to do.

“What happened? Where’s Rhaena?” she asked.

“She hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts since she had me run Sarah out of the hotel. She stayed to take care of a body. I assume she’s still doing that.”

“And that doesn’t worry you? And whose damn body? What is going on?”

Athan sighed deeply, leaning against the doorway with his hands in his pockets and proceeded to tell her everything that had happened. She had to admit … she was more shocked about this turn of events than she was when she found out that Athan and Rhaena weren’t human.

“So … she’s dead?” Athan nodded. “And this Dahlia chick used Sarah’s blood to turn her into a vampire … a vampire that can walk in sunlight, like you?”

“You catch on quick, Wren.” Athan rolled his eyes .

Wren turned in the chair to face him. “But where did she get Sarah’s blood?”

“We don’t know.”

“Where is Sarah, now? Because she hasn’t answered me either.”

His expression turned real damn quick. “She’s home,” he breathed, digging something out of his pocket. He pulled out a yellow sticky note and a familiar silver chain.

“Is that—”

“Yep. She left it in my desk drawer. Did you know about it?” he asked.

“She was sitting there when she filled out paperwork to leave the precinct after Rhaena arrested her that night at the strip club. I didn’t know she put anything in your drawer. I know she saw the picture you had in it.” Wren bit down on her lip. “Did you guys … talk?”

“She talked. I listened.”

“… and?”

“And she wants me to stay away from her.”

“But the necklace, though. Kane, I don’t think she’d give you something that important to her if she wanted you to stay away, dude.”

“Did you not just say that she left it there before this happened tonight?” He was growing hurt and frustrated. It was obvious he had it bad for her best friend. Wren couldn’t help but feel for the guy. “She cried a lot when I dropped her off, Wren. I don’t think she’ll ever get over what I’ve done, and I can’t blame her for it. But she thinks that it wasn’t real for me.”

There was a brief silence. “Was it?”

He met her eyes and clenched his jaw. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Did you tell her that?”

“I didn’t see the point. She doesn’t want me near her. I can love her from a distance. Be there if she needs protection. Aside from that, I feel like I owe it to her to respect what she wants.”

Wren looked away, crossing her arms and shaking her head. “You’re such a fool.”

“What the hell would you have me do?!” he barked.

She stood from her chair and approached him until they were inches apart. “Tell her the damn truth, Kane!” She rolled her eyes. “Tell her! Or would you rather her find something like that out the way that she did before? Why is this so damn hard for you to understand? "

“I understand it just fine … I—” He paused, turning his face down to the floor.

“You what.”

“I’ve never … said that to anyone before. Not like this. I don’t know how.”

She understood. As old as he was, she couldn’t imagine how difficult something this foreign had to be. She backed herself up against the other side of the doorway and rested on it, arms still crossed. “I get it.” Wren sighed. “I’ve felt things and kept it to myself. Still do, if you wanna know the truth. I know that probably makes me the biggest hypocrite but trust me when I say that—that it only eats away at you the longer you keep it inside. And it’s unforgiving. A lot more unforgiving than the person would be that was lucky enough to hear it from you, Kane … you deserve it too, you know.”

He raised his face back to her. “Do I, though?”

“Yes.” She reached out and clapped his shoulder. “Yes, you do.” All she had to offer was a slight smile and a nod of understanding before seeing herself out. He let her go. Once she knew that Sarah was safe, she felt comfortable curling up on the couch with Denver and letting her nerves settle for the night. She decided that if Sarah wanted to talk about anything, she’d answer her when she was ready. Wren snuggled into the purring warmth and let herself drift off to sleep.

His hands were still gripping the steering wheel as he sat outside the large structure that he used to call his home. He knew his father had made it home a couple of hours ago to cower in his office after his humiliation at the benefit. Brent didn’t know what he’d say to him. Didn’t really even know why he came, if he was being completely honest. He finally decided to get out of the car and walk inside. The house was empty and quiet. Dark. Ominous. For some reason he had the most nervous feeling in his gut, especially when he placed a hand on the door handle to the study that was only revealing itself occupied by the dim glow beneath the door. He opened it to find his father sitting next to a crackling fire in his leather chair, a gun pointed at him as soon as he entered.

“If I was gonna kill you, Dad … I’d have done it in front of the world,” Brent said with little recoil as Conrad lowered his weapon. He closed the door softly and pocketed his hands.

“Seems like even you know somehow that I might not make it out of this intact … or alive. I do have to admit, though … it surprised me to see you down there as one of the people that would be part of that,” Conrad said defeatedly, sipping from his scotch.

“What surprised you more? The fact that she was with me? Or the fact that I actually do have some balls … however small.” His father chuckled through his nose and stared at the fireplace.

“What do you want, Brent?”

“I wanna know what she has on you.”

Conrad turned his face toward him. “You helped her with this big show, and you don’t know the answer to that question?”

“After she learned the truth about my part in deceiving her, she had no reason to give me any information. She asked me to get her into the benefit and I did.”

“I see.” He turned back to the fire. “And what do you plan to do when I tell you? Help her to bring me down?”

“I haven’t really had much choice in getting dragged into this shit. Regardless of whatever I decide to do, I think you at least owe me an explanation.”

“I’m curious to see exactly what you make of it now. How you’ll react. I’ll say this, Brent … ignorance sometimes really is bliss. Last chance to remain as such.”

Brent pondered on that for a moment. “I’ll take my chances.”

Conrad looked back at the fireplace and brought his glass to his mouth. “Behind my desk there’s a small refrigerator. Open it. It’s in there.”

A refrigerator? He half expected a stolen artifact from a museum, or a stack of files filled with dirt on someone really important. Brent’s feet felt heavier with every step he took toward the desk. It could be a trap, he supposed. He could open that door and be shot in the face. He hesitated when his hand hovered in front of the small handle. Deciding that he didn’t want to be left in the dark anymore, he pulled it open. His face tingled with the surprise of finding a single blood bag inside … with Sarah’s name on it. The chill of the bag in his hand was nothing compared to the one that crawled down his spine like a small spider closing in on its helpless prey. Brent turned himself to face Conrad who didn’t deign to look at him.

“Blood? That’s what this whole thing has been about? Her blood? ” Brent asked, utterly confused, and now almost regretting that he didn’t choose ignorance.

“That’s not just any blood that you have in your hand, son. Her blood, I believe, can cure just about anything. You’re holding something right now that is more valuable than a bag of diamonds.”

Brent’s breath hitched. “Mom … you were gonna use this on Mom.”

Conrad stood, setting his glass down on the small round table next to his chair and turning his back to rest against the mantle while he looked at his son. “I was going to use it on her, yes. I was going to use it on that little girl that has a cancer identical to your mother’s. I was going to earn the respect and loyalty, not just of our country … but this entire world. And in one fucking evening … you let her ruin everything.” He slowly shook his head, sliding his hands into his pockets. “We could have been the most powerful people in the world, Brent.”

“And one bag of this would have done all that?”

Conrad snorted. “For a brilliant man, you’re about as dumb as it gets. Do you think I wanted you to be with a girl like her because of the attention it would get? We had the source sleeping in your damn bed! And then you went and grew a fucking heart, instead of a pair of nuts.”

Brent stepped toward him, the bag sloshing as he moved. It made him want to vomit. “You would have had me use my own wife like this? Did you really think that was the kind of man I was?” Brent yelled as he pointed at the bag in his hand. “This blood belongs to a person, Dad! A person! She is a fucking human being! ”

His father pushed off of the mantle and took a step toward him. “Is she? Are you sure about that?” He smirked. “You don’t live in the world you believe you do, Brent.”

Brent lowered his brows. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you have any idea what attacked your little harlot outside that club that night?”

“They haven’t figured that out yet.”

Conrad smiled. “Oh, they have. You don’t find it odd that all these bodies are still popping up? All these missing people? Sarah wasn’t the first one with that bite. She’s just the first one they had that lived … and she only lived because of that blood in your hand.”

“They never confirmed that it was any kind of bi—”

“It’s a bite, Brent. And one that no one can live through, no matter the circumstances. You either die because they drain you dry … or you die because of the poison of what they are.”

Brent swallowed and felt the blood drain from his face. “They?” he asked hoarsely.

“Your girl was attacked by a vampire. And before you ask … you heard me right. That club is full of them. I know this because—” He paused. “Because I’m working with them.”

He felt his body start shaking. With rage, or utter disbelief, he wasn’t sure. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! ” Brent stormed forward. “Even if I believed you, what in God’s name would make you do something like that?” he demanded.

Conrad shrugged, seemingly void of any concern. “We were after similar things. They want to extend their immortality into daylight … I want mine in fame. But all of us were after the same person.”

“You … are a fucking monster,” Brent seethed, pointing at his father’s chest. “Mom would never want that cure if this is what you would do to get it. You know that.”

“Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe you’re right. But the rest of the world would care less. They want a cure. They want deliverance.”

“And you wanted to be their savior,” Brent finished.

“Precisely.”

He watched his father turn back to his chair and casually sit, crossing his ankle over his knee as if he hadn’t just told him the most impossible of things. The bag of blood became an unbearable weight in his hand. “What are you gonna do with this?” he dared ask.

“I’m going to give it to you. Let you decide where this goes from here. Seems fitting now that you’ve helped to ruin me.”

“Me?” Brent asked.

Conrad looked over his shoulder. “Yes. You. ” He turned his body and stared him down. “Now you can figure out what kind of man you are. You can give it to your mother. You can save her life. You can give it to a ten-year-old girl that’s rotting in a hospital uptown, which by the way … made it very clear to Gretchen and I that you were her hero and demanded to meet you as the only condition in trying this blood. Or …” He shrugged. “You can give it back to the little bitch. Wash your hands of it a ltogether and do with that knowledge whatever you wish. It’s your choice, now.” He turned back toward the fireplace and picked his glass up from the table, swirling the scotch inside it.

“How did you get this?” Brent asked after a short silence.

Conrad chuckled. “Her nitwit boss.”

“Specter?”

“The one and only. I paid him a great deal to get me files on your girlfriend’s mother and the research that the government sealed about her disease. He was never able to figure anything out and gave both the coven leader and I a bag of blood each. She used it on one of her folks, and I’ve saved that one for the benefit.”

Images of the picture of Sarah and her mother from the apartment flashed through his mind. Sarah never wanted to talk about it. “What does her mother have to do with any of this?”

“Well … maybe you should ask her,” Conrad replied dryly. “Take it and get the hell out of my house.”

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think of everything his father had just unpacked and slammed over his head. His mind was racing. His pulse hardly kept up. Brent left the study without another word, the condensation from the blood bag dampening his palm. As he made his way down the dark hall, he passed the unlit library where he last saw his mother. Brent paused, peering in. If his mother knew that there was a little girl that could benefit from something like this … she’d never allow someone to use it on her. She had always been an advocate for the sick. Especially the children. She’d never accept this. He knew that. Brent continued down the hall and through the front door, hurtling down the front steps and slamming his car door shut. He opened his briefcase in the passenger seat and tucked the bag inside, latching it closed.

The right decision was obvious. He had screwed up every single time he tried to do right by Sarah. By Wren. By pretty much everyone. The blood in that bag only belonged to one person, and that’s where he’d take it. He started the car and fished out his phone. He was surprised when she answered on the second ring.

“Good, you made it out. I was gonna call—”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at home. You don’t have to freak out.”

“I’m glad you’re safe, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Are you okay? You sound … off.”

“I’m not sure how to answer that, Sarah. I need to see you. Right now. Can I come by?”

“Umm … yeah, I guess. I really hope this isn’t some kind of—”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. We need to talk. It’s really important.”

“… okay. There’s cops downstairs. I’ll let them know. Just come on up.”

“Alright.”

He hung up and sped around the curve of the long, gated driveway.

“She should have checked in by now. I should have known better than this. She’s too much like me,” Dahlia said as she paced her office down the hall from the raging club.

“She’ll be back, mi’lady. Have faith,” Decclan offered. She paused her steps, turning slowly and sneering at him from beneath her thick lashes.

“Have faith?” She snarled. “Interesting, Decclan. And here I thought I had fucked the humanity clean out of you.” He bristled, and her lips curled around her lengthening canines. “Don’t ever say anything like that to me again.”

“Apologies, ma’am.” He bowed his head.

“Get out. Don’t come back until you’ve brought me either news, or my little protege.” She started pacing again and Decclan left the office. Patrick stood by in the corner, and she approached him slowly. She was pleased to notice he no longer flinched when she neared him. “If I had given you the blood instead of her … would you have tried to escape me?” she asked, running a long, red fingernail down the front of his black button-up.

“I don’t think I’d dare to, ma’am,” he gently replied.

Dahlia grabbed him by the underside of his chin, forcefully enough that his cheeks puckered around his mouth. He surprisingly took it in stride and remained still. “Careful words, pet. You seem as if you’re trying to hide the fact that you’d want to.”

“I wouldn’t hide it from you, mi’lady. I’ve already been honest about how I feel. I do miss my family. I can’t say it wouldn’t have crossed my mind.”

She released his face and rolled her eyes, turning away from him. “I’ll never understand for the life of me why you men are never satisfied. I suppose I appreciate your honesty.”

“Could I ask you something?” Patrick asked. She didn’t turn around.

“Go ahead.”

“I’m only curious, but … what is it that satisfies you? ” For once in her very long life, Dahlia was at a loss for words. Shocked really. She wasn’t sure if it was the question itself that rendered her speechless—rather … she had no honest answer—or if it was the fact that this young vampire who was shamelessly transparent, actually seemed to genuinely care about her response. She turned to face him.

“Why are you asking me this?” A strange feeling started in her gut—one she’d never felt before. She couldn’t help but wonder why she had such a soft spot for this child . Had it been any other person she would have likely snatched their heart out already and found a new toy. But that face … the pretty blue eyes. She was intoxicated by his youth, and how much he reminded her of —

“Maybe if I knew … I could … find a way to be better about giving it to you?” He shrugged with a slight smirk. Dahlia returned it, stepping toward him.

“Let me show you something.” She raised her wrist to her mouth, biting into it and letting her blood pool. Patrick watched; his expression more curious than intimidated. She offered it to him. “Drink.” He obeyed and the pull of their connection as he fed from her ignited a fire between her legs. Her head fell back, and she closed her eyes, a sharp moan freeing itself from her throat. “Enough, Patrick,” she whispered. He promptly released her, breathing heavily. She nearly melted at the sight of her blood on his mouth. She unbuttoned his shirt and spread it open to reveal his bare chest. “Now … place a hand over your heart.”

Patrick slowly obeyed; his eyes locked onto hers. She watched his pupils dilate until the blue in them was a mere sliver around the edges. She leaned in and slid her tongue over his bottom lip. “Dig your fingers into your skin until I tell you to stop.” The look he had in those eyes turned into a sickening worry, but without an ounce of hesitation he obeyed that command as well. Blood trickled down his chest and abdomen and he winced and groaned as he carved a way into his own chest cavity. His breathing became a broken rasp. “Close your hand around your heart, Patrick.” He did, his groans of pain becoming louder. She breathed against his mouth. “If I told you to rip it out of yourself … you’d have no choice but to obey me.”

He blinked, as if in a silent plea for mercy. “What would satisfy me, pet … is if I could find one person that didn’t have to be told what to do. One person that found pleasure in spending an eternity beside me.” She grazed her long claws over the back of his wrist that was still half-hidden inside his body. “Let go, and button your shirt,” she ordered, swiping her fingertip through his blood and stepping backward as she sucked her finger into her mouth.

Once he’d fulfilled her demand, he stared at her blankly. “Do I have permission to offer you my thoughts?” he softly asked, still in obvious pain from her torture.

“Consider me interested in them enough to allow it.”

“From what I can tell … everybody here is terrified of you. I’d be lying if I said you didn’t scare me to death, mi’lady.” He paused and their eyes met. “But if I’d known that it was alright to reach out for you anytime that I’d felt like it since you first—” He swallowed. “I think you’d grow pretty sick of me needing you every second of every day.”

“What are you saying?” Dahlia breathed.

“I’m saying I wish you’d come over here and take this shirt back off of me. I wish you’d let me strip you down and do unspeakable things to you.” His chest rose and fell with an eagerness she’d never seen in any other man she’d sired. She felt her own chest involuntarily doing the same. He stalked toward her, taking the side of her face in his hand and claiming her mouth. She surprised herself when she let him. Surprised herself more when she kissed him back. Some part of her suddenly felt different. Like something just clicked—no … snapped. Patrick backed her up against her desk and leaned her back across it, that kiss deepening. “I wanna be the only thing you want,” he rasped.

It made her blood sing. That persistent pull in her middle grew stronger and he lifted her long black skirts, exposing her silken white thighs. For the first time in her long existence, she felt foreign in her own body. Dahlia stopped him and he froze, pulling back to look at her. They stared into each other for a heartbeat, and she gently pushed him off her, leaning herself up to sit. Patrick stood a breath away, both of them still breathing frantically. “I—I need you to go,” she stuttered.

“Go where?” he asked, his eyes pleading.

“Just—go do … whatever you want. I need to be alone for a bit,” she replied, dropping her gaze to the floor. When he didn’t move, she realized that she’d given him a command—and that he hadn’t obeyed. “Why aren’t you leaving?”

“I—can’t …”

“I told you to leave.”

“You said to go do whatever I want,” he corrected. Her stomach fluttered.

“I’d like you to go enjoy yourself … at the bar. In the club. Just leave me by myself.”

He dropped his chin and slowly nodded. A moment later, she was indeed alone, still sitting with her gown half-hiked on her desk. It had hit her then. She commanded that he go do what he wanted … and he remained there with her . What had she done? What just happened? Why did she suddenly feel so powerless?

Dahlia pulled her skirts back down over her legs and ran a hand through her long silvery hair.