The Bloody City (34 page)

She lifted the slip of velvet.

Her insides went cold. All the hope she’d had a minute ago was sucked away, along with her breath. Two small innocuous items were inside the box—innocuous, except for what they signified.

A long strand of hair dyed bright artificial red, and a watch.

The box nearly tumbled out of her hand, but Sam caught her by the wrist and peered inside.

“He has Diego and my brother.” She could barely get the words out because she couldn’t get any air in. “They never got out of Chicago.”

Cindy gasped. Sam’s eyes turned stormy.

“He said he had more than one string to pull me with,” June said. “If I don’t care about myself, he knows I’ll care about them.”

Everything made sense now: Occam’s ominous warnings, the cologne she’d smelled on him. She recognized that cologne because she’d smelled it in her shop before. If it was on Occam, that meant a struggle had taken place. Diego was a fighter.
He holds all the cards
, Rose had said.
Listen closely to what he’s saying
.

“What the hell?” Cindy gaped at June. “Why would he do this?”

“Because he wants June to be a vampire,” Sam said. “But we’re not going to let him have his way.”

June crumpled against him, tears slipping from her eyes. Not tears for herself, or even Diego, but for Jason. He was a prisoner again, and the ransom this time was her. Once more, she had to save him or die trying.

“Looks like we added another name to the list of bastards we need to destroy.” Sam wrapped an arm around her.

“Damn it,” she choked out.

* * * *

June sat on the balcony, the afternoon sunlight beating down on her. She sat with her elbows on her knees, holding the watch in front of her.

The glass face of the watch reflected the light. The silver band gleamed. The watch didn’t even tell the right time. Jason hadn’t used it for the time, just to cover up the scar.

Had he given it up freely, the way Micha had given his ring, to let her know he was all right? Whether or not, she would shove a stake through Occam’s heart. Maybe staking a vampire was just the movies, but she could damage his heart enough to kill him.

If he even had a heart.

The box sat on the glass table in front of her. Diego most likely hadn’t given his hair up freely. He would be trouble for the vampires. He never had the good sense to back off and give up, which was how he’d found her. She was terrified for him.

Sam stepped out onto the balcony. He’d put a T-shirt on. He walked over and sat down in the chair next to her.

“We’ll get your brother and friend back.” He gripped her knee. “I promise. And we’ll make Occam pay. Maybe we can stick him and Robbie in a shallow grave together.”

She continued gazing at the watch.

“I know you’re worried.” He leaned toward her. “I understand this is hard for you, especially since your brother has been a prisoner before.”

“He won’t hurt or kill them. He won’t harm them unless I say no.”

“You don’t have to become a vampire. We’ll find a way to save you, and them.”

She rubbed her thumb over the watch face. “Why’s he gotta be so obsessed with me? This is insane.”

“Vampires have a tendency to fixate.” He let go of her knee and sat back. “They need strong recruits. They’re getting more serious about this ‘cleansing’ thing.”

“He told me that. I don’t normally approve of genocide, but in this case…” She cupped the watch in her palms. “Do you really think this could be over soon? That they’ll clear your name?”

“If Aaron really has the ace in the hole I think he does, then yes. We’ll be free. Any of my followers still left will rally to me. But I’ll be walking on ashes.” He fell silent.

“At least not having to hide will make hunting down Robbie and Occam a hell of a lot easier.”

She dropped the watch back in the box with Diego’s hair. She told herself again Occam wouldn’t hurt them, so the nervousness in her gut would go away.

She took a deep breath, stood, and stepped over in front of Sam’s chair, facing him, hands on her hips. He gazed up at her, the light making his eyes dark and shiny.

“We’re gonna have to do this again,” she said. “Take on the world. Muse would want you to kick ass and take names. Just like I know my brother wants me to do the same.”

She cringed. Someday, she would say something and it would sound cool and inspiring instead of like something she heard in an action movie.

Sam sat forward, gripped her wrist, and pulled her toward him. She was considerably smaller than him, so she had no real choice but to fall gracelessly into his lap. That was okay. Once again, she was tangled up with a man, unsure if it was real or temporary comfort, and once again, she didn’t care as much as she should have.

“At least I get the girl this time around,” he said.

She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe if you had given my questions a straight answer before, you would have had the girl by now.”

“And ruin the thrill of the chase?”

“I’ve been chased a lot lately, and none of it was thrilling. We got a lot to talk about.” She patted his chest. “But not right now. We have plans to make. Because we’re coming out of hiding soon. I can feel it.”

“So can I.” He squeezed her thigh.

“Stop.” She poked his chest. “It’s time to be serious. Tell me what we do next, smartest man in the city.”

“We wait. Aaron is sitting in a cell right now and can’t pull his usual strings. I have no idea where my trusted operatives are or where Robbie and Occam are. We can do nothing but sit here and hope the tide turns our way.”

She sighed. “We’ll go stir crazy. What are we going to do with ourselves?”

He smirked and slid his hand around onto her ass.

“I have a few ideas.”

Megan Morgan
is an urban fantasy, paranormal romance, and erotica author from Cleveland, Ohio. Otherwise, she is a bartender by day and purveyor of things that go bump at night. For more info please visit meganmorganauthor.com.

Twitter @morgan_romance

www.facebook.com/megan.morgan.author

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/31645

Keep reading for a peek at the first book in Megan Morgan Siren Song series

Whatever June Coffin says, goes—literally. And it’s not just because she’s a chain smoking rebel. As a Siren, June has the ability to force people to obey any command she voices. But in a world where those with supernatural powers quickly become lab rats for science, she’d rather look out for herself than fight on the front lines…until her similarly gifted twin brother, Jason, is captured by Chicago’s Institute of Supernatural Research.

To save Jason, June has no choice but to enter a hidden world of conspiracy, murder—and strange bedfellows—including a widowed paranormal advocate whose memory June accidentally erased, and a fiery paranormal separatist leader. Soon the lines between attraction and strategic alliance become blurred. But in a city exploding with paranormal crossfire, and her brother’s life at stake, June will have to face her inner demons and finally take a stand.

A Lyrical e-book on sale now.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/31127

The first time June Coffin saw Micha Bellevue, he was giving a lecture at the Chicago Institute for Supernatural Research. June and her brother Jason weren’t yet prisoners of the unholy place and June had sneaked into a conference room. Though the subject of the lecture—something insipid about paranormal rights in the workplace—didn’t interest her, the lecturer certainly did. Micha was tall and rugged yet boyishly handsome, all her weaknesses.
Meesha
, not
Mi-ca
, much easier to yell in bed. He had sandy brown hair with gold highlights, cut shaggy with a swoopy fringe. He also had sky blue eyes and a crooked smile.

June, in contrast, was five-four, lean, and petite. Her father once called her “diminutive,” and she’d hated the word ever since. She had a flowing mane of jet-black hair, though at the moment it lacked volume or luster and she’d been keeping it in a ponytail. Her eyes were vivid green, nearly iridescent, but their color was real, unlike her hair. She was also over-fond of tattoos and piercings.

She was Micha’s exact opposite, which was fine, because she believed people needed to explore sexual pursuits outside their peer groups.

In the fifteen minutes she spoke to Micha after the lecture at the Institute, the lovely man revealed himself to be full of ostentatious ideas and painfully corny jokes. A bit later, June stood in an atrium, smoking a cigarette while he led a string of eager young supernatural neophytes across the courtyard below. She narrowed her eyes against the smoke curling around her face.
I’m so gonna hit that
. She hadn’t, not yet, for huge moral reasons.

Namely, because Micha had a wife.

Except, his wife currently lay trussed up in her casket, awaiting her funeral service in the morning, and June had kind of helped put her in it.

But right now they also had this issue with the gun.

Hanging out with dead people on a Sunday night didn’t rank high on June’s to-do list, despite her last name. But as she stood in a darkened funeral parlor staring at the tall, buxom, red-haired woman with said gun, she realized how much her priorities had changed.

“What the hell is that?” June’s question was rhetorical, but she still wanted an answer.

“It’s a Glock.” The redhead—whose name was Cindy—said this coolly, as if she were describing a pair of shoes. Cindy had dressed all in black for the occasion, like a cat burglar.

The three of them—June, Micha, and Ms. Congeniality herself—weren’t in the funeral home to steal anything. Even after the events of the preceding week, June wasn’t cracked enough to snatch a body.

“Why do you have it?” June asked. “We don’t
need
a gun.”

The whimpering aged gentleman on his knees next to Cindy probably welcomed this news but clearly was no less frightened, as Cindy had the muzzle pressed against his temple. The man wore a handsome silk robe with wide lapels, the kind rich guys sported in movies. Were all funeral directors so dashing in their choice of nightclothes?

“I brought it just in case,” Cindy said.

“Why would we need to shoot someone in a funeral home?” June raised her voice, no longer worried about being quiet. The director had probably heard them clamoring through the window at the rear of the house. June possessed some nifty skills: she was an excellent self-taught artist, she could shoot whiskey with the boys like she was one of them, and she could make wicked smoke rings. However, grace and athletics eluded her.

“I don’t think he’s armed,” June said. “I doubt you need to defend a funeral home.”

“You never know,” Micha said behind her. “Necrophiliacs probably like to break into funeral homes.”

June closed her eyes; she counted to five, and then ten, but when she opened her eyes again, she wasn’t any calmer.

“I won’t hurt you,” the man on the floor said in a small, pitiful voice. “Just take what you want and go.”

June stepped forward and waved a hand at Cindy, shooing away the gun. June had never touched a gun in her life. She had never needed to.

Cindy lowered the gun and stepped back. “I was just trying to help.” She spoke with the petulance of an admonished child. A child who didn’t get to play with her deadly weapon.

June knelt. The paunchy balding man was shaking, his eyes wide.

“It’s all right.” A heavy energy, curled in June's stomach like a sleeping cat, rose to her sternum and surged upward again to warmly coat her throat. “Just sit there and relax and think about your favorite things until we’re gone.”

The man’s body sagged. His face slackened. He pivoted to the side and sat down on his bottom with a shuddering thump, his gaze gone distant and dreamy. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

June stood.

“There. Isn’t that awesome? Supernatural powers and stuff?” She didn’t enjoy throwing around her “hypnotic voice phenomenon,” as the scientists liked to call it, but invasive persuasion seemed far less cruel than criminal menacing.

Cindy pushed the gun forcefully into a holster on her hip. June winced, afraid it might go off, but thankfully—or perhaps regrettably—it didn’t. June had failed to notice Cindy was wearing a holster, probably because she’d been too busy figuring out how to break into a funeral home.

“Come on,” June said. “Let’s get this done.”

She stepped past the oblivious man on the floor. Micha followed.

The casket, tucked into a bank of flowers and wreaths, rested atop a short dais like a morbid confectionery in a baking contest. June slid her hand along the side of the casket to find a latch. She did
not
want to do this. Despite the mind-obliterating madness she’d survived recently, corpses still jangled her nerves.

“Gah.” She lifted the lid a few inches.

She turned into a baby around corpses, despite knowing they weren't going to sit up and strangle her. Earlier, when she’d voiced speculative, mostly joking concern about the dead getting their revenge, Cindy pointed out scientific research had proven zombies non-existent.