The Beacon (The Original's Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “Exactly, but the other part of me knows how lonely you've been. You deserve a little happiness.”

  Lilith nodded. She did, damn it.

  “But don't put too much into this. You don't know for sure if this is the life you'll find happiness with him.”

  “I know.”

  “And you know how harsh life-mates can be on each other before they finally come together.”

  “I know.”

  “He's really hot?”

  Lilith laughed. “He's got that thing.”

  “What thing?”

  Finished cleansing the ritual room, she closed the door and headed upstairs. “When a man has really tight abs and they form that v.”

  “Okay, you have to at least mess around with him a little. A quick one night stand before you send him away.”

  Didn't that sound heavenly? Except she'd never been much of an enticement to men and he was way out of her league. “He's kind of intense. I doubt quick is in his vocabulary. And . . . I'm not so sure he sees me in that way.”

  “What do you mean?” Trina made a rude sound. “Good gods, Lil. He's your mate. Look, I know you. Don't get all 'he'll never like me' and 'I'm not pretty enough.' You're gorgeous. He's your mate. Flirt with him.”

  Lilith rolled her eyes. She stood too tall, with the curves of a two-by-four, the breasts of a pre-pubescent girl, and when she tried to flirt she ended up acting like a clown—but arguing with Trina would be an exercise in frustration. “'Kay.”

  “Come on. You read those dirty books, right?”

  Her cheeks heated. Gods, she never should have told Trina about her little addiction. “Erotica. It's called romantic erotica.”

  “You must have picked up a few moves.”

  Yeah, in her fantasies. “Okay, I'll flirt. I'll let him stay a few days and see what happens.”

  “Maybe it'll be nice to have him around for a little while. You won't be alone in that house and if he gets out of hand, you've got your Magic. Use it. Just keep him away from the coven.” Trina paused. “What's it like?”

  “Haven House?” She walked into Nan's old bedroom and a shiver raced up her spine. “Creepy as hell. All the old furniture is still here, covered with sheets. He hinted the place is haunted, though I'm not sure I believe him.” Nan's belongings were gone, except for the bed and an old scarred bookshelf. The window had been boarded over.

  “He told you that? I thought they weren't allowed to speak of anything to do with daemon-kind to humans?”

  “Well, no. He said the house makes a lot of settling noises.” Lilith began smudging the room.

  “And you got 'ghost' from settling noises.”

  “He said the noises happen at twilight and dawn.”

  “Oh. Go out for a bit.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Lilith hedged, not wanting to tell her about Aimee.

  “Maybe what? Only one person has died at Haven House.”

  “But the place has been empty for two decades, squatters might have been here, or kids coming around to explore or—”

  “You're reaching.”

  Yeah, she was. She opened the closet and froze. A pile of dolls and stuffed animals sat in the middle of the closet floor. “I should go. I'll call you later.” They said their goodbyes and she hung up the phone, slipping it into her back pocket. She recognized them as toys she and the other girls of the Grigori coven had played with as children. She spied her doll amid the others and picked it up, straightening the lavender dress and placing the doll on the bookshelf.

  In a rare moment of kindness, Nan took them to visit a woman who made the toys and allowed each of them to pick out one to take home.

  That last night, Nan had taken the toys in an effort to encourage the girls to admit they were wrong.

  Lilith closed the door, pushing away the memory. She went to the window and pulled the slats down. Her mate probably put them up to keep out the sunlight and while she'd leave the rest of the windows covered for him, she fully intended to enjoy the view of the foothills from her room.

  She entered her mate's room across the hall. Since he made arrangements for her car to get fixed, she’d tidy his space. She made the bed and discovered a knife under his pillow. Gripping the handle, she eased the blade out of the worn leather and admired the abstract designs cut down the center of the silver blade that revealed what appeared to be a strip of wood underneath. She'd seen pictures of similar daggers in her mother's Grimoire. Only one group a vampires carried them, some kind of daenomic police force that had once helped the Grigori coven maintain the balance by ensuring daemon-kind didn’t abuse their power and overwhelm the humans.

  Returning the dagger to its hiding place, she finished straightening the bed.

  So why had the vampires tried to kill off the coven during the Clearances? Now the two groups shared no trust between them.

  Daemons are dangerous creatures, they'd sooner kill us all than work with us. When she'd been a child, she'd argued fiercely with Nan over such claims.

  As she cleaned, she browsed his books, surprised to find all classics. One had been placed backward. She extricated it from between the others. It was an old worn copy of the Bible. The book shook in her hand as she slid it back into place and a wave a weariness washed over her. Gods, she was overreaching with her Magic. She snuffed out the remains of the smudge stick and ended the cleansing spell.

  No more Magic until she'd had time to recharge.

  She went back downstairs and, in the living room, she packed up her remaining smudge stick and closed up her suitcases.

  Upstairs, a door creaked open.

  She caught her breath and strained to hear. After several moments of silence, she allowed herself to breathe again and shook her head. Noise, as her mate said. Still, the way he'd said it made it sound like so much more. They needed to have a talk about his scare tactics. If he insisted on staying here, she refused to put up with any more rubbish.

  She lined her belongings up at the bottom of the stairs and returned to the living room to remove the sheets from the furniture.

  Footsteps ran across the floor above her. She clasped her hand to her chest, as if to prevent her thundering heart from escaping. Her gaze followed the disembodied sounds into her mate's room and then back into the hallway upstairs. The noise stopped.

  Something was up there. Was a ghost making all that racket?

  Or had Aimee found a way in? Her gaze slanted toward the front door. She could go out to dinner and come back well after nightfall, but what if she ran into Aimee out there?

  Something banged in Nan's old room and made her jump. The noise repeated, over and over until she covered her ears. She forced herself to sit, clutching the sheets to her chest. Her whole body trembled. The temperature dropped, making her erratic breath visible in puffy white steam clouds.

  A ghost, then. Not Aimee.

  She pulled out her phone and returned to the same website as before to find out how long twilight lasted. Twenty-three minutes. Twilight lasted twenty-three minutes.

  Something bounced down the stairs. Thuds echoed in the empty house as the object hit each step, counting out its progression.

  Lilith stood as the noise neared, her hand covering her mouth to keep her from screaming and drawing attention to herself. She stepped closer to the entryway as a small object hit the bottom step and rolled across the hardwoods. A puff of blond hair kept it from rolling far. It rocked for a heartbeat, spun a bit, and settled facing her.

  A doll's head.

  Her doll's head.

  The purple ribbon she'd stolen from Nan's sewing box decades ago still held the blond hair in place. Innocent blue eyes stared back, the face frozen in a sedate smile.

  The eyes blinked.

  Did the ghost sense her presence? Or was it fishing, looking for someone to torment?

  Gods, she wanted her mate to come home. She'd sell her own soul to have him here. She'd let him stay. Just for the week. She'd keep his presence hidden from the coven and th
at would give her time to figure out what to do about Aimee.

  And the ghost.

  And her mate.

  Chapter 7

  James parked his motorcycle, glancing again at the text: Juanita Beach, 2am, 2v + hhbl. The translation: Assassinate two vampires exchanging human hostages at 2:00AM at Juanita Beach. The bl stood for blind. For one reason or another, he wouldn't need to worry about the human hostages witnessing his altercation with the other daemons.

  He strode across northeast Juanita Drive toward the beach. Between the late hour and the windstorm battering the area, the streets were deserted.

  The Watchers, the beings who provided him and the other Guardians information on their marks, weren't infallible. They didn't predict the future, though at times the accuracy of their measured guesses appeared to be more like precognition. They saw and heard everything and everyone. Everywhere. With information gleaned in their vision, they calculated probable outcomes. However, they didn't read thoughts and so they couldn't predict all potential factors. Sometimes the smallest detail changed their expectations and complicated matters.

  The lights flickered off. Aside from the wind-whipped trees and the waves splashing against the boardwalk, silence reigned.

  The park didn't have a wide selection of vantage points. He chose a wide, low-hanging branch in an oak which provided a good view of the parking lot, grounds, and lake. Whichever way his marks arrived, he'd see them coming. Only one structure lay on the grounds—a building with lavatories on one side and storage sheds on the other.

  He removed his backpack, stripped off his helmet, gloves, and jacket, and placed them on a crook in the branch. Leaning back against the trunk, he unzipped his backpack and took out a PVC bag filled with blood. Using the built-in tube as a straw, he drank his fill while he waited for his prey, his thoughts turning to Lilith.

  He must have lost his fucking mind.

  The Vampiric Council would be appalled by his actions this afternoon. The Watchers would keep their keen sight focused on his every move—they'd demanded he protect her, not live with her.

  I've just got to keep my hands off and protect her.

  Lilith had become a bit of an enigma over the years. She'd changed him the first time they met, centuries ago when he'd still been human. He had no doubt it was her, albeit in a previous life—one he'd ended. She'd affected him the second time they met, when he'd killed Nan. He'd tried to remain detached when he’d rescued her, when he'd tried to redeem himself. But she'd been so brave, showed such strength and compassion. She'd forced him to rethink his views of humans, even his view of himself. And now, as a full-grown woman, she disturbed him in a much more profound way.

  His skin prickled in warning. He scanned the area, a shadow in the distance drawing his focus. The shape of a man stumbled out of the shadows, his eyes glowing, giving him away as a daemon.

  Julius Crowley. Wonderful.

  Crowley strolled closer with his hands shoved into khaki pants, his long-sleeved, white dress shirt plastering to his chest, first one way, then another as the wind whipped around him. Usually, he wore his blond curls slicked tight to his scalp, but in this weather they blew in a riot around his head, giving him an even more youthful mien.

  They'd been friends once, but somewhere along the way Crowley had changed, and not for the better. He worked for the Council now, ensuring the Guardian did whatever the Watchers demanded.

  James carefully kept his gaze from meeting Crowley's. The son of a bitch was a mesmerist and James had no desire to become Crowley's puppet. “Jules.”

  “James.” Crowley leaned against the base of the tree and looked up. “Long time.”

  “Yeah. What, about twenty years now, eh?” Last time he'd seen Crowley had been the night he'd helped Lilith. Jesus, it was a goddamn reunion, the only one yet to show up was the Historian. “What brings you back to Seattle?”

  “Heard you've been on the missing for the last three weeks.”

  James just kept himself from reacting. Three weeks? How in the hell had he lost three whole weeks? Thinking he'd lost a couple days had been disturbing, but this . . . . “I—” Shit. James cleared his throat. “I needed to nurse an injury. Forgot to call it in, that's all.”

  Crowley held his hand out. “You know the rules.”

  James dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it over. Jesus H. Christ. All his muscles tensed in preparation for battle. If truly injured, the Watchers wouldn't have sent him any jobs. But he hadn't been injured. Not enough to account for three weeks’ lost time. He must have three weeks’ worth of unfinished kill orders on there.

  “Anything new going on with you?” Julius asked, scrolling through the phone log.

  “New?” What, like losing three weeks of his life? Like taking in a gorgeous human woman as a new roommate? “Nah, man. You?”

  “No.”

  Jesus, what was taking so long?

  Julius lifted his gaze and stared at him for a long moment, saying nothing.

  James didn't move. Didn't dare lift his gaze to meet that of the other vampire.

  Julius handed his phone back.

  He took the device, requiring every ounce of will power not to check his history.

  A branch broke free in the wind and Crowley swatted it away. “What's your assignment?”

  James shifted his weight on the branch. “Trafficking.”

  “Ah.”

  “You?”

  “They got me looking for a woman.”

  “The Watchers?” Shit. He'd been so surprised, he almost looked into the bastard's eyes to see if he was pulling his leg.

  “She's about thirty. Has a birthmark of a crescent moon.”

  His gut bottomed out. He'd once known a woman with such a mark, and he'd left her reincarnated form back at Haven House. “Hope to hell it's on her forehead, otherwise you're pretty much fucked. This time of year, everybody's wearing coats.”

  “If you see her, anyone you think might be her, call me.” Crowley started to walk away.

  Smug bastard. He damn well knew the Watchers hadn't assigned Crowley to Lilith. They had sent him to protect her. James folded his arms over his chest. “What I don't get, is if this is so damned important, why the Watchers didn't notify all of us. Seems a little . . . off.”

  Crowley leapt onto the branch, putting himself eye level with James.

  Jesus, he hated this fuck. Hated not being able to look him in the eyes. Lowering his gaze made him feel like he was giving way to the bastard. Bowing to him.

  “The Watchers protect humans. They maintain the balance through us,” Crowley stated.

  “You didn't answer my question. Why is she so important?”

  “She's dangerous.”

  “To who?” Obviously not the humans since the Watchers didn't want her dead.

  “To us.” Crowley tipped his face, trying to crawl into James' line of sight. “Who will help the Watchers maintain the balance if there are no vampires?”

  James turned away. “I'll let you know if I see anyone suspicious.”

  “Do that.” Crowley leapt down and swaggered off toward Juanita Drive.

  James swiped his thumb across his phone, checking for missed calls and texts. Lou had called last week and the one before, Ghost and Walker had both texted a couple times, but nothing from the Watchers.

  He hadn't taken a job in three weeks and he had no memory of the time. Had he been injured worse than he'd thought? His gaze went to where Crowley crossed the street. Or was someone screwing with him? He hated Crowley, but the bastard was a good mesmerist. He only needed a half-second of eye contact to get into someone's mind.

  And he wanted Lilith.

  Hell, maybe he was overreacting. He didn't know Lilith to have a birthmark in this reincarnation. But his gut said she did. His gut screamed that Julius Crowley and the Vampiric Council must be the threat he needed to protect her from.

  Which would be a problem, because while the Watchers directed him to who he needed to
assassinate, the Council managed the Guardians. If he ended up going up against Julius Crowley, ultimately he would lose. He might kill Crowley, but others would come for him. They would hunt him through eternity. For now, he'd be best off doing nothing. To wait. Watch. And if his gut turned out to be correct . . . then he'd have to somehow destroy Crowley without anyone knowing he'd done the deed. James sighed. That would be impossible: The Watchers saw everything and God only knew if they were all on his side.

  James checked his watch again, eager to get this job over with so he could return to Haven House.

  A black Honda Civic with a neon-green racing stripe whipped into the parking lot, its glass muffler rumbling, and backed into a space near the waterfront. The driver shut off both lights and engine. Minutes later, a second car zoomed in, an old red Camaro. The vehicle may have seen better days in the ’eighties. The Camaro drove in next to the Civic so the drivers' windows were side-by-side.

  The guy in the Camaro thrust his hand out the window, flashing a small wad of cash. The Civic driver reached out, snatched the money, and dropped a small bag in the other's hand in one seamless movement.

  This wasn’t what he was here for. James rested back against the tree.

  The Camaro drove away. The Civic stayed.

  Just his luck—one minor detail changed. The morning just got more complicated. He checked his watch: 1:53 AM. With a little luck Mr. Civic just wanted to count his money before he left.

  But at 2:00 AM, he still sat in his car.

  A small moving van lumbered into the lot, U-Haul printed across the side in front of a picture of the State of Arizona and images of the desert.

  This must be his mark.

  A Hispanic male got out of the driver's seat of the U-Haul, locking the door behind him. He checked out the Civic, his eyes glowing in the darkness. Appearing unconcerned with the trespasser, the vampire headed for the sole building on the grounds. A gust of wind kicked up, blowing hard across the beach. The vampire's long coat lifted up behind him, the solidness of his body turning vaporous. As the wind died down, his body obtained its original form.