Crimson Midnight (A New Adult Dark Urban Fantasy Series) (The Crimson Series Book 1) (17 page)

20.

 THE MORNING LIGHT

The tantalising, mouth-watering aroma
of bacon and eggs wafted into the room, tickling his senses. He could just
about make out the sizzle of food going into the frying pan. Brandon opened his
eyes slowly. One of his legs was hanging out of the duvet and over the side of
the king-sized bed. The bedroom was warm. He sat up. The morning light was
waiting beyond the drawn blinds, glowing around the edges of the thick brown
slats. Brandon looked around him. This was Raven’s bedroom. It looked as
immaculate as he did – clean lines, no clutter and subtle colours.

The sound of a spatula scraping a
pan came from beyond the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar.

Brandon climbed out of the bed half
naked. He searched for his clothes but he couldn’t find them in the
non-cluttered room. And then the door opened.

“Good morning,” Raven said, smiling
warmly.

Brandon suppressed a gasp of awe.
Clad only in pyjama bottoms, his magnificently sculpted top half exposed,
blue-black hair wet from the shower, Raven looked every bit the Adonis.

“Hi,” Brandon said.

“I cooked you breakfast,” Raven
said.

“Really?” Brandon was genuinely
surprised by the kind gesture. “Thank you.”

Raven nodded. “Come and eat with
me. I’ve prepared a fresh pot of coffee. If you prefer tea then I’ll make a
pot. Or I have some orange juice in the fridge.”

“Coffee is great. Um, I have to
ask…where are my clothes?”

“Oh, sorry. I’ve hung them up in
the spare bedroom so they didn’t get all crumpled there on the floor.” Raven
grinned.

Brandon blushed slightly but smiled
at the memory of the night before. Raven had swept him off his feet, hailing a
taxi outside Supernova and whisking him away to his apartment in Canary Wharf. Brandon had been stunned by it. How could a university student/part-time
lecturer afford such a luxury? He hadn’t pondered the question long as Raven
had led him straight into the bedroom. Soon there had been no time for
questions, just bliss as they had made love for hours. Raven was an energetic,
generous, spectacular lover who had explored his body, awakened so many parts of
him he hadn’t even known existed.

Every part of Brandon still
tingled. He no longer felt the shadow of loneliness. His prince had finally
rescued him and he was seeing his fantasies seep into a wonderful reality.

“Don’t worry about them for now,”
Raven said, regarding the clothes. “The time for modesty has passed.” His eyes
twinkled in amusement. “The apartment is nice and warm. There is no need to
feel shy.”

“You want me to eat breakfast in my
underwear?”

“Not unless you want to eat it
naked.” Raven shrugged. “Either way I don’t mind.”

Brandon blushed. “Underwear is
fine.”

Raven bent to brush a kiss on his
lips and then took his hand. “Come to the kitchen with me.”

Raven had cooked a feast. There
were fried eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, baked beans,
hash browns and fried bread. And there was lots of it.

Raven indicated the impromptu
buffet “Help yourself to everything.” He proceeded to pour the coffee.

Brandon took a seat at the black
granite table and added some food to the square plate.

“Would you like some sauce? I have
ketchup and brown sauce.”

“Ketchup, please.”

Raven retrieved a bottle from his
fridge. “Salt?”

“No thank you.”

“Any cream and sugar in your
coffee?”

“Just cream, please.”

Raven added cream to the two
coffees and put some food on his plate. “Enjoy.” He dug in.

Fifteen minutes later Brandon wondered how Raven looked so lean when he had such a fathomless appetite. It was
almost inhuman the amount of bacon, sausages and eggs Raven had consumed. “You
look like you enjoyed that,” said Brandon, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I did.”

“You must be really active. How
many hours in the gym do you have to put in to burn all that off?”

Raven laughed. “Quite a few.”

Brandon smiled and drank some more
coffee. He took in his surroundings some more. The kitchen was like the
bedroom, clean and clutter free. Expensive looking black granite work tops,
like the table, and chrome and pine cupboards made up the décor. It all looked
very stylish. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“My pleasure.”

“You’re a great cook.”

“Thank you.”

There was a silence then, one that Brandon was longing to fill with one question…
where does this leave us now?

Raven was looking at him, a smile
on his face and a sparkle in his silver eyes. Brandon felt suddenly weak under
his gaze– intoxicated by his beauty and his delicious masculinity.

“I really had fun last night,”
Raven said.

“So did I.”

“And…”

Say it,
Brandon thought.
Say
you want to continue seeing me. Say you love me, say you…

“… it would be great to do it again
sometime, if you like.”

Brandon stopped. That wasn’t
exactly what he had hoped to hear. Weren’t princes supposed to declare their
love for the fair maiden once they had rescued them? Well, a slightly geeky
university receptionist in this case, not a fair maiden. Was last night
just…just…a chance for Raven to scratch an itch? And then all sorts of things
were flying through his mind. Was he used? Was Raven just playing it cool? Was
Raven too afraid to say the words? Was Raven taking it slow? Was he
over-thinking the whole thing? He took another sip of coffee.

“That would be great,” he replied.

Maybe doing it again sometime would
mean a date first, a romantic dinner in one of those intimate restaurants he so
often walked by and longed to be sat in with a boyfriend.

“I have to go and see a friend of
mine this evening for a dinner thing.” Raven said. “I’ll make sure you get home
first though. I can’t really invite you along I’m afraid. I would if I could.”

Brandon felt his stomach drop but
plastered a smile on his face. “That’s okay.”

“But please stay and relax with me
for the day, if you like.”

He wanted him to stay for the
day. That had to mean something, right?
“I’d like that.”

“We could watch a film or play some
board games I have or just do nothing, whatever you like.” Raven leant back
slightly on his chair, reaching his arms up, stretching his muscles.

“Would you mind if I use your
shower?” Brandon asked.

Raven grinned mischievously. “Of
course you can.”

Brandon wondered why Raven was
looking at him like that. “And do you have a toothbrush I could borrow,
please?”

“I do.”

Raven still had that mischievous
look on his face and Brandon felt a little nervous. “Why are you looking at me
like that?” he blurted out.

“Well,” Raven said, “I was just
thinking that maybe I could do with another shower– take that smell of cooking
away. We could take one together.”

Brandon felt his face flush.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,”
Raven said.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry.” He laughed. “I’m
just sitting here, looking at you and really wanting…seconds…and thirds and
maybe more. Maybe we could spend the whole day naked. I could work up an
appetite for my dinner thing.”

With his face glowing red, Brandon got out of his seat and headed in the direction of the bathroom.

Raven sat up straighter, his brow
creasing in concern. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You
can have the shower to yourself.”

Brandon turned to face him and
removed his underwear. He threw it at Raven who caught it, a hungry and
slightly stunned expression on his face.

“Are you coming or not?”

21.

 LAST NIGHT ON THE MUNDANE SIDE

Rose and Thistle made a hasty
escape into the cool, crisp night as soon as the credits began to roll. The
film, which had been dubbed ‘
AN ABSOLUTE MUST SEE!
’ had turned out to be
seriously overrated. They had, however, got their money’s worth by sitting
through it.  Rose had entertained Thistle by whispering alternative dialogue
for some of the particularly badly acted scenes.  A few people had actually
walked out early but Rose was adamant that they should stay. After all, wasn’t
having to sit through a bad movie a part of normal life? 

Pulling her wool-mix, calf-length
coat tightly around her, Rose breathed in the refreshing night air. Thistle, in
keeping with the human image, had too donned a long almost ankle-length black
leather coat. The coat flapped behind her in the night breeze as she walked,
kicking at its length with her knee-high leather boots.  With her pale almost
translucent skin and luminous eyes, Rose could clearly see the vampire within
her. To think, only forty eight hours earlier she would never have drawn the
comparison. Now she found herself comparing Thistle to the Hollywood
representation of a modern vampire.

“Whew! I’m glad that’s over.”
Thistle linked arms with Rose. “So what now?”

“Food! Faye recommended this really
cool Italian place. It’s not far from here. Figaro’s or something. You game?”

Thistle licked her lips “Oh, I do
love pasta.  Pasta and a nice glass of red.”

“Thanks for doing this.” Rose gave
her arm a squeeze.  It was strange. She wasn’t usually a touchy feely person
with her girl mates, but with Thistle it just felt natural. 

“So how has your day been?” Thistle
asked.

Her mind instantly flipped to an
image of Roman, naked and stepping out of the bath. She quickly pushed the
image to the back of her mind. “Um…good. I visited the British Museum, Tate Britain, Tate Modern and got in some serious shopping.”

Thistle looked impressed “Wow, you
have had an eventful day.”

Rose shrugged. “Yeah, well.” She
sounded suddenly subdued.

“Joining the supernatural community
isn’t a death sentence you know?” Thistle pulled her to a stop, turning her so
that they were facing each other.

Rose struggled to keep the
scepticism off her face.

“In fact, it’s the start of a whole
new, more exciting life.”

“Being attacked by monsters isn’t
really the kind of excitement I’m looking for.”

“There are monsters in the human
world too, Rose. The only difference is they look just like everybody else.”

Rose gnawed at her bottom lip, and
then nodded.

“At least in our world we’re honest
about who we are.”

Rose chuckled. “I have to admit,
the possibility of being a super hero does have its appeal.”

They both laughed.

Figaro’s was a small, intimate
looking establishment.  The décor was soft and subtly opulent. Rose felt
herself relaxing visibly as they pushed open the door and stepped into the warm
interior. Shrugging off her coat, she hung it over her arm.  Thistle did the
same as they waited to be seated.

“I hope you don’t have to reserve
here,” Rose whispered.  “I’m starving. I really don’t want to hike around
looking for another place to eat.”

Thistle looked thoughtful.

A moment later a maitre’d
approached, his eyes sweeping over them, assessing, taking in their high street
clothing, not a designer label in sight.  He smiled slyly. “Have you a
reservation?”  His eyes, hard and judgmental, belied his polite tone. 

Rose hid her discomfort and stood
taller. She happened to love her coat, which she had purchased in the sale at
Top Shop.  “Actually, no we haven’t. We were hoping you would be able to seat
us.” Her gaze flicked behind him, pointedly sweeping across the restaurant
floor.  Only three tables were occupied, the rest sat empty.

His eyes lit up with apparent glee.
“I’m afraid it is reservations only, madam.”

Great. A snob.  Rose should have
known that if Faye had eaten here it would be a snooty place.  She squared her
shoulders. She had been looking forward to this meal all day and she was damned
if she was going to let some jumped up server boy with a superiority complex
ruin her evening. 

“You don’t seem to be very busy and
it’s already,” she glanced at her watch, “nine o’clock. Under the circumstances
I’m sure you wouldn’t want to turn away paying customers.”

“Unfortunately...” a pause, “madam,
we have a strict policy-”

“Forget it, babe.” Thistle moved
forward, placing an arm around Rose’s waist. “I know exactly what’s going on
here.”

Rose looked confused. “You do?”

“Yes, this individual is obviously
homophobic!” She bristled with indignation.  “In fact, I bet this whole
establishment is anti-gay!” She raised her voice slightly in order to be
overheard.  Two of the customers looked up from their meals, curious to see
what was going on.

The maitre’d looked from Rose to
Thistle and seemed at a loss for words.  Rose hid a smile and decided to play
the dumb blonde. “But, babe, isn’t that against the law or something?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m not
sure when it comes to restaurants.” Thistle rubbed a soothing hand up and down
Rose’s arm.  “But it is a breach of human rights.”

Rose looked stricken. “Is this
true?” she asked the man raising her voice slightly. “Are you homophobic?”

Now every single customer in the
room was staring with open interest at the maitre’d who had visibly paled and
was shooting panicked glances behind him.  “Um…I assure you that I have no
personal objection to your sexual preference-”

“Oh, so the management does?” Rose
asked, wide-eyed.

Thistle threw up her hands. “See, I
told you! We take one step forward and two back!  Well, I assure you that I
will be speaking to the local papers about this-”

“Excuse me. May I be of some
assistance?” A tall, quietly handsome man approached the trio and there was a
slight stir in the room as the other customers strained to hear, while
struggling to look like they weren’t eaves dropping.  From the cut of his suit
Rose guessed he was the manager.

“I am Figaro, the owner of this
tiny establishment.  May I be of assistance?”

“Your waiter refused to give us a
table because we’re gay.” Thistle explained. She managed to look beautiful and
indignant at the same time.

Rose sniffed, looking up at the
owner with moist eyes. “I just can’t believe this. All we want to do is enjoy a
meal together. Why does it have to be so hard?”

Figaro looked momentarily shocked.
Then his brow creased in a frown. He looked down at the maitre’d. “Is this
true?” His tone was edged with steel.

“No! I-I…they don’t have a
reservation.” He blurted.

Figaro looked around the room.
“There are many free tables. Please take our customer’s coats.”

The maitre’d looked momentarily
taken aback. But then, schooling his face into an appropriately welcoming
smile, he offered to take their coats. Rose had to admit, he was good.

“We will speak of this later,”
Figaro said softly to the maitre’d before he scuttled away to get them some
menus. “Please follow me.” Figaro led them to a table with a view from the
window.  “Our most popular table. Please accept my apologies on behalf of my
staff.  I assure you, Stephan will be reprimanded.”

Rose smiled warmly up at him.
“Thank you.”

He returned the smile. “You remind
me very much of my daughter, Rosa.”

“Is she gay too?” Thistle asked
innocently. 

Rose kicked her under the table.

“Actually, yes she is.” Figaro
grinned and the expression transformed his ruggedly handsome face into a boyish
one.

Thistle kicked Rose back under the
table.

Figaro continued. “She is a
beautiful, accomplished woman and I am extremely proud of her. It is people
like my Rosa and you that help in the struggle against the many narrow minded
bigots out there.” He paused as Stephan returned with the menus and handed them
to the women. “First drinks are on the house,” he instructed Stephan before
giving them an adorable little bow of the head and leaving them to it.

It was almost midnight when they stepped back into the chilly night.  The meal had not disappointed and whatever
Figaro had said to Stephan seemed to have done the job. He had almost bent over
backwards to please them.  All in all it had been a very successful evening.

Linking arms they strode in search
of the nearest bus stop.

“That spinach and ricotta
cannelloni was to die for.” Thistle licked her lips as if she could still taste
the rich sauces.

“And who thought that bread sticks
could taste so good.” Rose added.

Thistle grinned mischievously. “But
the sweetest thing was Stephan’s face after his little chat with Figaro.”

“I almost felt sorry for him. He
looked like he was about to keel over.”

They giggled, heels clip clopping
on the pavement.

Rose frowned as she felt Thistle’s
arm tense perceptively against hers.  She threw her a questioning glance but
Thistle seemed unaware of the spasm.  Her stride had lengthened slightly though
and Rose automatically matched it.

“You okay?” Rose asked.

Thistle shot her a tight smile.
“Fine, hun.” She slipped her phone out of her pocket and fiddled with it
without looking at the screen.

Rose felt a sharp stab of alarm. 
Something was wrong.

The phone was gone and Thistle had
tightened her grip on Rose’s arm. 

Rose could see a sparsely lit car
park up ahead, the office building which it belonged to was shut tight and
looked as dark as a tomb. They were headed toward it.  Alarm bells were going
off inside Rose’s head.  The bus stop was in the opposite direction, two
streets across. What was Thistle doing?  For a split second the terrible idea
that Thistle might want a midnight snack…on her, popped into her head, but she
quickly dismissed it. She trusted Thistle. And just as she intuitively knew
something was wrong, she knew that Thistle wouldn’t hurt her. She allowed
herself to be led, trusting that Thistle had her reasons.

As they stepped into the car park,
Thistle pushed Rose behind her spinning on her heel to face the direction in
which they had come. 

“What do you want?” she demanded. 

Rose was momentarily thrown,
thinking that Thistle was addressing her. But her misapprehension was quickly
corrected when a figure stepped out of the shadows. Thistle’s strange behaviour
and her own instinctive alarm suddenly made perfect sense.

He was tall and stocky, maybe
six-two, and at least sixteen stone of muscle.  His face was wreathed in
shadows and framed by a mop of shaggy, dirty looking hair.  He raised his head
slightly, turning it this way and that as if sniffing the air.  Rose caught the
wet glint of his eyes. 

Thistle dropped into a crouch.
“Stay behind me,” she whispered urgently.

“Who is he?”

Thistle shook her head impatiently.
“Leave now. This is not your territory.” She commanded.

Could the man be another vampire?
Rose strained to make out his features and then he spoke.  His voice was dry
and raspy and his words carried no inflection.

“Objective in sight.” His eyes were
fixed on Rose. The shadows shifted and two more figures joined him, equally as
large, equally as lethal looking.

“Shit.” Thistle cursed softly. “I
thought it was just the one, but it looks like we were herded here.  I don’t
think I can take all three. You think you can muster up some fireworks?”

“Dunno, but now’s the time to find
out right?” She dropped into a defensive crouch allowing the adrenaline to
flood through her body.  “He was staring right at me when he said ‘objective in
sight’.” She licked her lips nervously.

“I know.” Thistle hadn’t taken her
eyes of the trio of men. She tensed as they all took a simultaneous step
forward. “If you want her you’re going to have to go through me and that won’t
be pleasant for either of us. Just turn around and walk away.” Her words
sounded unusually thick and then Rose realised why. Thistle was in fang mode.

The men froze for a moment as if
contemplating the words. Then, dismissing the warning, they took another step
toward them. The light from the car park lamps pushed away the shadows and Rose
gasped.  Each man’s face was big and open and craggy, their nose’s wide and
flat, lips thick and meaty. They looked so alike they had to be siblings. But
the most shocking thing about them was their eyes.  They seemed to glow orange
in the light, their pupils were tiny pinpricks of black.

“Girl.” The ringleader spoke, and
then everything went crazy.

Rose saw him leap toward them, saw
his hands punch the ground and then they weren’t hands any more, they were paws
and he was leaping in the air pushing himself off the ground with his powerful
hunches. And his face was no longer human.  He had a snout and pointy ears and
fangs and…

“GET DOWN!” Thistle screamed.

Rose hit the dirt, her mind reeling,
trying to assimilate what she was seeing, as she watched her friend leap into
the air, as she saw vampire and wolf make contact. 

Fuck! A werewolf! A fucking
werewolf!

The werewolf fell backwards on
impact and landed neatly on its paws shaking blood from its eyes. Thistle
landed in a graceful crouch mere inches away from Rose.  The coppery smell of
blood filled the air.  Rose tried to scrabble into a crouch, worried for her
friend, wanting to get them out of there. She grasped Thistle’s arm, indicating
that they should run. 

Thistle shook her off.  “We won’t
get two feet.”

The werewolf growled, its eyes
fixed intently on her.