Crimson Midnight (A New Adult Dark Urban Fantasy Series) (The Crimson Series Book 1) (3 page)

There were packs that still lived
by the old ways, deep in rural areas as isolated from human civilisation as
they could get.  They lived as wolves, ruled by their primal instincts,
allowing their humanity to slip. The high council allowed them this small
privilege on the condition that their actions didn’t risk exposing the whole
werewolf race and with the understanding that they remain out of other packs’
territories. A rogue wolf would be tried if he still maintained the capacity to
reason and eliminated otherwise.

Raven never took his status and
place in the pack for granted.  Even though he knew he deserved to be where he
was, he also understood the beast within and its primal prejudices.

Harold was one of those protestors.
Although overall he kept his views to himself, there were occasions such as
tonight where he couldn’t help himself. The beast was strong within him. He,
more than any other member, embraced the beast and allowed it to dominate his
human side. He coveted the position of Beta and the fact that Raven had been
chosen over him– also a dominant male, older and experienced, still stung.  He
would have challenged Raven, could have challenged him under the old rules, but
things were done differently now and he had to suck it up or leave.  He’d seen
Raven fight. He was fast, graceful and unstoppable. He had even sparred with
him, and Raven’s perfect win record irked him even more.

Harold had disappeared to his room
without another word to the other three. So it had been left to them to prepare
the evening meal– a tray piled high with steaks, cooked rare, just the way the
wolves liked them. 

Roman watched as Damon carefully
sliced tomatoes and cucumber in accordance with his insistence on a balanced
diet.  Balanced for a human maybe, but for a werewolf?

“I don’t know why you bother. Meat
is our food of preference, and it’s what our bodies need.”

“Yes, but our human bodies need
more.” Damon insisted.

“We’re not human,” Roman said.   Of
all the wolves, Damon was the one who clung to his humanity the most. On occasion,
it seemed as if he used it as a shield.

“Wolves in sheep’s clothing.”
Harold said as he entered the room.  Picking up a steak, he bit into it,
closing his eyes as he chewed. “Mmmm, delicious.”  He swallowed, opened his
eyes and looked straight at Damon. “We are but beasts hiding within a human
skin. No amount of posturing is gonna change that.”

Damon looked stricken, but quickly
hid is expression behind the sophisticated mask he had cultivated.  Sensing his
discomfort, Roman stepped in.

“Yeah, we’re not human but we share
some of humanities traits. The beast isn’t all there is to us. So, we’re immune
to the illnesses and diseases a human might be affected by, and we age slower
and metabolise faster, but we can love and hate and protect just like a human.”

Harold grunted.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like
humans. I’ve lost count of your lays.” Roman said with a smile in an attempt to
change the subject.

“Yeah, I fuck ‘em just like you do,
but that’s it. Aside from fucking and going to the gym, I avoid them. To me
they’re nothing. Weak, snivelling creatures that need warriors like us to
protect them.” Harold finished off his steak.

Roman winced, it was true. The
wolves went through women, and men in Raven’s case, like dirty socks. But it
wasn’t by choice, but by necessity.  Werewolves had amazingly high sex drives
once they reached maturity, and until they met their mates the urges needed to
be satisfied somehow. Sex to Roman would always be a two-player game, unlike
Damon who preferred the company of his hand.  So he had a playboy image, so
what? It suited him fine. Raven, Damon and Kris were slightly more discrete but
he liked to advertise which meant he never went without.

“Harold?” Roman paused as if a
thought had just occurred to him. “Doesn’t body building make your dick
smaller? I mean, I read that somewhere.” He turned to Damon for confirmation,
his expression serious. 
”You fucking little shit! I’m gonna-”

“Erm, Harold. Could you give me a
hand setting the table?” Kris had popped his head into the kitchen, his lips
twitched as he struggled to maintain a straight face.  Werewolves had
exceptional hearing even in human form, which meant he had heard every word.

Harold pulled himself up to his
full six-six height, looking down his nose at them.  He turned on his heel and
strode out of the room, shouldering Kris aside.  Kris rolled his eyes and
followed.

As soon as they were gone, Damon
burst out laughing shaking his head. “You really know how to push his buttons.”

 Roman shrugged. “Well he needs to
learn to control his beast. All I’m doing is testing his control.”

Damon continued to prepare the
salad, cutting some yellow pepper. After a moment, he laid down his knife. “You
know what? He’s right. I can’t help it. I love them…humans. I love the culture,
the music, the art…I couldn’t live in the wild. I just…” He shook his head.

“And you won’t have to, man. We’re
a new generation of urban wolves, remember? The sooner Harold realises that the
better.”

Dinner had been a quiet affair but
the tension between Raven and Harold had been tangible.  Kris had attempted to
ignite a conversation but it hadn’t taken. After clearing everything away, the
troop had retired for the night.

Roman couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the
sound of the heavy rain against the window, or the howls of the wind outside
that kept him awake. It was tomorrow.

He crept out of bed and headed
downstairs on a mission to find a really thick and boring book to help him fall
asleep. As he came down the stairs, he saw Raven sitting in the living room,
gazing into the fire.

“You okay, Raven?” Roman asked as
he stepped into the room.

Raven looked up. The flames set off
the blue tones in his hair, making them stand out amongst the deep black ones.
“Just a little restless,” he said. “Can’t you sleep?”

Roman sat down next to Raven. “I’m
a little nervous about tomorrow. I’ve only ever met Rose once. We were both
what…about nine or ten years old at the time?”

“I’m sure you’ll get on fine.”
Raven said it with such certainty that Roman almost believed him.

“Yeah, can you see it? Me under the
same roof as a hot chick?” Roman said.

“How do you know she will be
attractive to you?”

“I have a feeling about this one.”
Roman said with a wink.

Raven looked at him quizzically.
“Surely you’re not suggesting that just because she is a woman you will
immediately want to get her into bed?”

Roman held up his hands and
laughed. “This is me you’re talking to, mate.”

“I don’t believe that. This playboy
image you have is just that, an image. It’s not the real you.”

Roman sighed. “I’ve been playing
the image for so long I’ve forgotten what the real me is.” He ran his hand
through his already tousled hair.

“I know what you mean,”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Raven brushed the
question aside, lifting his glass of brandy for a swig.

 “I guess that isn’t your first?”

“Four boisterous werewolves will do
that to you.”

Roman chuckled. “Are you okay? Why
were you sitting and staring?”

“I’m fine, really.”

“No you’re not,”

“It doesn’t matter.” Raven’s eyes
moved back to the dancing orange flames.

“Raven, I don’t care if you’re the
Alpha’s second in command and all that. You’re my best friend, you can talk to
me.”

Raven sighed and smiled but it
didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Being away from the/our Alpha is difficult. I’m
supposed to be his body guard and when I’m so far away I feel so helpless, so
useless.”

There was a long silence, then,
“Raven?”

Raven looked up. “Yes?”

“Stop brooding and let’s go for a
run.”

“Now? It’s two in the morning and
we have a ten o’clock train from Cardiff-”

“Raven, Raven, my dear Beta who I
pledge my allegiance to,” Roman said with a mischievous wink. “You can sit here
and ponder, or you can get into your wolf clothing and tear up the night? Maybe
even a little hunt?”

Ravens lips twitched. “The steak
wasn’t enough for you?”

“I’m a werewolf. When is any food
ever enough? An unfathomable appetite is a common hurdle in our daily lives.
Come on, Beta. Come out and play. Think of the wind rustling through your fur,
the sounds of the terrified hares and all the other prey ringing in your ears
as the big bad wolves come knocking.”

Raven regarded his friend for a
moment longer and then he smiled, baring his teeth so he looked every bit the
predator he was. His silver eyes glinted with the beginnings of bloodlust.
“What are we waiting for?”

3.

NUMBER FIVE

“I really need to piss.” Rose
dragged her suitcase away from the platform and into the busy sea of people
within the gothic grandeur of St Pancras International.

Faye sighed. “Why didn’t you just
go on the train?” She flipped her deep red hair back over her shoulder. People
always commented on the colour of her hair and were amazed to discover it
hadn’t come out of a packet. It set off her glittering, emerald-green eyes and
sat against her luminous skin in waves.

Rose pointedly ignored her. “I
can’t see any signs for toilets. Go look,” she urged.

“You go and look,” Faye said. ‘And
where’s the please?’

“I’m crippled by the agony of
needing urinal release and I swear if I move around too much I will explode. 
Seriously, Faye, I can only manage one journey. Please.” She crossed her legs.

Faye harrumphed. “Still dunno why
you didn’t go on the train”  

Rose gave her a pleading look

Faye rolled her eyes “Okay, okay,
just…hold it.”

Rose laughed, and then thought
better of it. She didn’t trust her bladder to take the strain.

Faye wandered off a little way
ahead and was quickly swallowed up by the crowd.  Rose bit her lip.  She wasn’t
sure how much longer she could hold it.  Faye was right she should have gone on
the train. She craned her neck and caught sight of Faye winding her way back
toward her.

“They’re not far. There’s an
escalator up ahead, they’re just down there.”

“Thank God!” Anticipating relief,
Rose yanked her suitcase along making a hasty journey past the coffee shops, bookshops,
a group of lost French tourists, down the escalators and finally reached the
toilets.

“Christ!” Faye wheezed. “You moved
so fast I’m surprised you didn’t piss yourself.”

“Shit! There’s a queue!” Rose
groaned, jigging on the spot.

“And you’re shocked? When is there
never a queue at the ladies?”

 Rose released her suitcase from
her grip. “Guard this with your life.”

“Have I really got to wait here,
protecting your knickers and bras while you queue?”  Faye complained.

“Yes.”

“But what if I need to go?”

“
You
were smart enough to go
on the train.”

Faye smiled smugly.

“Now stop being bitchy and watch my
bags.”

“Okay, okay, go.” Faye shooed her
off.

When Rose finally got to a free
cubicle, it was with a blissful sigh that she emptied her full-to-capacity
bladder. She was not, absolutely positively, going to use the toilets on the
train. All the train had to do was jolt and a simple procedure would end in
tears.

There was no one by the sinks when
she left the cubicle. The place was quiet and empty and Rose relaxed. She could
wash her hands and freshen up a bit in peace.

She switched on the hot tap and let
it run, staring into the mirror before her.

Here she was. London. The big city.
The capital. The place where her life would start a new path. Then she thought
of her dad. He was now alone. Rose wondered how it was possible to be with the
one you love but experience the most painful loneliness imaginable like he was.
Her mum was there, but she was just an empty shell.

Guilt stabbed at her but she
mentally told it to fuck off. This was her life. She couldn’t stay at home and
carry on the way she was. What she needed was a new start, a chance to live.
She reached her hands out for the soap and placed them under the hot water.

Then it happened. Her head spun,
the air around her seemed to vibrate, to pulse and move. Nausea gripped her
stomach and the muscles tensed preparing to squeeze and eject. Grabbing onto
the sink she swallowed back bile, breathing through her nose until the
sensation passed. She looked up into the mirror and yelped at her reflection.
Her face was melting and contorting as if the image were hot wax. A fresh wave
of bile rose in her chest as the image began to spin and swirl, the room
continuing to vibrate. She swallowed back the foul acidic taste, shuddered and
looked up. The mirror was full of colour, thick paint-like colours bleeding and
oozing into one another. An invisible force compelled her to raise her right
hand, commanded her to reach out and touch despite every inner voice screaming
at her to keep her hands away. But she was unable to resist. She reached out.
The air felt thick as she moved the tips of her fingers to the mirror. Her
breath caught as skin met glass and an explosion of images that she could not
decipher struck her in quick succession. Her skin prickled and icy hot fear
shot up her spine. There were iridescent eyes, and then razor sharp fangs tore
through flesh, rivers of blood, dark, crimson and viscous, flowing with
abandon. With all her will she pulled back with her body and her mind, trying
to release herself from the grip of the mirror, focused only on her desire to
be free. Suddenly something gave, snapped as if an elastic band had been
stretched beyond its limits. She fell backwards, the pulsing sensation and
nausea dissipating as if they had never existed. She scrambled to her feet.
Thanks to her quick reflexes, she had managed to roll onto her side as she fell
and thus avoided a serious knock to her head.  The mirror was just glass once
more. Breathing hard, she stared at it in confusion. 

Shaking her head, she quickly ran
the cold tap and splashed her face generously.

The ease with which she accepted it
was more due to the fact that she had experienced something similar before,
although it had never been this intense. These episodes had begun about six
months ago, and the only reason Rose hadn’t told anyone about them was because
of her mother. Rose was afraid, afraid that whatever had happened to her mother
was now happening to her. Telling someone would be like admitting it was true,
would be like allowing it to happen. So instead, Rose fought it and so far she
had been successful. But this time had been different, harder to fight. What
the hell was wrong with her?

She took a deep breath, promising
herself she would not turn into her mother. And whatever this…thing was she
would not allow it to get the better of her. She had fought for her life, her
right to live once before and held onto it by the skin of her teeth. There was
no way that she was going to lose her mind.  Maybe this was some kind of
post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of her attack, in which case she
could fight it just like she had fought her attackers. The sound of approaching
footsteps triggered her into action. Grabbing a paper towel, she quickly dried
her face, exiting just as a short portly woman entered.

“Okay now?” Faye asked as Rose re-joined
her.

Rose nodded and hauled up her
suitcase then winced in pain.

Faye frowned in concern. “What’s
wrong?”

Rose looked down at her hands,
which looked red and slightly raw. “I think I burned my hands.” She must have
held her hands under the hot tap for longer than she had realised. She had been
so absorbed in what she was seeing that her mind had somehow blocked the pain.

Faye examined her hands. “Ouch, you
should have used the cold tap.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You’re a
genius,”

“I should abandon you right here
and now, but I love you too much.”

“Of course you do, what’s not to
love?”

Faye laughed. “Let’s get out of
here.”

As they made their way to the
Underground, Rose took a cursory glance behind her, back towards the
lavatories.

Faye sighed. “Don’t tell me you
need to go again.”

“No.” She turned away, burying the
incident deep in her mind.

A wonderful aroma drifted from
beyond the red wooden door. A warm orange light illuminated the edges of the
curtains drawn across the windows.

“5, Ellison Street, W6.” Rose
studied the scrawled address on a piece of paper. “This is it.”

They had reached Flo’s house in
Hammersmith. It looked so inviting, a better place to be in than out on a cold
Friday night.

“I can smell cake,” Faye said.
“Mmmm.” She purred with pleasure as the sweet smell tickled her senses.

“Okay,” Rose said, “here goes.” She
reached out and rang the bell.

“Coming.”  A female voice called
from behind the door.

There was a click and the soft
clink of a chain and then the door opened. A woman stood there, short and plump
with a huge smile on her face. Her hair was messy, short and black with red
lowlights. Her eyes were the warm blue of a Mediterranean sea and transformed
what would have been a pretty ordinary face into an interesting one.  She wore
a pair of black leggings, a long red t-shirt, and was clutching a tea towel in
her hands, which she quickly flung over her right shoulder, as she reached out
to embrace her visitors.

“Look at you!” Flo grabbed Rose in
a big hug. “Little Rose got big!” She turned to Faye and grabbed her in a hug
of equal exuberance. “And
you
must be Faye. Lovely to meet ya, luv. I’m
Flo.”  She had a thick East London accent. “Your hair is bleedin’ gorgeous.” 
She took some of Faye’s hair gently into her hand.

“Thank you.” Faye’s cheeks flushed
pink with pleasure.

“Come in.” Flo grabbed Rose’s bag.
“It’s bloody cold out there, come get in the warm.” 

They didn’t need to be asked again.

Flo’s house was warm, both in
temperature and in décor. It wasn’t going to win any Art Décor awards but if
there had been an award for sheer homeliness it would have won it in a
heartbeat. The interior was a compete contrast to the ordinary façade of the
exterior. The walls of the hallway were a loud green and the floor was
laminate. There were shelves all over the wall with snow globes and teddy bears
resting on them.  The wall diagonally opposite the front door sported the
largest, most ornate mirror Rose had ever seen up close and personal.

“Wow, what a beauty.” Faye moved
towards it, running a hand over the gilded frame. “Mirror, mirror, on the
wall.”

“It was a wedding gift actually,
always thought it was a bit too fancy meself.” Flo ushered them further into
the house.

“Hang your coats up there.” Flo
directed them to a rack on the wall where an array of jackets and coats hung.
“And put your shoes there.” She pointed to a plastic mat where some shoes were
already gathered.

A boy in blue pyjamas came bounding
into the hallway, looking for all intents and purposes like an over eager
puppy, and ran straight to Rose. “HELLO!” He hugged her tightly.

“Hi,” she said and ruffled the
eight year old’s mousy brown hair.

Flo’s son looked up at her with big
brown eyes glittering with excitement. “I’m so glad you’re here. Can I show
Rose her room, mum?”

“Not until you say hello to someone
else,” Flo jerked her head in Faye’s direction. “Don’t be rude.”

“Oh, sorry.” Erin went to Faye and
gave her a tentative hug. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

Faye laughed. “Just call me Faye.”

Erin giggled then turned back to
his mum with the single-minded determination of a child. “Can I show her now?
I’ve been waiting all day to show her.”

Flo rolled her eyes and smiled. “Go
on then.”

Erin grabbed Rose’s hand. “Come
with me.” He called over his shoulder as he bounded away with her in tow.  Rose
chuckled, allowing herself to be led.

Erin led her upstairs and to the
left. “Here.” He stopped outside the last door on the landing. Flo and Faye
joined them. “You’ll love this room,” he said with conviction, as he pushed
open the white door. Rose stepped into the room and let out a low whistle.

The room was purple– purple walls,
purple carpet, purple curtains. There were more teddies on more shelves and a
television in the corner of the room. The bed was freshly made with purple
duvet and pillow covers.

“I picked the colour,” Erin said.

Purple was not her colour, in fact
it would have probably the last colour she would have painted any room, let
alone her bedroom.  Erin was looking up at her expectantly.  She quickly
plastered a smile on her face. “It’s beautiful.”

“Is it really?” Flo asked. “He
bleedin’ begged me. He wanted to choose and all that.”

“I love it.” Rose injected more
enthusiasm into her voice than probably necessary.

Flo gave her a dubious look.

“Told ya she would.” Erin shot his mum a smug look before quickly darting out of the room. “I’ll be back in a
minute!” He called over his shoulder.

“I can change it if you like,” Flo
said.

“Really, it’s cool. You didn’t need
to go to any trouble. I’m just really grateful that you’re putting me up,” Rose
said. She meant it.  A bedroom was just a place to sleep after all.

 Faye was wondering around the
room, picking up each teddy and studying it with obvious interest.

“There’ll be less of that talk,”
Flo said. “This will be your home now too. I want you to be happy. So if all
the purple and the teddies get on ya tits just say.”

“These are cute.” Faye placed a
small white teddy dressed in a pirate’s outfit back on the windowsill. “They
each have their own look.” There was genuine delight in her tone.

Rose laughed and gave Flo an
impulsive hug. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh you’re gonna make me cry.” Flo
hugged her back. “It’s really good to see ya.” She pulled back for a moment,
taking Rose’s face in her hands. “You remind me so much of your mum when she
was your age.”  It seemed as if she would have said more but at that moment, Erin bounded back into the room.

“Ben 10 is a good programme.” He
held up a DVD case. “If you ever wanna watch it with me you can.” His tone
suggested he was doing her a great honour.

Flo chuckled. “Don’t be daft.”

“I ain’t,” Erin said.

“It’s ‘I’m not’ not ‘I ain’t’.”