Deadly Sin (Cassandra Farbanks)

By
Sonnet O’Dell

Deadly Sin

Cassandra Farbanks Series

Credits Page

Eternal Press
A division of Damnation Books, LLC.
P.O. Box 3931
Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998

www.eternalpress.biz

Deadly Sin

Cassandra Farbanks Series
by Sonnet O’Dell

Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-935-7

Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-936-4

Cover art by: Dawné Dominique
Edited by: Roberta Antunez

Copyright 2013 Sonnet O’Dell

Printed in the United States of America
Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights
Worldwide English Language Print Rights

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Praise for the Cassandra Farbanks Series

This is a must read Urban Fantasy that I am thrilled to have chanced upon. —Laurie,
Coffee Time Romance & More

It’s always refreshing to read something a little different and new…Sonnet O’Dell writes with a vibrant voice, something fresh and exciting. —Nikki,
Siren Reviews

Fans of the early Anita Blake novels will enjoy the Cassandra Farbanks Series. Really good Urban Fantasy that will keep you guessing. —Amanda Toth,
Novel Addiction

Sonnet had put her own twist on this paranormal series that sets it aside as different from most of them out there. —Nora Chipley Barteau,
Reviewers Helping Authors

The Cassandra Farbanks series just keeps getting better and better…a smart and clever read, and best of all, absolutely enthralling. —Storm,
Bitten by Books

Ms O’Dell blended the action in so smoothly that I was hooked. I had to keep finding out what happens next… —Missyb0103,
Night Owl Reviews

Dedication page

When Eve took the apple from the Tree of Knowledge it was considered the first sin. Why is it then that we don’t believe apples to be evil? Instead we endorse their value in rhymes. An apple a day. :) An apple a day keeps anyone away when thrown hard enough. Yet they still aren’t evil? Funny that. So this is to Eve—oh, unfairly painted thrower of apples.

Chapter One

Somebody was going to pay for this. I didn’t know who, and I didn’t know when, but someone was responsible for the monstrosity of a dress I was forced to wear. It was pale yellow, somewhere between golden rod and maize. If this dress was used as evidence at the trial, I would get off murder charges no problem. Why was I wearing such a dress? I was guilted into it by a man I thought was my friend. After this, all bets were off.

I glared at the groom, Michael LeBron, as I walked towards him, but he wasn’t paying attention to me as the bride made her entrance. I didn’t know quite how I felt about this wedding. The bride, Brie, and LeBron had met for the first time in March. Now it was the last week in October, seven months. Six, if you count that it took a month to plan this wedding and the nightmare yellow dress I was stuck in. Brie had repeatedly whined at me, “Cassandra, it’s called ‘Lemon Sherbet’”. I argued that it was still “technically” a shade of yellow, an ugly shade of yellow. I held the bouquet as the wedding coordinator had showed me, plastered on my best smile and walked down the aisle. The wedding coordinator stood at the back, a triangle-nosed woman in a smart, sapphire blue suit, her non-descript hair in a bun, watching me. I took my place next to the surly, female cousin who scratched her leg through the dress while trying to keep a sincere smile on her face.

We were in LeBron’s church. Reverend Baker stood at the altar in his finery. His wife, Cherie, and his son, Adam, were in the front row I discovered when a small hand waved in my direction. I waved my fingers against my hip to greet Adam back. The coordinator couldn’t see. If I’d done a larger gesture I’d have never heard the end of it. I’d arrived early at the church as per instructed, and Reverend Baker was not happy to see me. He didn’t like witches – as he thought I was – and in short order, I found he didn’t much care for preternaturalness of any kind. From the way he was smiling, I guess no one had told him that most of the congregation tonight was werewolves and shifters. To change the conversation, I asked him how he was a Roman Catholic priest and had a family. He converted from Church of England when they started letting women in, and the Catholic Church let him keep his family. I wondered what his wife thought about that.

I turned to watch the bride, as did the entire congregation. This allowed me to surreptitiously rearrange my underwear. The dress wasn’t completely unflattering. It had a low, square neck and tiny, frilled sleeves that ruffled twice to mirror the ruffled waves in the skirt flowing down to the floor. I was glad it was floor length as I didn’t think my legs were all that great, despite compliments to the contrary. I bought white shoes because nobody made heels in this particular shade. Shoes that cost a fortune to dye and I’d never wear again. I don’t own a lot of yellow, for good reason. There was very little to the back of the dress. It formed a large ‘V’ of flesh down to a large, and what I considered, unnecessary butt bow at the small of my back. The scarf around my neck trailed down exposed flesh to dance across the skin, tickling and itching in equal amounts. My locket lay in the hollow of my throat. The wedding coordinator didn’t like that I wouldn’t take it off. She wouldn’t have understood my reasons – so I told her it was sentimental. She respected that, mainly because I made her respect it. Let’s just say she wouldn’t try to take it off me again. I was pretty sure the woman knew not to touch me without my permission again. I hadn’t liked the coordinator from the word go. She was full of backhanded compliments like, “It’s a shame for someone so pretty to have such bad posture”, and “Why put on makeup at all if you can’t do it properly”. Apparently I hunched my shoulders, had not understood the joys of lip-liner, and didn’t stick my chest out enough. The problem with that last one should be obvious. It was an invitation to look.

I hadn’t been to a lot of weddings. In fact, I think this counted as my first. Growing up, I had no extended family so no one ever got married. I understood from watching television that the bridesmaid’s dresses were supposed to be ugly and that no woman could look good in them. So by comparison, the bride became a vision of loveliness.

Brie did look lovely. Her dress was all white, cream and lace, very traditional. An embroidered veil her mother made hung over her perfectly made up face. Her blonde hair was teased into a wavy style around her face as it was kept very short – most shifters had short hair. I think hair length could affect the coat of your animal when you changed. I’d never met a werewolf with hair as long as mine was now, and as long as it had once been. Today, I pulled it back from my face, but hung it around so it looked like I had a bob. The rest of it styled up, held there by yellow, butterfly shaped clips. Everything had to match. I got that lecture when I said I could just buy a nice, cheap pair of black heels to go under the dress. No one was really going to be looking at my feet and I’d learned not to mess with a ‘Were’ bride. I’d made a mistake a lot of people I think would have. Brie was a fairly soft, sweet girl – normally – but being a bride had the amazing ability to change basic personality. I saw myself – if I looked at it from a Were perspective – more dominant than her and assumed she’d give in. Like walking forwards and seeing a wall, you know if you keep going you’ll hit it. It’ll hurt but you still expect it to just get out of your way.

So there I was in the right shoes and in a dress with my hair all clipped and poofed. I let her aunt Bonnie paint me up like some fairground Kewpie doll, and I did my best to act happy about it. I wasn’t in the least, but LeBron reminded me that was beyond the point. It wasn’t my day. Explained to me like that, I felt like a jerk but behaved myself. That had to count right? Besides, I got the groom turned into a werewolf and kind of have to give him a pass on letting his fiancé dress me like a canary. I got the feeling that Brie didn’t one hundred percent like me or trust me to keep my hands off her fiancé, almost husband. His insistence to involve me in the wedding hadn’t helped. He kept stressing our friendship and I felt guilty because I hadn’t been much of one lately. Brie was the one that helped him through his conversion.

Back in March, just before they met, LeBron was bit by a werewolf. This alone didn’t do anything, but the fact that he shot the werewolf till it bled and that blood dripped in through the bite was a pretty sure thing that he would catch the wolf strain of lycanthropy. I was there when he got the results that confirmed it and did what I could to help him. He took it very well. Despite a few road bumps, he coped with it. Brie was a big part of that and I respected the role she’d taken in his life.

As she approached the last few steps to LeBron waiting for her, I looked at the man whose arm she was on. Leroy Craven was not Brie’s father. He was, in fact, her king. I liked the man who looked strangely like Russell Crowe and I’d had a hand in his coronation. As the private secretary to the king of her pack, she turned to him for the honor after her father passed. Her mother was in the front row blubbering her eyes out as LeBron’s might be step mom patted her on the shoulders. Technically, the larger-than-life Texan born woman was only dating his father, but maybe after this wedding she would start making noises about him making an honest woman of her. I knew them both by sight but we had yet to be properly introduced. I scratched at the part of my back that brushed against the bow and swore I could hear the coordinator tut all the way from the back pew. I gripped my flowers tightly and tried to maintain my pose of diligent bridesmaid.

“Who gives this woman to this man?” Reverend Baker had a very strong, very loud voice that echoed around the walls of his church. I kept my lips in a tight, closed smile.

“I do,” replied Leroy Craven in his deep, rich voice. He unhooked her arm and placed her hand in LeBron’s. He gave him a little nod before sitting next to Brie’s mother, who patted his hand in thanks and continued to go through the tissues in her lap. LeBron traditionally lifted her veil, smiling brilliantly as he looked at her. Even I melted a little seeing how happy he looked. The ceremony began. I let myself float off into my own head, thinking of why I hadn’t been as good a friend as I should have.

I originally thought the man that my mother married was my father, but a few months ago I learned differently. I was a phoenix and had no idea who my father was. I had a brief description of him and knew that he’d attempted to kill my mother and make away with me, which led my mother to escape from this world. She found a world without magic. A world I grew up in, as normal as could be, but when she died all that changed. I began switching between realities when the sun went down and my power awakened. I had my own coping to deal with.

Yet, I still knew little more. It was hard to search while also hiding. The one piece of my personal problem that could prove illuminating had vanished. I found a text of ancient Chinese and unable to read a word of it, I searched for someone to translate it. Truth Charity Mallory, friend and owner of Grimoires – a magical bookstore – found such a person. The book and ample payment went to them. Months went by with no word so that I almost forgot it. Then a letter arrived. The completed translation and book were sent back. No chance of getting it by email because their cave did not have internet access.