A Crown of Blood

Chapter 2

When I wasn't reeling from the nightmares that frequented my mind, my nights were plagued with long hours of staring at the white ceiling of my latest home, the silence so loud, my ears permanently rang.

That night was no different. Light from the city painted long, pointed spikes of yellow and gray across the walls of my hotel suite, the pattering of rain accompanying muted horns and morning commotion to produce a sound unique to New York City. If you weren't used to jumping from city to city, town to town, every place might sound the same. But to me, whether it be the heightened senses or the constant eye over my shoulder, I filed the sound away with the many others I collected over the years.

Queens, New York. November, 2023.

Climbing out of bed, I checked my phone for my summons to the Goodwin mansion. It had been two days since the incident at Club Wolfsbane. I didn't know how much longer I could take being cooped up in here.

Two days since Damon Caine.

Two days since—

I shook my head. Staring at the ceiling, the longer I ruminated on that fateful night, the harder it was to recall what had happened. My magic lost control. My wolf made everything worse. And what? Damon was my mate?

Hybrid wolves didn't have mates.

It didn't make sense. It must have been the adrenaline or delirium or—something—that fucked with my head. The witch in the club, he'd done something to me, I was sure of it.

And even if he hadn't, the mate bond in wolves was potent. It would've snapped into place for him instantly and he would know it. I'd seen it happen countless times before.

Sitting up in the soft darkness, doubt sour on my tongue, I glanced at the city below. If it were true, he would've sensed it too, right?

Maybe he didn't care.

I climbed out of bed, banishing the thoughts that left me little rest each and every night. It didn't matter. Not with my freedom hanging in the balance.

The thought rattled me. When I left the city at fifteen years old, I vowed never to return. Ten years later, through a series of bad deals with very bad people, I refused to leave as empty-handed as I'd been that fateful night

    Focus on what you do know: Mr. Goodwin is going to have an aneurysm if you don't give him the right answers.

Unlike the Caines, the Goodwin pack was not a conspicuous bunch, but they loved to make the people who worked for them squirm. especially desperate people like me.

Stripping out of my clothes, I stepped into the brilliant heat of my shower and allowed myself a moment to breathe. Once upon a time, showers were a luxury. Over the years, as cold showers and homeless shelters turned into studio apartments and bugless hotels, I continued to revel in them until somewhere down the line, they became my version of meditation.

This wasn't one of those fancy hotels with rain showers and eucalyptus soap. But this was better than a hose behind a McDonald's.

If I did this job correctly, I'd get a whole hell of a lot better than a warm shower. If I helped the Goodwin pack usurp the Caine's power, I wouldn't need to run anymore. 

Stepping out of the shower, I approached my reflection in the large, oval mirror cautiously and assessed the light purple crescents under my dark eyes. The shadows seemed to make the depth of my irises' color almost endless, reminiscent of a black hole swallowing even the smallest fleck of light. Mom used to say there was madness in those depths. That's why they were so dark; so the monster could hide.