Love, Blood, and Sanctuary Read online

  A NineStar Press Publication

  www.ninestarpress.com

  Love, Blood, and Sanctuary

  ISBN: 978-1-64890-303-8

  © 2021 Brenda Murphy

  © 2021 Megan Hart

  © 2021 Fiona Zedde

  Cover Art © 2021 Natasha Snow

  Published in June, 2021 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at [email protected].

  Also available in Print, ISBN: 978-1-64890-304-5

  WARNING:

  This book contains sexually explicit content, which is only suitable for mature readers, death of a major character, and depictions of blood play and homophobia.

  LOVE, BLOOD, AND SANCTUARY

  Brenda Murphy

  Megan Hart

  Fiona Zedde

  Table of Contents

  Sanguine Faith

  We Choose to Be

  Promises Made by Starlight

  Sanguine Faith

  Brenda Murphy

  Auntie, I didn’t quit and thank you for everything. Rest easy.

  Chapter One

  The rap on the car window rattled the glass. Laurel started and slammed her knee into the steering wheel. She cursed softly as she jabbed the window control button. The demon was dressed as a policeman. He wore dark glasses and his beefy hands rested on his thick duty belt nestled between the pepper spray canister and his pistol holster. A slight glow from a pouch near his hip was the only clue to his true identity. Huffing out her frustration at the window’s lack of response, Laurel shoved open the car door.

  “You okay?” The officer leaned closer and peered into her face. His feet were squarely inside the circle of salt Laurel had spread around the car the night before.

  “Yeah.” Laurel cleared her throat. “I’m okay.”

  “You can’t sleep here.” He gestured to the street lined with ancient brownstone townhouses and graffiti covered buildings. “It’s not safe.”

  “I’m sorry—” Laurel wiped her hand over her face and squinted at the officer’s name badge. “—Officer Sullivan, is it? I worked a late shift and didn’t feel safe driving anymore. I pulled over here to catch a nap.”

  “Stow it. I passed this way last evening, and you were parked here. Your car hasn’t moved.” He leaned closer and removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. “I know your uncle.”

  “Great-uncle.” Laurel stared at his face and inhaled sharply. His eyes were light gray rimmed with red, her image mirrored in their shallow depths. His practiced glare was that of an experienced centurion. Laurel shivered under Sullivan’s gaze, unable to look away from the magical enforcer. He was bound to her clan, sworn to serve and protect. Loyal to a fault, willing to die for the family. Her great-uncle had a legion of centurions, all more than willing to aid and abet his less than legal business dealings.

  “Is that so? Why are you here? What do you want?” Laurel pressed her lips together and rolled the hem of her shirt between her fingers.

  Officer Sullivan leaned down and spoke softly. “You’re royalty in our world, Laurel. He know you’re sleeping in your car?” His melodious tones seeped into her body as he used the old language, the language of secrets, curses, spells, and death.

  Laurel suppressed her shudder. “My roommate kicked me out.” She scrubbed her hand over her face in an attempt to hide the lie. “It was sudden.”

  The centurion straightened and pursed his lips. He drummed the fingers of his hand on his holster. “All right, Laurel, if that’s how you want to play it. You need to discuss this with your great-uncle. If you don’t, I will. I don’t want to find you sleeping in your car again.” He tilted his head. “You may not have inherited your family’s abilities but you’re still family. We take care of our own. I can’t spend my nights watching you sleep, keeping watch for the Orions.”

  Laurel gripped her keys tightly. Orions. The hunters. So many missing. So many gone in the blink of an eye, their bloodless and mutilated bodies found months or years later. Or worse found still smoldering, their mouths open in voiceless screams. She had taken a chance last night, but after walking in on her girlfriend eyebrows deep between their neighbor’s legs she had stuffed her car full of what it would hold and fled.

  “I’ll be safe.” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall, straightening her posture before she settled her hands at nine and three on the steering wheel. “I’ll talk to him today.”

  Officer Sullivan stepped back, smearing the salt of the circle she had spread around the car. He pointed at it, lifted his chin, and smirked. “Seriously? It doesn’t work unless you infuse it with energy.”

  Laurel inserted the keys into the ignition. “I know.” She looked away from her feeble attempt to protect herself and his smirk. After snapping her seatbelt in place, she waved at him and closed the door. She banged her hand hard on the steering wheel when the telltale click-click-click of a dead battery echoed in the car. “Fuck me.”

  Officer Sullivan opened her door. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift.”

  Laurel chewed her lip as she looked down at her paint-stained black T-shirt and tatty jeans. “I can’t go like this.”

  Officer Sullivan rapped on the top of the car. “Get out. Now. I don’t have all day to deal with you, Laurel. And it’s not worth my life to leave you here with a broken-down car.” He stepped back and crossed his thick arms. “Do I need to assist you in exiting the car?”

  Laurel shivered. She had experienced a centurion’s assistance just once and the memory of it still woke her at night. She trembled and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. “Let me grab my backpack.”

  “Good choice.”

  Laurel gathered the few things she didn’t want to leave in the car. After jamming her sketchbook next to her ancient laptop in her bag, she zipped the top closed and grabbed her hooded sweatshirt from the backseat before she exited the car.

  “You hungry?”

  “I’d really like coffee. I can’t talk to Great-uncle Marcus without some caffeine on board.”

  “Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast.”

  “Why’d you let me sleep there last night if you were just going to take me to my uncle today?”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Laurel glanced at Officer Sullivan walking beside her. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. To serve and protect. Even if it’s from yourself.” He held the car door open, and she slid onto the cool leather seat. She settled her backpack between her feet and pulled on her black hooded sweatshirt. The car shifted to the side as Officer Sullivan entered and levered his bulk behind the wheel.

  He waited until she had fastened her seatbelt before he started the car. Laurel’s gaze slid over the array of weapons lining the car. Magical weapons clipped into racks side by side with conventional firearms, their soft glow visible to Laurel.

  Able to see magic, unable to wield her own power, the last female of a clan stretching back eons, unwilling to assume her role as clan leader and unwilling to produce an heir, Laurel chewed her lip as the car shot forward bringing her closer to her great-uncle’s house.

  Laurel shifted in her seat and drummed her finge
rs on her knees. “You worked for my mom and dad, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  Laurel stared out of the window. A familiar ache settled in her chest. There were some things even magic couldn’t protect you from. The ratty buildings gave way to well-kept streets and high-rise buildings. The sidewalks were crowded with people scurrying to work and school.

  “Do you think the humans ever get it? Like, do they know about us? Really get it? Other than the ones we make consorts?”

  “Humans see what they want to see. If they ever understood how powerful supernaturals are, they would freak right the fuck out. And try to exterminate us. Again. All of us. Their unwillingness to see and believe is what keeps us safe.” He tapped the pistol on his belt. “And this.”

  Laurel shuddered as the car slowed and stopped.

  Officer Sullivan turned off the engine and preened in the rearview mirror a moment before he turned his head to face Laurel. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black. Unless it’s that dark roast crap. Then make it white as a virgin’s wedding dress.”

  Officer Sullivan’s loud guffaw exploded in the quiet of the car. “You got it.” He left the car.

  Laurel glanced at the tarnished Saint Christopher medal stuck to the car’s headliner and rolled her eyes. A group of humans rushed past, small children and their adults, animated and laughing, their voices muffled by the car window. The gentle ache in her heart blossomed into full-blown longing. Laurel blinked the grit of exhaustion from her eyes, leaned back against the headrest, and rehearsed the story she would spin for her great-uncle, hoping he would listen, knowing he would not.

  Chapter Two

  Laurel studied the painting of her parents on the stark white wall of her great-uncle’s house. Wedged in between a similar portrait of Marcus Callan and his wife, and her grandfather and grandmother, it was the only one draped in black. A fine layer of dust covered the black cloth, giving it a soft glow.

  The joy on her parents’ faces as they gazed at each other suffused the painting. Laurel had seen them look at each other that way every day she could remember. Her heart had bubbled with happiness when they would turn that same love-filled gaze on her. She rubbed her thumb over the edge of her empty paper coffee cup and turned away.

  The worn leather couch with its overstuffed cushions called to her. She fiddled with the strings of the crocheted blanket draped over the back of it as she considered stretching out and napping while she waited for her great-uncle.

  Her stomach roiled. Too much coffee, too little sleep, and too many memories in this house. She placed her cup on the table and swiped her hand through her hair. She glanced at the mantel clock. No one rushed Marcus Callan. Laurel shoved her hands in her back pockets and perused the floor to ceiling bookshelf. Multi-colored leather-bound books with fading gold lettering on their spines filled the dark wood bookcase.

  Laurel pulled a copy of Through the Looking-Glass from the shelf and opened it. The pages were yellowed and frail. She paged to her favorite poem and leaned against the case as she read. The nonsense words soothed her as they always did, as she read of the Vorpal blade that slew the Jabberwock. Had Carroll been one of the few humans who knew the truth?

  A tap on the doorframe drew her attention. She kept her finger in the book to mark her place and turned toward the sound. A woman in a dark-blue Chanel suit stood in the doorway. Her pale-gray eyes settled on Laurel. The small hairs on Laurel’s neck stood up. Another centurion. Laurel focused her energy and flexed the small bit of power she possessed to shield herself from the woman’s rude attempt to probe her mind.

  A hint of a smile tugged at the woman’s mouth and she inclined her head. “Sorry. We can’t be too careful these days.”

  Laurel placed the book back on the shelf before she turned to face the woman. She rested her hands on her hips. “Who are you? And why would I want to harm my great-uncle?”

  “I’m Nadia, Marcus’s personal assistant. He said to make you comfortable. Would you like coffee, miss? Or tea? Something to eat?” Her voice was silk over steel, gauged to seduce as well as soothe, if you were human.

  Laurel huffed out her annoyance at the woman’s failure to answer her question and her placating tone. “No, thank you. And please, call me Laurel. What happened to Douglas?”

  “He left, for, shall we say, other opportunities.” A lethal smile curved her mouth. “Your great-uncle is finishing a business call and will be to you when he’s finished. You’re sure you don’t want anything, Laurel?”

  “No.” Laurel ignored Nadia’s raised eyebrow at her sharp tone. “Thank you.”

  “Very well.” Nadia pursed her lips and gestured to the hall. “If you change your mind, my office is two doors down, on the left.”

  Laurel paced, her mind awash in memories and questions. She hadn’t cared for Douglas. An officious toady, he had ratted her out more than once when she had been a rebellious teenager, including outing her to her great-uncle well before she had been ready to tell him she was lesbian. At least Nadia was easy on the eye. She’d have to wait to see about the rest.

  *

  The smell of her great-uncle’s Armani cologne greeted Laurel before he did. She rubbed her nose to stifle the sneeze that hovered as her eyes watered. She plastered a smile on her face and braced for impact.

  Marcus Callan was not a tall man, but he tried to be. His high-heeled bespoke boots snapped against the dark hardwood floor of the living room. Dressed in a black silk shirt and trousers that matched perfectly, his blade-thin graveyard-pale face stood out in stark contrast. His mouth contorted into what passed for a smile, his blue-tinged thin lips pulled back to expose large, yellowed teeth crowding his narrow mouth.

  “My favorite great-niece, what brings you to see me.” He hugged her and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  “I’m your only great-niece.” Laurel stepped back, putting a half-step distance between them. “And Officer Sullivan.”

  “Sully is an excellent centurion. He’s been with us for many years.” Marcus gestured to the portrait of her parents. “I think things would have been very different if he had been working that night.” He looked down and away. “Tell me what you need, Laurel, please. I want to help you.”

  “Nothing, Uncle Marcus.” Laurel shoved her hands into her pockets.

  Marcus turned and skewered her with his steel-gray eyes. “You will not sleep in your car. You are family and my responsibility. What would the rest of the clan say if they heard you were sleeping in your car? Or worse, what if the Orions found you? Don’t look at me like that.”

  His genial expression morphed into the one that scared the hell out of everyone else in the universe but Laurel. She had been scared of her great-uncle, once upon a time, but after experiencing the loss of her parents and finding her girlfriend in bed with their neighbor, she was too numb to feel anything.

  “Or what? You’ll kick me out? Disown me? I moved out, remember? I don’t care if I inherit any of the clan’s money. None of it will bring my parents back. I’m not interested in continuing the line. Or in power. I want to make my own way.”

  Her great-uncle snorted. “Make your own way,” he mimicked viciously. “And where have you gotten? Let me use my connections. I can get you an agent and a showing of your so-called art anytime you want. And make sure that it gets a positive review. You could be something, Laurel. Maybe then you’ll fulfill your obligation to the clan.”

  “No. I’m not going to have you call up and lean on people to get me a showing, or representation. Not like that. And before you ask again, no, I’m not interested in a match. I’m not a brood sow, ready to pop out future supers for the sake of the clan.”

  “You have an obligation. You can’t even give me a year of your time? You wouldn’t have to marry or raise the child.”

  “No. That’s worse.”

  Her great-uncle turned away, the muscle in his jaw working as he paced the room. “So, what do you want from me?”

&nbs
p; “A job. And a place to live.”

  “You could—”

  “No, not back here. I’m not moving back in.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I can’t create here. Not with you, so you can parade every eligible clan male through here trying to get me to acquiesce to your plans. It’s too much.”

  He pressed his lips together in a thin line and glared at her. “If you’re so desperate to not live here, I have the perfect place for you. I can’t keep it rented so you might as well be there.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I won’t take money for rent. Let me do that, at least.”

  Laurel chewed her lip as she quietly calculated the balance of her bank account. “Okay.”

  “I know they need a bar back at Sanctuary, if you want me to put in a word.”

  Laurel straightened her shoulders and settled into her dependence on a man who made her skin crawl even when he was being kind. “Sure. I don’t want to go back to the coffee shop.” She swept a hand over her face. “I really don’t want to see Alma again.”

  “No?” Her great-uncle pursed his lips.

  “No. We’re over.”

  “Should I say I’m sorry?”

  “No. It was over for a while, last night just confirmed what I’d been worried about.” Laurel crossed her arms over her chest. “So, where is this place?”

  Marcus waved his hand toward the door leading to the hall. “Nadia will drive you to pick up your car and show you the townhouse. Do you need to pick up anything from your apartment?”

  “A few things. And I’ll need a jump for my car.”

  “You couldn’t even summon the energy to start your car? You haven’t mastered the ability to control mechanicals?” He snorted and then pressed his lips in a thin line.

  “I don’t have those abilities, you know this. Why do you always seem surprised?”

  Marcus lifted his chin and leveled a hard glare at her. “You could. The blood of Clan Callan runs in your veins. And you waste it.”