Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection Read online

  Crescent House looked quiet now. All that was left to do was wait.

  And wait he did.

  Roman was halfway through the second season of Breaking Bad when he noticed the first signs of life. He had been there for hours now, so long that he wished he had brought another candy bar.

  The sun was long set and Walter White was in the middle of yet another bad decision when he saw a man walking to one of the cars lining the driveway.

  He couldn’t see the man’s face, only that red Wheeler hair as the man strode to the car. Still, Roman could tell from his basic build that this was Paris. It was hard to forget the way someone looked after they had almost killed you.

  Roman weighed his options as Paris cranked up the engine and pulled away. Even if this did have something to do with the Wheelers, Roman doubted Paris was involved. He stunk too much of simplicity for that. Still, Roman had been here for a while now, and if he didn’t take this opportunity, the house might be quiet for the rest of the night.

  He couldn’t take that risk. Even if following Paris turned out to be a dead end, at least he’d know that. And hell, he could grab a taco afterward or something. So the night wouldn’t be a total loss.

  Roman set out after his woman’s future husband, keeping more than a few car lengths between them. Now that he was on the move, the spell that had kept him shielded would be lifted.

  He followed Paris all the way back into the heart of Savanah. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Roman wondered if the boy was on his way to meet Julia. Perhaps what Roman was spying on was the beginnings of a date.

  That was one way to turn him into a full-fledged stalker.

  Roman breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Paris took a left on Abercon, moving away from Fairweather Manor.

  When the man parked and walked toward a coffee shop, Roman followed. He knew better than to get too close, though. The coffee shop was small and, even if he could pass the both of them being there off as some far-fetched coincidence, there was always the chance that Paris would want to continue the fight they’d started the other day.

  While Roman was itching for a chance to redeem himself, making sure Paris wasn’t involved in anything shady took top priority tonight.

  Luckily, there was an outdoor café across the street from the coffee shop, and there was enough foot traffic tonight that Roman could be reasonably comfortable that he wouldn’t be spotted.

  Even better was the fact that roses sat in vases at every one of the tables in the shop. As Paris sat down in front of one, Roman ordered a glass of water and wedge of lime.

  Using that, the rose would basically be a microphone, broadcasting everything Paris said and reverberating it off the water in the glass.

  Of course, Paris would actually have to be meeting someone for that to work.

  As it was, that didn’t seem to be the case. And, while having your nose buried in Catcher in the Rye for three hours at a crowded coffee shop made you the worst kind of pretentious douchebag, it didn’t make you a liar or a murderer.

  Roman was about to leave when he saw her walk in.

  It wasn’t the Fairweather he expected, but that didn’t stop Roman from furrowing his eyebrows when he saw Cassandra step through the door.

  She looked around, hesitating in the doorway, before crossing the café floor and seating herself across from Paris.

  Were they having an affair right under Julia’s nose?

  A spike of rage ran through Roman. To think that Paris could do something like that. He had her—actually had her—and what did he do about it? Snuck off with a cousin of hers that couldn’t hold a candle to Julia’s beauty or intellect.

  Roman thought about rushing in there, kicking Paris’ ass once and for all, exposing Cassandra as the slutty turncoat she was, and taking Julia somewhere far away from the people who would hurt her like this.

  But he still had no proof. All the pair had done so far was meet for coffee. He needed to wait a little longer. After that, Roman Blackwood would do what he had to.

  “Amplify,” Roman whispered and listened as the rose transmitted the sounds of the conversation going on across the street right to him.

  Cassandra shuffled uncomfortably in her seat, brushing hair out of her eyes.

  “Were you followed?” Paris asked, taking a sip of coffee and looking around the room.

  No, Roman thought. But you were.

  “Do I look like a child, Wheeler?” Cassandra scoffed. “No one followed me.”

  “Just making sure,” Paris drawled. “No need to get so defensive.”

  “Really?” Cassandra leaned across the table. “I would think that, after the shit you just pulled, you’d have repentance on your mind.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “Roman, that Blackwood scum,” Cassandra barked.

  Roman bristled at the mention of his name. Did Cassandra know he was here? Had she caught sight of him as she entered the shop and, if so, what was she going to do about it?

  “What about him?” Paris asked. “He’s no concern. I came pretty close to putting his ass six feet under.” He took another drink. “Right alongside that brother of his.”

  Heat flashed through Roman’s face. Paris Wheeler would pay for that.

  “But you didn’t,” Cassandra said. “You had a chance to take him out, and you didn’t take it.”

  “Because Julia was standing right there,” Paris said. “I couldn’t exactly kill her lover with her in front of me. I’d have a hard time getting her to trust me after that.”

  “You wouldn’t have needed her to trust you after that,” Cassandra growled. “How many times do I have to tell you? The longer the two of them are even in the same world together, the worse off we are.”

  “You’re being dramatic.” Paris waved her off, which seemed to irk Cassandra to no end. Paris continued, “You told me yourself—Julia doesn’t even want to lead the coven, and God knows that mess of a Blackwood man isn’t in any position to. They’re the past.” He leaned forward. “We’re the future.”

  Cassandra slammed her fist against the table. Paris reeled back, and a couple at a nearby table gasped. Several of the café’s patron’s glared at them, but Cassandra’s scowling face never lifted from Paris. She muttered something and, in a whiff of magic, they went on about their business as if nothing had happened.

  Lucky for Roman, he was far enough away not to be affected.

  “Calm down,” Paris said through gritted teeth. “If you wanted him dead, you should have been clearer about it. As far as I knew, you just wanted my help killing off some family members standing in your way and making it look like the Blackwoods did it. Is that not good enough anymore?”

  “Are you really that stupid?” Cassandra threw her arms in the air and then let her hands fall to her sides. “Julia talks to the fucking ancestors, Paris—and they’ve seen every thing we’ve done over the last few years. The only reason you’re here is to distract her now that she’s back in town! Now throw Roman in the mix: He’s the heir apparent—not only to his family’s fortune, but to the dark magic that the Blackwoods used to ravage Savannah in the first place. There aren’t two more dangerous people in the world to us than them. But they’re not dangerous when they’re not together.”

  Cassandra looked around again, swallowing hard. “They think being together makes them strong, but they couldn’t be more wrong. It pulls their focus. It gives them pause. It leads them to believe there’s something more important than power.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Paris asked. “If being together gets them out of your hair, then why not let them be together? Why have me get engaged to her at all?”

  “Because there are different kinds of strength,” she said, clicking her tongue. “And, while being together at this moment in their lives doesn’t necessarily bring out the best in either of them, there’s no way for me to be sure that will continue. They’re insanely powerful as individuals. If they manage t
o actually get their shit together as a couple, nothing in this witchy world will be able to stop them.”

  “Lucky for you that I’m here,” Paris said, taking another swig of coffee.

  “That’s not enough.” Cassandra took his coffee from him and set it aside. “You’re blowing it.”

  “I’m killing it. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “She’s not convinced,” Cassandra said. “You asked why I engineered an engagement between the two of you. It was so that you could seduce her, take her mind off that Blackwood boy just enough to throw her off guard. I figured a man who wished to rule the pieces of the Blackwood coven that was to be left behind in my wake could do at least that.” She scoffed. “I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

  “This isn’t an issue, Cassandra,” Paris said, his eyes driving into her seriously.

  “The hell it isn’t.” She crossed her arms and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “She’s pulling away from you. Heck, you never had her in the first place! And when she finally decides that your ginger ass isn’t what she wants and isn’t something she’s capable of going through with, she’s going to run straight to him. We can’t risk that.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Paris asked. “You want me to kill Roman Blackwood?”

  “That would only solve half the problem, and it might light a fire under Julia that would drive her to want to take the reins after all. I can’t have that. Julia taking over would mean the end for us, and we’ve worked way too hard to let that happen.”

  Paris’ face paled. “What are you saying, then?”

  “You know what I want, Paris. No. It isn’t even what I want. It’s what I need. What we both need. As soon as the marriage is final, you have to kill Julia.”

  19

  Julia

  Julia stood in a corner, looking out the window. She should have been looking at herself in the mirror. Anytime she’d thought about this day as a little girl, she had always been looking at her own reflection.

  Her wedding dress was gorgeous. Her mother and her exquisite taste made sure of that. But as it turned out, that didn’t matter to Julia.

  For reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on, Julia felt sick.

  No, that wasn’t true. She could put her finger on the reasons just fine. She knew exactly why she was feeling like this and exactly what she needed to do to put an end to it. But she couldn’t do it and, because of that, she didn’t want to admit the truth to herself anytime soon.

  When Grandfather informed her that the wedding was being moved up to today, a chill ran through her body. She liked Paris. He was a good guy. He might even be a great guy. He was kind, and handsome, and they even seemed to have the same sense of humor. Heck, she would go as far as to say there was a bit of sexual tension between her and the Louisiana warlock.

  But Paris wasn’t him. He wasn’t Roman.

  She shuddered as she stared at the garden, the bright sun casting the day in a golden hue. It was a perfect day to be married…assuming that was what you wanted.

  Julia heard the door swing open and, without even turning, she knew it was her mother.

  None of the men would dare come bursting in on a bride as she readied herself, and Cassandra would have the common decency to at least knock first.

  But Julia’s mother didn’t bother. She felt an ownership over this day, over what he daughter was doing to both protect her coven and set herself up for the rest of her life.

  It was no more than she had even wanted for her daughter, and Julia knew that. That was why she wouldn’t turn to meet her.

  “My daughter,” she said, and Julia could hear the smile in her voice.

  She could also hear the vodka.

  “Really mother?” she asked, still looking out the window. “You couldn’t even wait until after the ceremony?”

  “You know what they say,” her mother said. “It’s never too early to start celebrating something wonderful.”

  “Who says that?” Julia asked.

  Her mother shuffled toward her, and in addition to hearing it in her voice, Julia could now smell the drink on her mother’s clothes: sweet and sour like cheap candies.

  “Something tells me you might need one, too,” she said, settling beside Julia. “A head start, I mean.”

  Julia shook her head. “I’m not drinking today.”

  “That’s not the sort of head start I meant,” she answered, chuckling bitterly. “You look like you’re a notion or two away from heels meeting pavement.”

  “You think I’m going to run?” Julia asked, finally turning to her mother. The woman was worn and tired in a way that couldn’t been completely attributed to the alcohol.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” her mother said, shaking her head. “But no. I don’t think you’re going to run. Not really. You seem different than you did last year. More—”

  “Defeated?” Julia supplied.

  “I was going to say mature.” Her mom clicked her tongue. “I don’t suppose there’s much of a difference between the two, is there?”

  Julia’s mother marched to a nearby counter and poured two glasses of scotch. Picking up the glasses, she walked back over to her daughter.

  “Mother, I told you I’m not drinking today.”

  “I know what you said, sweetheart, but I also know what you need.” She shoved the glass into Julia’s hands, nearly spilling it all over the wedding dress. “Listen to your mother.”

  Julia did as she was told and sipped at the liquor. It was smooth in the best way, but didn’t do much to lift her spirits.

  “Have I ever told you about the day I married your father?” Julia’s mother asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Julia answered, committing to the whole ‘head start’ idea and taking another sip.

  “That’s because I respect you too much to lie to you, and no one should have to hear horrible things about the day their parents were married.”

  Julia looked over at her mother, her eyebrows arching the way only her mother could provoke.

  “You’re far from the only Fairweather woman to give of herself for the good of the family. The whole idea might as well be branded across our rears at birth.” She shrugged, then took another swig of her drink. “Covens are like kingdoms sometimes, and no queen comes out of her kingdom unscathed. We’re property to them, chess pieces and all that. I’m sure you’ve heard about it in history class.”

  “I’ve lived with it,” Julia muttered. “I always knew this was a possibility, Mother. I just never thought it would—”

  “Happen to you?” she asked. “Neither did I. The whole thing seems of a different time, doesn’t it? But it isn’t. It’s right now, sweetheart. It’s your life and it’s the only one you get. And yes, it isn’t fair. And yes, you could run away if you really wanted to. I won’t even try to stop you. But you won’t. You’ll march down that aisle, marry that scrumptious little ginger with the ass made of marble, and make the best life that you can with him.” She pursed her lips, swirling her drink with an empty gaze. “And when you have a daughter and you get the urge to you tell her what it was like for you the day you got married.” She looked over at Julia. “You won’t.”

  Julia looked her mother up and down, focusing on the creases on her face: the sad, sad creases. How much longer until her face started wrinkling like that, before the weight of this life she was about to sign up for began to tear her down, slumping her over the way Grandmother was slumped, forcing a glass into her hand?

  “Good of you to stop by, Mother,” Julia said, motioning toward the door.

  Julia’s mother stared at her, but didn’t seem surprised at her daughter’s eagerness to be rid of her.

  “Anything for my girl,” she answered. She finished off her drink, grabbed the glass from Julia’s hand, finished that one as well, and marched out the door.

  When the door closed with more force than necessary, Julia barely startled. She slumped against the window, c
atching sight of herself in the mirror.

  There she was, all dressed up in white and diamonds. Beautiful, with her hair pulled back and her makeup just right. But she didn’t look like herself. She couldn’t exactly put herself in herself. It was as though she was looking at a stranger, and that made her more than a little worried.

  The last time she felt this way, the last time she felt this out of place in her own skin, she was on the cusp of something horrible.

  Her mental break had savaged her. It had taken everything from her—her very identity. And here she was, very likely going through the same damn thing all over again.

  Her breaths came heavy and labored. Would this be it? Would this moment—losing Roman, giving herself away to a man she didn’t want to marry—push her over the edge…again?

  “No,” Julia said firmly to her reflection.

  This woman—this beautiful woman in the mirror—it was her. She was strong. Strong enough to do what she had to, what her mother had done before her, and what the ancestors asked of her with their muffled riddles.

  And she would look like a million bucks doing it.

  The music started playing way too soon. It felt as if she had just been in that room, staring out the window and wishing things were different. And now she was here, listening to the wedding march with her grandfather by her side.

  Julia looked over at the man. For all the weariness showcased on her mother’s face, Grandfather seemed to radiate youthful energy. Was it a spell or just good living that kept the old man impervious to the ravages of time?

  Maybe he was just happy.

  As she looked at him, Julia couldn’t help but think of everything that had happened, of everything that brought her back here.

  Grandfather was to die soon. The oracle said as much. But ‘soon’ could mean any number of things. Perhaps Julia would have a child or two before her grandfather kicked the proverbial bucket. Or maybe he wouldn’t make it to the end of the altar with her. Either way, it would seem too soon.