Blood be Damned: Magic Wars (Demons of New Chicago Book 3), page 29
Blood be Damned
Magic Wars: Demons of New Chicago Book Three
Kel Carpenter
Blood Be Damned
Kel Carpenter
Published by Kel Carpenter
Copyright © 2021, Kel Carpenter LLC
Edited by Analisa Denny
Proofread by Dominique Laura
Cover Art by Covers by Juan
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
3. Ronan
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
8. Ronan
Chapter 9
10. Ronan
Chapter 11
12. Ronan
Chapter 13
14. Ronan
15. Nathalie
Chapter 16
17. Ronan
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
25. Ronan
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
28. Ronan
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
31. Ronan
Chapter 32
33. Ronan
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Acknowledgments
Also by Kel Carpenter
About the Author
To my parents, Shilo and Jody.
You fought a good fight.
Nobody talks about the other loss, the loss that happens within us. We lose people and things, but we also lose parts of ourselves. We grieve those missing parts too. We grieve them, and we grieve us. But I think losing those parts creates space. For newness. For understanding others’ hurts and welcoming them into our free spaces.
Caroline George, Dearest Josephine
1
Someone once told me that whiskey was the devil’s poison.
I was inclined to disagree. It wouldn’t taste like shit if it were.
Still, I tipped the shot glass back and swallowed without a grimace. It was easier now, thirty drinks in and counting.
I slammed the glass down on the table and gave the alpha wolf across from me an expectant look. His eyes narrowed, taking in the lack of a flush in my cheeks. My pulse hadn’t spiked or slowed. My eyes weren’t dilated.
I couldn’t see them for myself, of course, but I knew.
Because I was a full-fledged demon, as Nathalie would say.
Whatever damage the alcohol did was healed before I could take the next shot. It was a slight miracle I had a low buzz, helping soothe the taste of the cheap liquor.
As a human, alcohol wasn’t something I could afford.
I still couldn’t now, but my drinking opponent didn’t know that.
“Come on,” I goaded. “What kinda alpha are you to let me beat you at this?” My words did the trick, rousing him. He took the bottle and poured himself another glass.
The people gathered around us cheered him on, half of them pissed because I drank them under the table too.
His muscles twitched. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. Despite his supernatural blood, his system was struggling to process the poison as fast as mine.
I was counting on it.
He downed his shot, and I poured myself another, tossing it back before he was even finished swallowing.
“You can do better than that,” I said, my voice taking on a sour quality and my bitterness peeking out. He didn’t know why. My reasons for being in this rundown, piece of shit bar were my own.
Given it was the last supernatural establishment in the city I hadn’t been banned from, I wasn’t leaving until I got what I came for.
Punishment.
Release.
Absolution.
. . . or something like it.
When his eyes turned a shade of blue, I knew that wolf of his was rising. Of all the supe species, they were often the easiest to provoke. Their magic and baser instincts were closer to my own. I understood them, in a way. The arrogance. The territorialism. The need to control.
If I hadn’t been made a demon, I could have been a wolf.
Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t. But I understood all too well how they worked.
“Are you going to take another shot? Or are you late for your circle jerk? If you’re in over your head, by all means, leave.”
My words were brash. Bold. They did the trick.
The sound of wood scraping against wood echoed in the air as he scooted back. His chair knocked over backwards with how quickly he stood up. Easily a solid foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, the beast of a man glowered down at me from across the table.
“For a human, you’re awfully disrespectful,” he drawled. His faint southern accent was tainted with darkness, and it told me he was dancing on the precipice of losing it.
I blinked once lazily, unimpressed. I stared straight at him as I reached for the bottle and brought it to my lips.
Drinking this shit was a punishment in itself. Still, I downed the half a handle in a few large gulps.
My head spun a little. The effects finally taking hold. Warmth spread throughout my chest, turning to a burn.
I liked the burn. I loved it.
I lived for it.
Too bad I’d only have a little while in this delirious state before my body healed itself again. Fucking magic. Couldn’t even let me be a proper drunk and wallow in self-loathing.
I slammed the bottle down a fraction too hard. It shattered, cutting me open, its crystal shards skittering across the table.
I could say I lost control of my strength. That it slipped for a second and the shattered glass was the result.
If I were a liar . . .
“Oops,” I said, knowing full well the broken bottle blew my cover. I got to my feet, a little wobbly, as the alcohol coursed through my blood faster than normal. As my magic worked, my eyes steadily darkened.
He’d know there was more to me than I had let on, but he wouldn’t know what I was. Not when my brands were covered by a turtleneck.
Once upon a time, I’d worn them so I could pretend I was human. Like a child, I’d believed if I didn’t see it, it wasn’t real.
Now I wore them because no one would dare challenge me if I didn’t.
But I needed them to challenge me. To think me an easy opponent. To give me the only thing that helped me handle this dark, festering emotion in my chest every time I thought back to that night.
As if he could hear my thoughts, the wolf lunged across the table, his nails turning to claws. Dark hairs sprung up on his neck and face; brown eyes turning blue.
I let out a loose breath. My pulse finally quickening with something almost like anticipation.
The tips of his claws barely grazed me, adding a sizzle of pain to the fire within.
But they never went more than skin deep.
The air grew chilly as a dark shadow formed. Outside, the winds howled like a ghoul on the hunt. Power gathered, and it smelled of ozone and coming storms. It felt like lightning singeing through my veins, burning every shred of emotion away. It tasted of chaos.
The supernaturals in the bar only had a split second to take notice and run, or choose to stand their ground. Ronan stepped out of the void, his eyes blazing with dark fury. He grabbed the alpha as if he weighed nothing. His hand locked around the lesser monster’s neck, holding him in place.
“Give me a reason to let you live,” Ronan said. He didn’t raise his voice. Scream. Shout. He spoke quietly, like the night, vast in unpredictability.
The remaining supes in the bar scattered like roaches in the light. The bartender lingered, watching the situation with wary eyes. A small part of me felt bad. He was just trying to make a living and survive. He didn’t ask for me and my problems to knock on his door and wreck his bar. No, I did that all on my own.
My self-loathing rose, feeding that raging beast inside.
The alpha trembled.
“Harvester,” he uttered. Reverence, respect, and more than a little fear.
He wasn’t as dumb as he seemed. Ronan would let him off. He always did when they didn’t hurt me, and he read the sincerity in their mind. I didn’t have that ability, but his tone was true. I didn’t need magic to tell that.
“Give. Me. A. Reason,” Ronan replied, voice still hard. Anger still riding him. I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes.
“She’s a hustler, then she disrespe
“So you thought to hurt her? To teach her a lesson?” Ronan asked, an inhuman purr entering his tone. Uneasiness slid along my spine.
The wolf swallowed, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Is that how you handle women who disrespect you?”
The wolf faltered. “I didn’t know she was yours—”
Wrong answer.
I realized I’d misread my victim in the time it took Ronan to summon black fire. The alpha didn’t even have time to scream when the flames consumed him—flesh and blood and bone.
A moment later, all that remained was a charred spot and tense silence. Ronan shifted his gaze to me.
The demon didn’t look away as he told the bartender, “I’ll have the money my atma cost you in merchandise wired to your account on the condition that you never serve her again.”
Out of the corner of my eye, the barkeep nodded quickly.
“Yes. Thank yo—” He didn’t even finish speaking before Ronan grabbed my arm and the void closed in.
Fuck.
Not again.
2
I swung wildly at the darkness surrounding me, spitting mad. Of course, my fists never made purchase, but when the void cleared, Ronan was right before me. His large hand gripped my arm tightly, fingers white from how hard he was squeezing. If not for my magic, my arm would have bruised, if not broken.
As it was, I barely registered the pain.
The whiskey was still clouding my mind. Making me sloppy. Messy. I liked it that way when the supes I picked fights with beat the shit out of me. I didn’t want that feeling so much when it was Ronan I had to face. His dark eyes saw too much. I felt their judgement in every passing second. Their pity.
I hated it.
“Fuck you,” I spat at him. My fist went flying again, but he grabbed it mid-air, his long fingers wrapping around mine with crushing strength.
“Gladly,” he retorted. Anger and regret and something that felt like betrayal brewed between us. His lips came down on mine—hot, and hard, and demanding.
The burning in me reached a crescendo.
I groaned, biting him. Blood welled, and I licked it from his skin. My tongue curved into his mouth, swiping over his bottom lip—then the fucker bit me back.
I yelped at the flash of pain in my tongue—followed by the most blinding heat that swept through me as he sucked on it.
Fire sparked in my hands and Ronan pulled away.
His heated gaze shot to the white flames. Even if they could destroy everything else, they couldn’t hurt him. I yanked my hands away, and he allowed it. With that thought came the bitterness. I closed my hand into a fist and the fire snuffed out instantly, only smoke remaining.
I didn’t need to look around to know we were outside Nathalie’s building. It’s where he brought me every time—and there had been a lot of them.
That was my last bar in New Chicago.
Supe bar, at least.
Even in the throes of self-destruction, I couldn’t bring myself to enter a human establishment. Not with the wrath that followed in my wake.
“This needs to stop,” he said. “The going out, drinking. Do you really think this is going to change things? Make her want to see you?”
My hand shot out faster than he could have predicted; a response to the instant rage I felt that he would dare mention her.
My fist hit him square in the jaw.
A crack echoed through the empty street.
Ronan cursed, spitting a wad of blood onto the concrete. Two white teeth gleamed in the moonlight.
Regret touched me. Guilt crept up. I wanted to dig my nails into my skin so deeply I clawed it out—because I didn’t want to feel. To even think about it.
“Leave her out of this,” I said, my voice icy cold and lethal despite the raging inferno inside me. The whiskey was already fading. The buzz draining away, leaving me cold and sober to my choices.
“No.”
His blatant disregard only served to piss me off more. Instead of taking another swing, I turned to walk inside. He grabbed me again, pulling me up short.
I rounded on him, fangs extending in my fury. Lightning crackled across my skin. A hot wind blew through New Chicago, carrying dark clouds.
Ronan lifted his head, observing the change.
“This has gone on too long. It’s been over a month, Piper. While I can wait for you to figure this out, I don’t know if you can—let alone your world.”
I calmed the magic inside me, killing the lightning with a thought—but kept the fangs. I needed him to know I was serious, even if his words did stir something deep down. They riled the part of me that saw something there, between him and I. They pulled on the last shreds of humanity I carried.
But I didn’t want it.
Feeling anything was too much. I couldn’t stop there because the guilt wouldn’t let me. If I gave an inch, it took a thousand miles—so I couldn’t.
It was better to feel nothing at all.
“Go home, Ronan,” I said quietly, a hundred percent sober.
“Not without a promise.”
Oh no, I wasn’t falling for that. Promise was just another word for bargain when dealing with demons—and I was one now, tied by the laws of magic, the same as him.
“Not happening.”
“You don’t even know what I want.” The purr in his voice was a challenge. It called to my anger, and it didn’t help that I was fucking tired of him trying to have this conversation with me.
My sister hated me. She said as much before demanding I send her back to Hell. When I refused, she walked out, and I hadn’t seen her since. There was nothing to talk about.
Nothing I had to say.
“It doesn’t matter. The answer is no. I’m not in the business of making promises anymore.” I pulled again on my arm, but he didn’t budge.
“Bullshit,” he uttered. “That’s it? You did all this—became a demon, summoned me, called your sister back—just to give up? Where’s the Piper that summoned a demon and won? Where’s the woman that put her life on the line to save her friend? Where are you?”
His incredulity wasn’t lost on me. I tried to hide my flinch.
“Sometimes life doesn’t go the way we want. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard we try. Sometimes we don’t get a happy ending.” I shrugged. “You’ll learn soon enough.”
“No, I won’t. You pulled me out of Hell, and I’ll do the same if I have to.” His surety might have roused a different Piper, but not this one. Not me.
“Pretty words won’t work this time, Ronan. I don’t want your help. I don’t need it—”
“What happened to no more lying?”
I bit my tongue and tasted a familiar copper tang.
Fucker.
He sounded like Nat. Both of them were an itch I couldn’t scratch—constantly grating me.
“It’s not a lie,” I bit out. Silver eyes dropped to the smudge of blood that touched my lips. He smirked, cold and cruel. It roused something in me. Something bestial. Monstrous. I knew I was going to regret my next words before I said them, but for the life of me—I couldn’t stop. “You got what you wanted. We fucked. We bonded. There’s nothing more you need from me. We’re done. Don’t you know when to walk away?”
My back hit the wall.
I blinked, feeling his magic but not realizing we’d phased through the void until a dimly lit ceiling appeared in my periphery. I fell back onto something soft. My hands dropped to catch myself on instinct, and I took a fistful of black satin sheets instead.
His bed. We were in his bed.
Ronan’s hand came to wrap around my throat in a territorial hold. His eyes blazed so bright it was like starlight shining through.
