Briar: A Reverse Harem Romance (Midnight's Crown Book 1) Read online

  The scent of fear and hurt disappeared, replaced with the hypnotizing one from yesterday—wildflowers and heat.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she said. “After last night. I thought you were leaving.”

  “I meant to,” he replied honestly. “Had every intention of going to work and not returning.”

  “Then it’s luck to see you here?” She canted her head to the side, and he realized she was issuing a challenge. Would he answer honestly?

  Challenge accepted. “In a way. I knew you lived here and came hoping to see you,” he replied.

  “Oh,” she whispered, a smile curling the ends of her lips.

  “You never answered my question.” He needed to pull her back on track.

  “Which one?”

  “Which man did you see again?” The words were difficult to push out. Was there already some human who found her as interesting as he, and his brothers, did? An ache formed in his chest. What would he do?

  Dammit! This was a mistake. He’d come in here to see if there was a connection with Briar that went beyond scent, and the answer to his question was indisputably, yes. Her blushes and smiles captivated him, but her honesty knocked him off his feet. She didn’t know him, but he’d told her to trust him, and she had.

  He’d leapt, and she’d caught him.

  “I met a man on my way to Professor Nors lecture.” She laughed. “Actually, I was in the way of a man while on my way to the lecture. He grumped at me, but his friend apologized for him, and I don’t think he’s actually as grumpy as he seems. Just out of practice talking to people.”

  “Ah.” The ache turned into something good. Something hopeful. A grumpy man with a friend in tow who apologized for his grumpiness? “Sylvain and Valen.”

  “Tall?” She held her hand above her head. “Dark hair?” Finally, she brushed her fingers through her eyebrow. “A scar?”

  Definitely Sylvain.

  “Yes.” Son of a bitch. If he didn’t know better, he’d say fate had thrown this girl in their path. “That’s Sylvain. He’s a—” He’s a what? A friend? My brother? “He’s family.”

  Tilting her head to the side, she considered him. “You don’t look alike.”

  Marcus barked a laugh. “We wouldn’t. Adopted.”

  “And Valen? He’s the blond man? The one who looks like a Viking?”

  Now Marcus couldn’t stop laughing. She’d come closer than she realized. Valen was a Viking.

  “How strange,” she mused. “I can’t believe I met your family on my very first day of school.”

  “I don’t know,” Marcus replied. “Maybe it was meant to be.”

  Briar’s gaze went over his shoulder, and she shuddered. “You really believe me?”

  She was thinking about what she’d seen tonight. “I really do,” he answered. But he couldn’t tell her it was real, he couldn’t tell her what he knew. Not yet. Not until he’d spoken to his brothers.

  When had he begun to think of them as brothers again? Two hundred years had passed since they’d gone their separate ways. In that time, he’d forced himself to think of them by name, if he let himself think of them at all. Now he declared them family and talked about them to a girl.

  Not just any girl. A voice in his mind whispered. Yours.

  Marcus inhaled again. Wildflowers and heat. Yes. She was his.

  Chapter 7

  Briar

  Something strange was happening, and it wasn’t the horror movie extras who’d accosted her in the woods outside of BC. It was this feeling inside her—the one of calm and contentment. She’d been sitting, sipping and spilling her coffee, afraid with every gust of wind that the creatures from earlier would slide through the door, when she looked up into the concerned face of Marcus.

  For a second, she didn’t know what to think. It was like a dream coming to life, and she was afraid if she blinked, he’d disappear.

  He’d asked her what was wrong, and for once, she hadn’t put on a brave face and stated, nothing. She’d told him the truth—the unbelievable truth—and he’d accepted it.

  What was more? He wasn’t lying. His gaze held hers, and when he’d said, “I believe you,” she knew, whole-heartedly, he did.

  The more they talked, the straighter she sat. Her hands steadied, but her blush intensified. She could feel the heat on her neck, under her cheeks, and she was starting to sweat.

  “Do you need to leave?” she asked suddenly, interrupting him when he asked if she wanted another coffee.

  His green eyes narrowed. “No. Why? Do you want me to leave?” He watched her closely.

  “No!” she replied quickly. “But it’s getting late and I don’t know if you have to work. I’m kind of a night owl.” That was putting it lightly. “My days and nights have been all switched around.”

  “Because you have EPP?”

  He knew. Of course he knew; he was a scientist, and he was friends, or colleagues, whatever, with Professor Nors, who would have recognized her symptoms immediately.

  “Yes,” she answered, and then, because she couldn’t not ask, “Does it freak you out?”

  Her words had him sitting back in his chair. “What?”

  “My—” What should she call it? Illness? Syndrome? “EPP. Does it freak you out? I understand if it does. It’s one thing to know about it, it’s another to know someone who stays up all night and burns up in the sun like a vampire.”

  “It doesn’t freak me out,” he answered.

  “I lost friends, or never made them.” Shut up! Why was she spilling her guts to him? Warning him off of being her friend?

  “It doesn’t freak me out,” he repeated, and pinned her with a stare.

  “We’re closing in ten minutes,” the barista called over the counter to them.

  Briar stood. “I’ll be right back.” Carefully, she picked up her cup to return to the counter, but Marcus swept it away from her.

  “I’ve got it.”

  She couldn’t help but follow him with her gaze. His figure commanded attention. Straight-backed, broad-shouldered, he walked with purpose. Briar caught the barista watching him, and she shrugged, like, can’t help it, and Briar agreed. Her gaze was glued to him, but when he dropped the cup into the dirty dish bin, she quickly stared at the table, not wanting to be caught ogling her new friend.

  “Can I walk you home?” he asked.

  Focusing on the table, she nodded, and when she had hidden her thoughts, she met his stare. “Yes, please.”

  He waited for her to stand and push in her chair before he placed a hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the shop. No one had ever done that before, and it was all she could think about as they left the bright interior of the coffee shop and went out into the chilly night.

  When he dropped his hand, she sighed. It had been nice, like he was staking his claim.

  They walked in silence through the busy streets. Even though it was late, bars were still open and groups of people were leaving one to enter another. As they passed, the door opened, music blaring, and then faded when it closed.

  “Wow,” she said. “Great soundproofing.”

  Marcus side-eyed her, and smiled. “Are you moving closer to Chestnut Hill?”

  “I’m still looking, but it’s only an hour way.”

  “Only in Boston can seven miles equate to an hour of travel.”

  “I’m learning. I rented the apartment while I was still home, so it didn’t look bad. Seven miles was ten minutes where I grew up,” she answered.

  “Where are you from? I can hear an accent.”

  Briar laughed. “I have an accent? Funny.”

  The side of his mouth lifted. “I don’t have an accent.”

  “Fine. You’re the only one without one. But I actually love it. It’s exactly like I thought it would sound.” She thought of the guard from earlier. “I’m from West Virginia. Though not originally. I was born in South Carolina. It’s where my grandparents are. We moved to Beckley because it’
s one of the cloudiest cities in America. Are you from Boston?” she asked, but he wasn’t paying attention.

  “Here you go.” They’d arrived at her house, and except for the one bar, she couldn’t remember the walk.

  “Oh.” She stared at the apartment house. “So. Thanks.” Should she invite him in? Give him her number? Their conversation felt like the first steps to friendship, but what if he was just being nice? The last time she’d suggested seeing him again, he’d shut her down.

  “Can I call you?”

  “Yeah,” she answered. The words tripped over her tongue. “I don’t know anyone. It’d be nice to have a friend.” She took the phone he held out to her, and entered her number before handing it back.

  His eyebrows drew together, but then his face cleared. “Okay. I’m going to go. Wave to me from the window?”

  “My apartment is in the back.” She pointed. “But the stairs are there. I’ll wave to you from the top. Okay?”

  He nodded, walking with her up the steps and waiting until she’d unlocked the door. He stood so close, when she glanced up, she could see the dark scruff of beard along his jaw. Curling her fingers so not to graze his face with her hand, she cleared her throat. “Night, Marcus.”

  “Goodnight, Briar.”

  She closed the door behind her, turning the locks before hurrying up the wooden steps. Two apartments made up the second floor, but there was a narrow hallway with a window at one end. It took her a moment to locate him, his dark hair and clothes made him blend into the night.

  “Goodnight,” she whispered, waving.

  He lifted one hand in reply before he turned his back and dashed down the street.

  Two nights in a row, Briar had been offered a challenge, and on both, she liked to think she met it. Once inside her apartment, though, her momentary pride bled away. Drawing the curtains, anxiety began to curl in her stomach.

  A challenge. She rolled her eyes at herself. Something was out in the woods—a monster. She had seen, and survived, a monster.

  What was she supposed to do now?

  The thing, with its pale skin and black mouth, burned the back of her eyelids. What was it Marcus had called it? A crawler.

  She shuddered. It was the perfect name for the creature. Suddenly, she pictured it, scaling the side of her house, its weird, disjointed body contorting itself around corners and through her window.

  Shaking her head to force the image out of her mind, she went into the bathroom and twisted the shower knob toward “hot” as far as it would go. She stood there, waiting for the steam to fill the room, and then turned down the temperature. Any warmer and the heat would make her burn feel worse.

  Without Marcus to distract her, her mind kept replaying the voice of the man who held her and the way the creature had felt, grasping her clothing to hoist itself face-to-face.

  What genetic mutation had caused that thing?

  Grabbing the soap, she scrubbed her skin, lingering on those places where the creature and man had touched her. The ghost of their bodies stayed on hers. Using a facecloth, and one hand, she scoured her skin until it reddened.

  Hair dripping, she tugged a t-shirt over her head and sleep shorts and went to find her computer. There had to be an explanation for the thing she saw because she came back to the same idea, over and over. If someone like her could exist, anything was possible.

  First, she searched the traits she’d seen—pale skin, black mouth, hairless, hyper-mobility. Sure enough, the constellation of symptoms came up with a syndrome.

  Reading the description, she shook her head. Nope. Not the right one, but her anxiety was alleviated. There was a logical explanation for what she saw, and not only that, it’d only taken one cursory internet search.

  Briar closed the laptop, yawning. Carefully, she stretched her arms over her head. First one, then the injured arm. It felt better, even with the jarring she’d given it in the woods earlier. She could extend it and flex her fingers, all without suffering debilitating pain.

  Her phone was still in her jacket. She grabbed it and plugged it in. So much for her resolutions to use her phone for reminders and smart planning. She hadn’t even charged it sufficiently. Not only hadn’t she reminded herself to wear her protective gear, she couldn’t even access it for a simple map to lead her back to the T station. Her independence and decision-making needed some more work.

  But not right now. Right now, she was done. Crawling into her bed, she pulled the covers over her head and snuggled into the sheets. She could put weight on her arm, and turned on her side, tucking her legs up to her chest.

  Each mistake she made was a lesson learned. Hopefully, her quota of lessons learned through stupidity was met and she could finally focus on what she came to Boston to do—go to school.

  Chapter 8

  Valen

  Valen Larsson didn’t give up. He couldn’t. No matter how many times his brothers—because that’s what they were, his brothers—dismissed him, insulted him, or pushed him away, he came back. It’s what family did. They stuck together through war, and peace, and famine, and blight.

  He knew what it was like to lose the family of his birth and all of his tribe. So when he’d finally found another one, he’d committed to them.

  Sylvain could run away as often as he liked, but Valen would be there. His brother stood in the darkness, growling under his breath at him and at Marcus, who’d walked the girl from yesterday to her house.

  “Why are we here?” Valen asked, though he knew. He wouldn’t give it away, not yet. His brothers were still struggling to understand what was happening, but as soon as he’d smelled the girl, Briar Hale, he’d known she was the one for them. A seer, it was Valen’s gift, and curse, to recognize the signs the universe sent them. In this case, the giant arrow pointing to the girl who had his brother, Sylvain, tied up in knots.

  And apparently, Marcus, as well.

  It made him infinitely curious.

  Sylvain had sought her out.

  Sylvain—who refused to admit to any reason for standing outside Briar’s window, except hunger. But Valen had seen Sylvain like this before, and he knew what it meant, even if his brother didn’t.

  A vision hit Valen, harder than he’d ever been hit before, and the busy city neighborhood disappeared. Sylvain held Briar in his arms, blocking out the sun with his body, curled over her form as if to protect her.

  And then he was back, standing next to Sylvain, who filled the night with a constant growl.

  Valen fisted his hands and crossed his arms. They ached with the remembered weight of her, slight though it’d been, as if he’d been inhabiting his brother’s body.

  He closed his eyes, revisiting every detail he could remember. Her pale eyelids, crossed with thin veins, golden freckles across her nose, and a scar below her eye.

  “Why are you still growling?” he asked Sylvain. It was getting annoying.

  Facing Valen, Sylvain raised his scarred eyebrow. “Not me.”

  Oh.

  “Are we standing here all night?”

  Sylvain continued to watch him, shuttering his confusion quickly. He flashed a glance toward the house, so fast Valen nearly missed it, and shook his head. “No. No reason to stay.”

  If Valen left with him, Sylvain would only return. He knew his brother like he knew himself, and though he’d fight the urge, he’d give in eventually.

  Valen needed time. He needed to consider what he’d seen and how it made him feel. Then he had to think about Briar. This girl was different. Four hundred years ago, something unheard of happened. Four vampires left their master to form their own family. They’d lived together, hunted together, existed through centuries.

  Then one day, they met a human. A woman—Annie.

  In this new world, in a country where the humans burned witches, revolted against kings, and made slaves, they fell in love. And Annie fell in love with them.

  He and his brothers took her, like they had every right to her, and made her o
ne of them. They made her one of them, and they hadn’t even asked permission.

  Annie wasn’t made for the night. She wasn’t built for hunting, and persevering, and surviving. Valen and his brothers, they weren’t enough to hold her, and one day, when the sun rose, she walked into a field and let the flames consume her.

  Two hundred years ago, he was too proud, and too late.

  Too proud to admit they’d done something they shouldn’t, and too late to save the woman they thought would complete their family.

  It had broken them.

  Sylvain. Valen had restrained him to keep him from going mad.

  Hudson. The distant scientist, a man who’d lived eons, almost as long as Valen, only got colder and more distant.

  Marcus. He’d hidden his pain behind parties and humor.

  And him. What had he done? He’d survived to keep his brothers alive, focusing on their pain and not his own. If he did, if he let himself think too long, he’d remember how this all was his fault. How the moment he met Annie, he’d had a vision of flames, and a vision of his brothers running, scattering to all ends of the earth. He’d remember how he ignored all the warnings the universe gave him about Annie and did what he wanted because it felt right.

  Valen shifted, retreating into the shadows to leap the chain-link fence and sneak into the backyard. He’d overheard Marcus talking to her and knew he wouldn’t be able to see a thing at the front of the house. There was one tree, half dead, in the yard along with a molded patio set. Everything about the place spoke of neglect. No one took pride in their homes anymore.

  He wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. Let Sylvain sulk around Boston, kicking curbs and cars.

  All night he stood there, staring up at the apartment until the sun rose and the sky turned bright blue. It’d be a hard day for her if she chose to come outside. A rusty hinge swung, and next door, someone let out a small dog. It sensed him, and rushed to the fence, barking frantically.

  “Tyson!” the person called. “Get back here!”

  Cigarette smoke wafted toward him, and he hid himself around a corner until the smell dissipated and the yappy dog had done his business and gone inside.