Crazed Hearts: Grimm’s Circle, Book 3 Read online

  Fucking wanker.

  There was a rustle of sound where there shouldn’t be. Ren knew these woods and could glide through them in complete silence. Easing to a stop, he waited near a tree and cocked his head, listening.

  There was a reason he hadn’t gone straight to his home.

  The divine protections around his home would keep any of the demon-possessed from finding it, so long as he wasn’t fool enough to lead them there.

  Ren touched the cuff at his wrist. Some didn’t need that extra connection. He did. Reaching out, he closed his eyes and waited.

  His consciousness brushed against something alien, evil…cunning. And all too clear-thinking.

  Orin. Curling his lip, Ren opened his eyes and stared into the trees, shifting only his eyes, looking for the slightest movement that would betray the enemy’s location.

  Fucking orin. He loathed them. All of the demons that crept through from the netherplains were evil bastards, but many were creatures of sheer chaos, mindless lust, or so focused on a blind hunger. Ren could dispatch them without letting emotion interfere.

  But the orin, there was something worse about them.

  They were evil. But they were thinkers. There is something worse about an evil that thinks. Something worse about an evil that can look you in the eye and calmly, coolly plan on sucking the soul out of everybody you love, everybody you come in contact with, slowly killing them from the inside.

  Orin—the closest thing to vampires in existence, and nothing romantic about them, no matter what modern romantic fiction might say…and Ren should know. The whisper of memory tried to come in him, but he shoved it aside, shoved it down.

  Not here. Not now.

  Slowly skimming a finger down the staff still stained with Mandy’s blood, he leaned a shoulder against the tree. He had a need to taste some blood of his own. Perhaps he could see the appeal of vampires. He wouldn’t feast on the blood of his enemy, but he’d damn well feel the slippery warmth of it on his hands.

  The orin moved past the tree, not even sensing Ren’s presence. Ren used his staff to tap him on the shoulder.

  “Hello there. Looking for Grandma’s house?”

  The once-human body was now nothing more than a vehicle for the demonic host, and he spun with a speed no mortal possessed. Ren remained where he was, flashing a toothy at the orin. “Lost?” he asked. “Not a good place for it.”

  The orin pounced.

  They were vicious creatures, and knowing death was imminent only added to that.

  But Ren wasn’t just vicious—he was pissed.

  In under thirty seconds, he had the orin under him on the ground. Feeling the demon scrambling to escape, he twisted his staff and pressed the blade to the fragile wall of the human’s chest. “There isn’t anybody close enough for you to jump to,” Ren murmured. “You’re well and truly out of luck.”

  The orin snarled and tried to push against whatever protected Ren’s sorry soul. It wasn’t the first time a demon had tried to push into one of the Grimms. Although it left Ren with a nasty, oily feeling, like slime clung to him inside and out, it had no effect and only weakened the orin.

  Sagging back into the human, the orin whispered, “Your little protégé wasn’t very good. She didn’t last five minutes. You should have trained her better. How long did she have her wings?”

  “Hmm. My little protégé didn’t have her wings…yet. But you, you bloody dumb-fuck, sent her off to get them.” Patting the orin’s cheek with the flat of his hand—hard—Ren throttled down the rage before it could peek through. “She was still mortal, you see. And you gave her what she needed to get the wings. Death. Score one for our side, mate. Now…let me talk to your ride.”

  “Too late for him. You can’t get me out unless I want out and you already made it clear there is no place for me to jump.”

  Ren used the flat of his hand again, but this time wasn’t a tap. He slapped him. Hard. “Now. Or instead of piercing this blade through your heart and being done with it, I’ll start somewhere farther south. You’re well and truly inside the body. You will feel the pain.”

  The orin sneered at him. And instead, he pushed himself up, impaling his chest on the blade.

  It wasn’t but a few seconds later that the heart stopped beating.

  The mortal’s soul was fading even as Ren whispered, “Have mercy.”

  There was a strange look of peace on his face, terribly at odds with the decidedly non-peaceful shriek the orin gave as it too, died. It didn’t go quietly into the night, that one.

  Rising, Ren wiped the blades of the staff off as best as he could. He couldn’t retract them until he’d cleaned it—if he mucked the thing up, Rip wouldn’t be so accommodating about providing him with a new one.

  He lingered over the body a moment. He’d have to deal with it, but not now. Sending out a silent request, he made sure the creatures knew not to come near. It would tempt some of them terribly, but the taint clinging to the body would likely be enough to throw even the most determined predator off. Providing the predator had a nose stronger than a mortal’s, and animals did.

  This man, he even smelled of death. The orin had done some terrible things while living inside his body.

  Had he known?

  Had he been aware?

  Most of the Grimms didn’t think so, but Ren wasn’t so sure. Too often, he’d gazed into the eyes of the men and women he’d been forced to kill and he’d seen that silent, screaming agony.

  Like your own…?

  Ren shook his head, shrugging the voice off.

  Best to get back to the house now. Perhaps he would even have a bit of good fortune smile on him and the other demons would come looking for their fallen comrade, deal with him.

  But then again, perhaps he was more insane then he thought.

  London, 1884

  “Oh, please, doctor, is there nothing more you can do for him?”

  Thomas rolled onto his side and curled into himself, pretending he could not hear his mother begging, pleading.

  For him.

  Begging yet another doctor to try and save him.

  I do not need to be saved.

  What he needed was simply a knife and a few minutes alone.

  But they wouldn’t give him that, not since the last time. She had found him, and he regretted that. The pain in her eyes, and the pain he’d felt coming from her…

  Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried not to think on it. Of it. It did no good, truly. Something tickled his chin and he looked down, found the small mouse on his bed again.

  Hearing his mother’s footsteps behind him, he curled in closer and used his hand to hide the little thing. It bothered her terribly to see the little animals that came to him. Almost as much as it bothered her when he told her he could feel her pain, her pleasure…just as he’d known the man who had been coming to court her had also been looking at Thomas’ little sister with a wicked, wicked eye.

  Perverted, evil bastard.

  She hadn’t wanted to believe him, but the love she had for her daughter wouldn’t let her disbelieve him, and she hadn’t let the man come calling again. In truth, Thomas knew she did believe him and that scared her more than anything else.

  Unnatural.

  Yes. It was. He knew it wasn’t natural—if it was natural, it wouldn’t hurt him the way it did. All the pain he felt from others felt like it would split his skin, turn his insides outside and leave him hollow, dying and drained.

  He hadn’t asked for it.

  He hadn’t wanted to feel it when his father lay sick and dying, wasting away inside. Thomas had almost died that summer too, from a sickness none of the doctors understood. Thomas had tried to tell them—it eats away at me. I feel it on the inside.

  And then his father died. Thomas did not.

  After that though, he felt the pain of others more acutely. People, animals, it didn’t matter. It frightened his mother terribly. As he grew from a skinny boy to that gawky stage just before manho
od, the terrible curse grew stronger and it started to drive him mad. Bit by bit, until he could no longer leave his home.

  Then he could no longer stand to look upon one who wasn’t of his family.

  It wasn’t until the man had come calling on his mother, and laid eyes on his sister, that Thomas forced himself to leave the room. For the first time in weeks, perhaps even months.

  He hadn’t wished to, but he had no choice. He’d felt the man’s evil, like a stain that would spread over their entire home. Cursing it, damning it.

  Mother couldn’t let that man come back.

  She couldn’t.

  Mother believed him, though she never said the words.

  She wouldn’t let the monster near Rose, and that was all Thomas needed.

  But the monster came back anyway.

  Weeks later.

  Mother had all but forgotten him in her determination to find a “cure” for her son, somebody who would make him forget his insane notions that he could feel the emotions of others, that would make him forget his unhealthy devotion to the small mammals that came and went at all hours of the night.

  The monster returned. He wore a different face, but he felt the same. Thomas had known he was there. Thomas had known. But Mother wouldn’t believe him. Mother wouldn’t believe him, and then, it was too late…

  North Woods, WI

  She still slept when he came into the house, but he didn’t have much time.

  Not the time he needed to make sure the book was well and truly eliminated. They didn’t burn as easy as a sodding book should burn, after all. It was like whoever had crafted them had found some ungodly way to resist the laws of physics.

  Burning them required patience, time. Extra gasoline was preferable and Ren intended to make sure this bastard burned like wildfire.

  So instead of attempting to do it, he wrapped it with care and tucked it in a specially crafted space under the floorboards in his room. None of the demonic could sense anything about his home, so unless they stumbled on it through sheer dumb luck, they’d never find this place. And he’d make sure his guest didn’t find the book.

  He was also going to have some extra eyes on his home though. Already the nocturnal creatures were on the prowl. If anything, anyone out of place came near his home, he’d know.

  It was likely they wouldn’t bother with the book at this point. It wasn’t like there weren’t more. By now, they’d know what he was, and for the most part the demonic were cowards. They wouldn’t openly face off with the Grimms, because they never won.

  Even as that thought circled through his mind, he felt something ripple along his senses.

  A familiar, warm presence.

  Followed by another familiar, not-so-welcome presence.

  Elle. Michael. Then…Rip and Greta.

  Farther off, there was another, and another. Another.

  Seven in all, and three he didn’t recognize.

  Will had been rather serious about sending others, it seemed.

  Seven Grimms.

  In his woods.

  “Turning my home into the Enchanted Forest, Will?” Ren murmured as he rose and moved to the window. He saw a familiar, dark head of hair moving through the trees toward his home.

  Greta, with her man Rip at her side.

  She’d been the one to bring Mandy to them.

  He sensed the echo of her grief.

  And for a brief moment, he knew he needed to share that. At least that. Slipping out of the small bedroom he kept for guests, he used the balcony door to leave the house after one quick glance at the sleeping woman.

  “It was quick though,” Greta said, looking at Ren as though she needed that reassurance.

  “It would have been.” He wished he could tell her something to ease the pain, but she would know if he lied. And pretty lies were still just lies. Greta would take an honest truth any day, he knew that much.

  He should know that much about her. They were friends, of a fashion. She had helped train him after all. Her gift was akin to his, in a way. Although he couldn’t coerce people like she could, he could manipulate emotion. They tried to pair people with similar gifts together for a time.

  She hadn’t been his only trainer, but she had been easier—relatively speaking—to work with than others. More, she’d probably been his first friend. He looked at her and gave her a tight, strained smile, then met Rip’s solemn face.

  “She’s with Will now,” Ren said.

  Rip’s mouth twisted and he said, “I wish I could say that was comforting.”

  “Actually, it kind of is,” Greta said. “Will is…different with her.”

  “Less of a bastard or more?” Rip asked.

  She smacked him lightly. Then she scrubbed her hands over her face and sighed. “This never gets easier. Hundreds of years, and even knowing she will come back, it still hurts.” She leaned against her husband, studying Ren with knowing eyes. “Are you going to be okay? Want me to hang around tonight? There’s enough of us combing the woods that I won’t be missed if you need an ear.”

  “Hey, I’d miss you.” Rip squeezed her and nuzzled her neck, then glanced at Ren and gave him a smile. “But I’d understand too.”

  Ren shook his head. “It isn’t necessary.” He caught Greta’s hand in his and brushed a kiss against her fingertips. “But thank you.”

  Chapter Six

  Aileas came awake just as the door opened.

  She barely heard it, and if it wasn’t for the rush of cold wind washing over her body, she might not have awakened at all.

  There was no sound to give him away—no floorboards creaked and there wasn’t even the quiet brush of clothing rustling as he walked, but she knew he was there.

  Standing there, and watching her.

  Keeping her eyes closed and her breathing slow, she waited.

  Couldn’t open her eyes and look at him, not yet.

  She was too fucking terrified.

  As long as she didn’t move, she was fine. Granted, her heart raced like a car doing the Indy 500, but so what? It wasn’t like he…could…hear…

  Abruptly, her heartbeat sped up for reasons she couldn’t understand. What was he doing?

  “If you’re going to pretend to be asleep, would you like me to move you to my bed? It’s more comfortable.”

  Huffing out a breath, she opened her eyes and met the dark, unsmiling eyes of the man she’d encountered in the forest.

  Those eyes—hell, they were just plain unsettling.

  They looked black.

  Logically, she knew they weren’t. They couldn’t be jet-black, but she couldn’t discern any visible pupil, they were that dark.

  And she had the feeling they saw clear through to her soul, had the feeling he was fully aware of her terror and…other things.

  “So are you awake or should I put you someplace more comfortable while you decide?”

  Aileas scowled. “It’s pretty obvious I’m awake.”

  He shrugged lazily. “Well, if you decide you’d rather be asleep for a while, then be asleep.”

  “I can’t just decide to be asleep.” And there was no way she could sleep now, not with him standing so close, watching her. “Who are you?”

  With a queer smile on his lips, he murmured, “I’m called Ren.”

  Odd phrasing there. Called. Not my name is… Nervous, she swallowed and sat up. She edged away from him, farther down the couch. Once she had put some distance between them, she glanced around the airy, spacious cabin.

  It was brightly lit and open. The floor plan was laid out so that the dining room, living room, kitchen and bedroom were all one huge area. A long counter separated the kitchen area from the rest of the room and she could see the gleam of copper pots and pans hanging from a rack on the ceiling.

  On the other side of the floor, just across from where she sat on the couch, she could see the bed—and damn, what a bed. It was almost the size of a lake. The bed was tucked under a window every bit as big as itself, and
she could see the woods through the glass.

  There was a skylight over the bed too, and some part of her heart sighed in wistful envy. She’d always wanted a skylight over her bed so she could stare up at the stars as she drifted off to sleep.

  Along the far wall there were a couple of doors, a bathroom, she supposed—she hoped. Maybe another bedroom. But she already knew there wasn’t anybody else in the cabin with them.

  Call it gut instinct. Call it women’s intuition, whatever.

  But they were alone.

  How in the hell had they gotten here? She remembered the drive up here. Remembered almost hitting one giant-ass dog. This guy. A girl. And then things got very, very fuzzy. The girl. Where was she?

  A smirk twisted her lips. His…sister. “Where’s the other woman? Your sister.”

  He lifted a sooty-black brow. “What sister? I don’t have a sister.”

  Aileas gaped at him. “The woman. You know, the one you left standing by my car after she slashed my tires. The one you left down there with a bunch of crazy…”

  “Crazy what? And left standing where? I found you wandering through the woods.” He cocked his head, looking rather intrigued. “You’ve quite the imagination on you.”

  “I’m not imagining this,” she snarled.

  “Well, I don’t have a sister.” Then he frowned, his gaze shifting off to stare into the distance. “At least not anymore. I had a sister, once. She died, a long, long time ago.”

  She opened her mouth, that automatic apology on her lips, but it died, faded away. How many times had she wanted to scream when people had said, Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss. Sorry. They were sorry. What good had that done her?

  Sorry. Such an empty word.

  It meant nothing. Frowning, she edged away from him and stood. “You’re telling me you don’t have a sister. That there wasn’t a girl with you when you found me on the road. What about the dog?”

  “Dog? No. I don’t have a dog. And what’s this about a car?” He rested his chin on a fist and studied her face. “Maybe you cracked your head. As I said, I found you wandering around the woods, looking rather…well, out of it. Maybe you hit your head or something. Do you know your name?”