Page 1 of A Killer Crescent Valentine

CHAPTER 1

“Soooooo,” I said, twisting my mouth to one side as I looked at the corpse on our front lawn, “that’s not a good sign.”

Dean crouched beside the mangled body of one of Blake Hall’s residents—someone who’d been sent to the huge gothic manor house because they either a) misbehaved, b) had magic that was deemed too dangerous to be around the public, or c) a little from column A, a little from column B.

I was a special case. I’d been brought here because I was a witch with a wolf form and very, very dangerous magic. Dean Garrick, the very sexy wolf shifter who recruited for Blake Hall1 and brought me here, had later learned I was a renowned hitlady called Graves—another reason for me to be incarcerated.

But the main reason I belonged here was because it was where my mates lived—my gentle, cuddly alpha Hugh; my ancient, super deadly (and super sweet) vampire Brannigan; my asshole-to-everyone-else-but-squishy-hearted-to-me witch Edison; my utterly unhinged, maniacally romantic vampire Slasher; and my overprotective, over-serious, over-growly, and slightly neurotic alpha Dean.

I twirled a lock of his silver hair around my finger as he peered at the mangled corpse of a twenty-something man. I couldn’t tell by the scent what his species or magic was, but I was betting witch.

“He’s a wolf,” he murmured.2 “These marks were made by claws like on the other bodies, but these are teeth marks on his arm. And part of the skin has been torn off.”

“Maybe the killer got snackish,” I suggested, frowning at the mangled body. This was the third in as many weeks, and it confirmed my suspicions—we had a serial hunter on our hands. Someone in the grounds, or in Blake Hall itself, was picking off our people. And nobody fucked with my home without meeting my wrath. “So this confirms it. You said twice was a coincidence.”

“But three bodies is a pattern,” Dean agreed with a sigh, getting to his feet and pulling me closer. His warmth pressed to my front, delicious enough to make my toes curl inside my skull-and-cross-bone boots. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone until the killer is found,” he warned, a rumble of alpha-ness in his voice that made me arch into him.

“When do I ever go anywhere alone?” My mates were clingy, protective, stalkery bastards. Just how I liked them. “Don’t worry, Sexy Sir, no one’s gonna hurt me.”

I echoed the promise with a taunting kiss, the softest brush over his bottom lip. Like I knew he would, Dean made a deep, throaty sound and tightened his hands on my waist, scraping his canine teeth across my bottom lip until I parted my mouth.

A delicious shudder of heat went through my body, raising my temperature as my mate kissed me deep and rough, stealing my air, making my head spin. Holy fuck could Dean kiss. I whined and pressed against him, and swore I felt every sensual lick and demanding suck against my pussy as well as my tongue.

“Do you think you two could leave the copulation for somewhere there isn’t a corpse?” the world’s biggest killjoy—and one of my worst enemies—interrupted. Ivelle. The woman who ran this whole thing, who thought it was a fun idea to imprison supernaturals just because they were different and unwanted, and then thought it was an even better idea to put them into dangerous trials that almost killed them as punishment for the tiniest, teeniest thing they did wrong.

I was going to kill her. I just hadn’t decided how or when.

Without breaking away from Dean’s addictive mouth, I raised my hand and gave her the middle finger. Dean growled, fingers pressing deep into my hips, but he tore his mouth from mine. He didn’t even give me another kiss when I pouted.3

“It’s the same killer, isn’t it?” she asked, giving us both a narrow-lipped scowl when we parted. I returned it with a warning stare.

“It is,” Dean agreed, huskier than before. I smirked. “The slash marks are the same width and depth, and it’s too much of a coincidence that all three have been killed by a cut to the throat. My best guess is a wolf.”

How did he talk to eloquently when he’d just kissed me senseless? I needed to up my game and kiss him senseless.

Ivelle crossed her arms over her chest. She was wearing a corseted black dress whose skirt resembled cake frosting, if the frosting was on a goth wedding cake. “The one witness we have said she saw wings disappearing into the woods, which seems to rule out a wolf.”

“Could be an angel,” I piped up, resting my head on Dean’s shoulder to bat my lashes at my enemy. Judging by the vein that pulsed in her forehead, my irritation tactics worked. “Or a murderous cupid.”

“If the killer didn’t have wings, I’d know exactly who was at fault,” she replied, teeth grinding. It had been four months since our feud began, and we hated each other more with every passing day. Which was a little awkward, since she was Brannigan’s bestie.

“Too bad they are winged,” I replied sweetly, ignoring Dean’s pinch of warning to my hip. “So, a white-winged creature is picking us off. I call dibs on hunting it.”

Dean’s chest rumbled with disapproval, but Ivelle smirked. “Good idea.”

If she thought hunting this killer would get me murdered, she was going to be very disappointed. There’d only be one body at the end of my hunt, and that would belong to whoever thought it was a good idea to start killing members of my big, crazy criminal family.

I wrapped my arms around my Sexy Sir when his disapproval became palpable. And if I slid a hand down to squeeze his ass, well, he was my mate. Who was going to stop me?

“Come on, it’ll be fun. And the sooner we eliminate the threat, the safer we’ll all be.”

“The safer you’ll be,” be mused, glancing down at me, whiskey-brown eyes softening at the plea on my face. “Fine. Let’s get the guys together and we’ll come up with a plan.”

“Yes!” I pumped my fist, excitement making me wiggle on the spot. “The Cupid better watch out. Rebel Falcon and her murder mates are on the case.”

“We’re not calling them the Cupid,” Ivelle said sharply.

But it was almost Valentine’s day, and the killer had white wings. They were obviously a killer cupid. If she couldn’t see that, she was an idiot. I cast a look at the head of Blake Hall that told her exactly that; with a deep sigh, she turned and headed back inside, leaving us to clean up the body.

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