Dead to Rights (Happily Ever Afterlife #3)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

A mixture of freshly baked bread, brewed coffee, and tapped ale wafted on a nonexistent breeze. Laughter and raucous conversation spilled out from the shops that lined the cobblestone streets, and sand the color of wet coffee grounds crunched beneath worn boots.

All the typical sounds and smells of a small village, but for Fenton Truitt, it was hell.

Since arriving on the ebony shores of the Underworld nearly a year ago, every day had been a struggle to cope and adapt. Especially when he had to contend with being not only dead, but undead as well.

Neither of which he had consented to.

He had no memory of his death—either of them—but he distinctly remembered the events leading up to the first one.

It had been the early hours before dawn on a clear, warm night, and Dakota Blue had just given birth to the prettiest little filly. Mama and baby had been resting inside their stall, and as far as he’d known, all had been right in the world.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the blanket of stars that dotted the sky, and the moonlight that had rippled across the north pond just beyond the paddock.

He could just make out the yips and howls of the coyotes in the distance, their collective voices drowned out by the alert barks from the real heroes on his ranch.

He’d never had to worry about his little barn family, knowing they were safe with their pack of guardians watching over them.

That night, he had been leaning against the open entryway of the stables, exhausted but content. He had sensed the restlessness from the horses before he’d ever heard their soft snorts or prancing hooves, but by then, it had been too late.

The vampire had him dead to rights before he even knew what hit him.

From there, the details dissolved into brief flashes. A blur of red. A heavy weight perched on his back. A sharp pinch to the side of his neck.

Then darkness. If he had woken up at any point during his transition, he didn’t remember it.

And maybe that was a blessing.

It felt like ages ago that he had landed right there on the banks of the Acheron—confused, alone, not even knowing what he was, let alone why it had been done to him. Back in Texas, though, only a few short hours had passed since his mysterious demise.

Ranch hands would have already arrived for morning feedings, but no one would be looking for him. Not yet. Hell, it could be another year in the Underworld before anyone even noticed his absence topside.

He could accept his death. It happened to everyone eventually. The vampire part, however, had been a tougher pill to swallow.

He didn’t have anything against bloodsuckers in general. Granted, he’d only met one in his life that he knew of, but the guy had seemed decent enough.

Being turned against his will, however, just felt…violating.

To be fair, his transition into the afterlife hadn’t been all bad. He’d kind of been adopted into the royal family, so to speak, and as such, he’d been given support and education about what it meant to be an Otherling.

Still, there were some things his weird, chaotic new family couldn’t help him with, like cravings and curbing his impulses. They could coach him, offer him advice, but none of them truly understood what it felt like when he lost control.

And some things—or more specifically, someone —made maintaining that control a damn sight harder.

Exiting the alleyway beside the bakery, Finn paused at the top of the hill that led to the river. Having a job to do, a purpose, gave him something to focus on and helped ground him. One of those duties involved meeting new souls at the rickety pier.

Some drifted in quietly, resigned to their fate. Others came with a fire in their veins, still fighting an unwinnable battle, unable to let go of the world above. Most just seemed confused, maybe even a little startled.

In some ways, he felt a kinship with these strangers. After all, for the time being, he was both host and fellow traveler.

Though the weather never really changed—no seasons, no rain, no wind—today, a silver haze shrouded the river. The mist ghosted over the inky surface, its edges refracting the luminous orbs that glided along the current.

From his vantage point, he didn’t see any new souls awaiting the ferryman at the dock, but the shoreline wasn’t completely vacant either. Seated cross-legged in the onyx sand, a familiar silhouette gazed out across the water.

Noah Marsh.

It surprised him that so many people had a hard time distinguishing Noah from his twin brother, Keegan. To Finn, the two couldn’t have been more different.

Noah wore his hair a little longer, giving it more curl, and the strands shone with a paler, softer color of gold. His hazel eyes leaned a shade darker, and his lips appeared a smidge fuller, especially in the flicker of candlelight.

Probably the most noticeable difference, however, was the way he carried himself. Where Keegan bounced through his days like an excitable puppy, Noah strode with purpose and hard-won experience.

He smelled like moonlight—cool, bright, and a little wild.

As a human, Finn had never noticed the variety in the way people smelled. General things like perfumes and body odor, sure, but he hadn’t been able to separate one person from another based on scent.

While he still couldn’t track someone like a bloodhound, after his supernatural upgrade, he could definitely detect the subtle differences. Everyone had a sort of signature, something about their fragrance unique to them.

None of them made his gums ache or his mouth water, though.

And that made Noah Marsh dangerous.

More to the point, it made him dangerous, especially to Noah. Every encounter, no matter how casual or brief, pushed him right to the edge of his self-control, and yet everything about Noah demanded his notice.

Worse, he couldn’t seem to stay away.

If he had any damn sense, he’d keep his distance…for both their sakes. Yet something about Noah called to him, a siren’s song he couldn’t ignore, and every interaction left him craving more.

That excuse only took him so far, though, and if he cared about the guy at all, he’d leave him the hell alone.

His gaze lingered for a moment longer, taking in the sleek outline and gentle curves. He inhaled, bracing when the crisp, familiar scent stung his nose. Even muted from a distance, it was still far too potent.

Gritting his teeth, he turned away, leaving the river and his duties at the pier behind him as he retraced his steps to the main road.

He moved with purpose, searching for a distraction, but his thoughts remained stubbornly fixed on Noah. Every time he forced himself to walk away, the world always seemed a little more subdued—colors a shade too dim and sounds a note too distant.

Everything made duller by the ache of restraint.

Shoving away those self-pitying thoughts, he tried to focus instead on the humming life of the village. The blacksmith’s hammer clanged against his anvil in the distance. A steady thrum of conversation vibrated inside the bakery. Shouts and laughter exploded from the tavern.

All familiar, all safe, yet none of it enough to keep his mind from drifting back to the one person he had no business thinking about.

He’d made it halfway up the road when a sudden chill prickled along his spine, that unerring sense reserved for the uncanny.

For a moment, he paused, glancing over his shoulder toward the riverbank.

He half expected to see Noah emerge from between the buildings, but after several seconds, nothing happened.

Shaking his head, he pressed onward, jaw set, determined to outrun both his own nature and the magnetic pull that kept drawing him back to the water’s edge.

Eventually, he found himself at a ramshackle hut set a little apart from the other businesses in the village. For at least as long as he’d been there, the diner had been a gathering place, a central hub where people came together to share a cup of coffee and maybe a bit of gossip.

The door leaned crookedly in its frame, the weathered boards held together by hope and sheer will. Pushing his way inside, he winced, the shriek of the rusted hinges clawing at his ears like nails on a chalkboard.

The drone of conversation pressed in on him from all sides. The crackle of the fire made his skin itch. His right eye twitched with every steady drip of water from somewhere behind the battered counter.

Scents blended. The acrid stench of smoke mingled with the aroma of brewed coffee, making his stomach churn.

Weaving his way through the crowd, he sagged into a battered booth near the back window with a heavy sigh.

“Everything okay?” the other occupant of the table asked. “You look a little pale.”

Forcing himself to sit upright, Finn folded his hands together atop the table and dipped his head. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

“Ah, I see.” Prince Orrin Nightstar shook back the sleeve of his snowy white robe and motioned to one of the chipped mugs in the center of the table. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

He accepted out of habit and politeness, though the thought of actually drinking it made him queasy. While he waited for the elf to fill his cup, he let his gaze drift across the room, searching for comfort in the familiar surroundings.

This time, though, it offered none, and beneath the veneer of normalcy, he still felt the tension that stretched between the river and the village like a taut wire.

“Thanks,” he said when Orrin pushed the mug toward him, but he didn’t reach for it.

“Something on your mind?” the prince asked.

“Not really.” He shifted in his seat, anxiety making him restless. “I just can’t seem to settle.”

Eyes the color of storm clouds surveyed him across the table, the corners pinched with concern. “When was the last time you fed?”

Finn looked away and cleared his throat, unable to meet the prince’s gaze. “Couple of weeks ago.”

“Finn,” Orrin sighed. “We talked about this. You’re still new. You can’t—”

“I know,” he interrupted, not exactly in the mood for a lecture. “This is different, though.”

“Different, how?”

He turned back and shook his head. “I can’t explain it.” His hand curled into a fist atop the battered table, and a frustrated growl rolled through his chest, drawing worried glances from a few nearby villagers. “It started when I was on my way here, and it’s getting worse.”

“Calm down,” Orrin encouraged. “Breathe. Tell me what it feels like.”

He couldn’t calm down, though. That was kind of the point.

Looking across the table, he met the elf’s gaze and held it as he searched for the words to describe the emotions raging inside him. At first, he had assumed his encounter with Noah had been to blame, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Finn?”

“It feels like something bad is coming.”