Grave Secret

By Sierra Dean

Sometimes a secret goes to the grave. Sometimes Secret puts you there.

It’s been a hell of a year for Secret McQueen, and the last thing in the world she wants is to get caught up in werewolf drama. But when her former fiancé Lucas Rain shows up asking for her help, she knows there’s no easy way out.

After making it known she wants nothing to do with him, Secret agrees to help find Lucas’s wayward sister Kellen. After all, how much trouble could one socialite get into in the city that never sleeps?

Unless that socialite has been spirited away by fairies.

Trying to track down a missing girl in an alternate reality is just the start of Secret’s problems, though. Someone appears to be killing teenagers, and the MO looks eerily similar to something for which the half-fairy oracle, Calliope, might be responsible. Throw in a rogue wolf pack claiming allegiance to Secret’s mother, Mercy, and she’ll have miles to go before she rests.


Warning: This book contains a promise fulfilled, sex that’s out of this world, and more heartache than one hybrid assassin can handle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Mar 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094440569

Sierra Dean

Sierra Dean is the kind of adult who forgot she was supposed to grow up. She spends most of her days making up stories, and most of her evenings watching baseball or playing video games. She lives in Winnipeg, Canada with two temperamental cats and one sweet tempered dog. When not building new worlds, she can be found making cupcakes and checking Twitter.

Book preview

Chapter One

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I don’t know if the fool’s errand I was on counted as good intentions, but I was pretty sure there was a chance it might take me straight to hell. Handbasket included.

It had been almost six months since Holden had made me promise I’d spend the night with him. Six months for me to pretend I’d never sworn to it and to ignore the reason for his request. Half a year for him to prod and tease and constantly remind me he was still there.

That he was still waiting.

He wanted a night to prove there was more between us than just friendship or a wildly unprofessional work relationship. Neither of us knew what that was, but he was bound and determined to find out.

I, on the other hand, wanted to keep disregarding the chemistry because I didn’t think there was room in my life for another man. Not with two werewolf soul mates. My love life had been complicated enough without throwing a vampire into the mix.

That was then.

Now I was a werewolf queen, but I no longer had any soul mates. One had stood me up at the altar on our wedding day, and the other couldn’t bear to look at me anymore.

Lucas publicly abandoning me had hurt like hell. Desmond looking at me like I’d betrayed him…that ripped my heart to shreds in a way I didn’t think I’d ever be able to heal. I’d always known I loved Desmond more than Lucas, but since Lucas was a werewolf king, he claimed to need me more. And being the sucker I was, I believed him.

He’d needed me when it was convenient.

Then I stopped being convenient, and he chose to fight over territory instead of being there for me when I needed him.

I was out two wolves and standing in the open-concept loft of a vampire who’d never been shy about letting it be known he wanted to be with me.

And I was lost.

Holden stared at me, and I took a good look at him for the first time since I’d awkwardly barged into his apartment. He wore perfectly tailored jeans and a white dress shirt with all the buttons undone, exposing a sculpted plane of pale, muscular abdomen.

I swallowed hard, and it didn’t escape my attention that his gaze drifted to my throat. He had a hard time hiding the fact he found my pulse appealing. I wondered—now that I was here—if he was planning to bite me the same way he had in countless dreams.

I… My voice trailed off as I tore my focus away from him and let myself take in the room. I hadn’t been to Holden’s apartment for a long time, and I was often impressed by the stark, minimalistic cleanliness of the place.

Hardwood covered the floors, and against the far wall was a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. I’d never asked what he covered them with during the day, or if he left them bare and hid from the light behind the Japanese paper-screen walls at the back of the apartment.

Secret. My name sounded different than it ever had before, at least from his lips. There was no exasperation, no teasing or sarcasm. The way he said it made the small hairs on my arms rise.

It proved to be harder not to look at him directly because my wandering gaze found the mostly nude Mapplethorpe portrait of Holden on the far wall, female hands strategically placed to hide the goods. I felt my cheeks flush, and when I turned away from it, he was still there, in person, more attractive than any portrait.

I don’t know what I’m doing here, I confessed.

He took a step closer, and the hunter’s instinct in me told me to back away, but I didn’t listen.

Sure you do.

Shaking my head, I added, I shouldn’t be here.

But you are. The obvious having been stated, Holden took the final step to close the space between us. A moment earlier I’d been sure there were miles of floor to keep him at a nice, safe distance. Now his hands were tentatively reaching for mine, and when his fingers twined with my own, I let out a shuddery breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

What are you doing? I whispered.

His grip tightened, and he pulled me towards him so my body was up against his. I didn’t usually run hot, and Holden was room temperature on a good day, yet somehow my skin was burning up the closer I got to him.

What do you need? he asked.

What did I need? What kind of question was that? I tugged my fingers free of his, and my focus locked on the pearl-colored buttons of his shirt. He might not be able to enthrall me with his gaze, but I still couldn’t look at him. I played with one of the buttons, rolling it between my thumb and index finger.

I could think of a dozen things I needed, none of which Holden could give to me. But I’d been drawn to him because I knew, deep down, that I might never have the things I once did. I’d made a mistake, agreeing to marry Lucas, and I was paying the price for it.

And if Desmond really was gone—which I was starting to believe he was—I needed to forget what it meant to love him. Which would be impossible. So the next best thing would be to feel something else.

Anything else.

I need a distraction, I said.

Holden placed his hand under my chin and gently lifted my face so I was looking at him. A distraction? The smirk playing on his lips did funny, wobbly things to my insides. He was almost painfully beautiful this close up. That wasn’t our deal.

You said I had to spend a night with you. Here I am.

He trailed strong fingers over my cheek and raked them through my hair, tangling himself in my curls. Should I be grateful?

The small hairs on my arms and the back of my neck bristled. The way he spoke was brusque and slightly predatory. He wasn’t exactly angry, but there was a new charge in the air that had little to do with seduction.

You wanted this.

I wanted you. I made no secret of that…no pun intended. Holden’s eyes were dark and held a hungry gleam. But hungry for what, I wasn’t sure.

If you wanted me, here I am.

"I want Secret McQueen, not some sniffling, mopey, pathetic schoolgirl who can barely get out of bed because she’s sad." The last word was heavy with insult.

My stomach clenched. What did you just say to me?

I said I don’t want you like this. His grip on my hair tightened, and he jerked my face close to his, close enough our noses touched.

I’d come here expecting to give myself to him, but now that he had me locked in his grip and was looking at me like a victim, I was having a huge change of heart.

Let me go, I demanded.

You’re the big, bad vampire hunter, he said, his gaze narrowing. Why don’t you make me?

Chapter Two

Bracing both of my palms against his chest, I tried to push Holden off me, but he wouldn’t budge. Moments like this functioned as a stark and frightening reminder that full-blooded vampires were stronger than I was. Holden had never flaunted his physical advantages before, but now he was acting like my resistance wasn’t impacting him at all.

"I command you to let me go." If he wasn’t going to yield to my strength, maybe he’d smart up and listen to my power.

The Tribunal isn’t here. The council isn’t here. It’s just you and me. He ducked his head, and his teeth grazed my throat. I convulsed.

Let me go, Holden.

Pointy fangs scratched the smooth surface of my skin. I balled my hands in his dress shirt because my knees were suddenly wobbly. I didn’t want to admit that in spite of my rage, I didn’t hate what he was doing to me.

Part of me wanted him to bite me.

A bigger part of me wanted to show him that I wasn’t going to let a goddamn sentry vampire get the best of me.

I grabbed his throat and shoved his head away from my neck, my fingers tightening as I continued to move him backwards across the room. The hungry gleam in his eyes was still there, but this time he wasn’t fighting me. I pushed him as far as the apartment’s main wall, where I shoved him hard into the brick.

What the fuck is wrong with you? I demanded.

So you are still in there.

I released him and put a few steps between us. You know, if this is how you treat the women you bring to your apartment, it’s no small wonder you’re single.

Holden smiled. I don’t usually bring such sad cases home with me.

I snorted. The girls you normally bring home are sad for entirely different reasons.

I’m sorry…what was that? Was that a joke?

At your expense, I reminded him.

I’ll take it. So long as you don’t start crying. You know how I feel about women who cry.

God, you’re charming.

And you came here to fuck me, so there’s no accounting for taste. He rubbed his throat and smiled at me.

Heaven help me, I smiled back. I was so out of practice, my cheeks hurt to make the gesture.

Do you have anything to drink? I asked.

If you’re hoping for blood, you came to the wrong place. I like—

Fresh from the tap. I know. You’ve used that line maybe eight million times since we first met.

Holden smirked unapologetically.

How about something a little harder? I regretted my choice of words immediately when he lowered his gaze and his grin broadened. Ugh, you’re incorrigible. Truly.

You love it.

He brushed past me and into the miniscule kitchen that made my own closet-sized one look downright palatial. Vampires, by and large, had no use for kitchens. If a girl was hoping for a home-cooked meal from her vampire boyfriend, she might want to reconsider her dating pool.

What he lacked in culinary trappings he made up for in a booze cupboard. Turning towards me, he held Jameson whiskey in one hand and Glenlivet scotch in the other.

My island nation sends greetings. Would you prefer the luck o’ the Irish or the kick in the teeth of Scotland?

I walked to the small counter that divided his kitchen from the main living space. Don’t kid a kidder, Chancery. We both know you’re English.

Aye. Holden had no discernible English accent in spite of spending his entire human life there. Turns out when someone spends damn near two hundred years in America, they tend to lose their accent over time. But he could switch it on as easily as twisting a faucet, and sometimes he let a Britishism slip into his speech. Right now he was doing it intentionally. And all those damned Scots and Irish are good for is booze, so take your pick. He jostled the bottles at me again.

And what if I was craving some love from Mother Russia?

He snorted. Does it look like I have a freezer?

I pointed to the scotch. Recently I’d tried to drown myself under my own weight in Jameson, and I didn’t think I’d be able to stomach the stuff for a while. Better to be safe than sorry. He pulled out two lowball glasses and plunked them on the counter, filling each with two fingers of scotch. I didn’t bother asking for ice given his recent proclamation of having no icebox. This felt like a straight-up scotch kind of night, anyway.

Thanks.

Don’t thank me. I’m just getting you drunk so I can take advantage of you.

"How do you know I’m not a weepy drunk? Wouldn’t that throw a wrench in your seduction plans."

He made a face, distorting his handsome features in an ugly and comical way.

Besides, I continued. "I came here offering myself to you on a silver platter and you got all high and mighty. You refused me. That’s a first. My ego is feeling a little bruised." I swallowed the scotch in two big gulps and slammed the glass down on the counter.

I stand by that move. Do I look like sloppy seconds to you? He indicated his toned abs and the generally unbearable hotness of himself.

The unbearable hotness of himself?

I stared into the empty glass. Did you roofie me?

Holden rolled his eyes. Again, I draw your attention to exhibit A. He pointed to his face. "Do I look like I need date-rape drugs to get women?"

No, you’re a vampire. The walking date-rape drug. I clapped my hand over my mouth, my eyes widening with horror.

Holden looked dumbfounded for a moment before he cracked a smile. Well, I’ll be damned. I know you told me before how much of a lightweight you are, but I thought you were exaggerating.

Refusing to move my hand from my mouth for fear of what might come out next, I shook my head. I was sort of pathetic when it came to alcohol. I could take a beating like nobody’s business, but give me a little booze and that was all it took. My heightened metabolism took me from sober to drunk in record time, as I was currently demonstrating to Holden. I had hoped my week of post-Desmond-break-up wallowing might have given me some heightened resistance to alcohol.

No such luck.

Holden reached across the island and pulled my hand away from my mouth. Now would be a pretty stupid time to start censoring yourself, Secret.

I might say something horrible.

That never stopped you from saying them when sober. He winked.

Damn, he had a point. I had said some wildly cruel things to him while under no influence except my own stubborn bitchiness.

Sorry, I whispered.

No you’re not. He topped off my drink and slid the refilled glass back towards me. Now drink that and tell me why you really came.

Chapter Three

I came for sex; I stayed for drunk therapy.

Nursing my second glass of scotch, I leaned against the counter and fixed Holden with a serious stare. What do you think I came for?

Honestly?

Have you ever been anything but?

He took a sip straight from the bottle and observed me with casual interest. I think you did come to get laid. But I also think you would have felt bad about it when you woke up later.

I rolled my eyes and took another sip of the drink, my head swimming. Shows what you know.

"Think about it for a second and then deny it."

I did as I was told. Was I here to sleep with Holden because I wanted to sleep with him, or was I here because there was an empty space torn out where my heart used to be, and I was willing to fill it with anything if I could just make it stop hurting?

I finished off my drink and made no attempt to tell him he was wrong.

Wanna do it anyway? I asked.

No. Holden screwed the top back on the bottle and returned it to its place in the cupboard. "But you are spending the night here."

Outside, the night was starting to fade into early dawn, and the yellow of the city lights was turning the color of a fading bruise. It was the purple-gold sign I needed to be far away from sunlight. I’d never make it home in time, and we both knew it.

Normally I’d think this was an excuse for you to get me into bed.

Secret. He took the glass out of my hand and cupped my chin. His gaze bore into mine with an intensity that made me shiver. When I get you into my bed for real, we’re going to need a lot longer than ten minutes if I’m going to make love to you the way I’ve been planning to all these years. Understand?

I swallowed hard and nodded. His words had the weight of a threat, but they had me wound tight and panting for him to follow through.

If the sunrise wasn’t a few minutes away from knocking me out completely, I was going to ask for a cold shower before going to his bedroom. As it was, I’d fall asleep next to him with my mind spinning.

I opened my eyes to find Lucas staring at me.

Oh good, I thought. I’m drinking and dreaming.

This is why you’ve been too busy to answer my calls?

Holden was still asleep, his arm wrapped around my waist a dead weight. I shoved him off me and sat up, my head clear. I rarely got hangovers in real life, so why should my dreams be any different?

The vampire’s bed was as basic as the rest of his apartment, just a mattress and box spring on a low maple bedframe with no head or footboard.

Continuing to ignore Lucas, I looked around on the rug for my socks. I was wearing the rest of my clothes from the night before, so dream-Lucas was up on his high horse for no good reason. Unless I’d started having sex fully clothed, I was innocent of whatever he was trying to imply.

Secret…

Fuck off.

Dream-Lucas crossed his arms and sighed. He was a high-and-mighty asshole even in my dreams. Maybe I should have taken that as a sign before I’d agreed to marry him.

Look, I came here—

No, Lucas, you don’t get to tell me what to do. This is my dream, and you’re not welcome here.

He skirted the bed so he was standing in front of me. I ignored him the best I could and continued to search the floor for my missing socks. Dream or no dream, my boots would be uncomfortable without them, and I needed any excuse to not look at the werewolf king.

This isn’t a dream.

"Then it’s a nightmare because you won’t fuck off."

He grabbed my arm, and for the first time I started doubting my dream theory. His grip was hard and painful and very, very real. I’d had lucid dreams before, but this had none of the strange, hazy quality of one of those.

This was happening.

I recoiled from his touch, clambering up on the bed and stumbling over Holden’s body. This finally roused the sleeping vampire who caught me just before I fell off the mattress. My attention was all for Lucas. Real, living, breathing Lucas.

"What are you doing here?" I shouted, trying to keep my voice full of anger and not hysteria.

I need your help.

Holden set me on the floor and got to his feet, standing between me and my ex-fiancé. Before I unleash the hellcat to give you a well-deserved shit-kicking, do you mind explaining why you’re in my apartment?

I need her help, Lucas repeated.

How did you know she was here?

We’re married. I can find her anywhere.

"We are not married, I screamed, a bit of the hysteria I’d hoped to avoid creeping up on me. You made damned sure of that."

Like it or not, Secret, you completed the ceremony. We’re married.

Holden caught me before I could dive across the mattress at Lucas. God knows what I would have done if I’d been allowed to get my hands on him. The vampire clamped me against his chest and held me tightly as I struggled to get at the werewolf.

"I think she’s choosing the or not option," Holden said smoothly, as if he weren’t holding my writhing body prisoner.

"Fuck you," I snarled and kicked out, making contact with Lucas’s stomach.

The attack somehow caught him by surprise, in spite of my obvious intention to do him harm. He doubled over, bracing himself against the bed while he caught his breath. I tried to kick him in the head, but Holden saw my plan before I could follow through and tugged me backwards, keeping me out of assault distance.

Not to question your methods, but perhaps you might want to stop insisting you’re married to the woman you stood up at the altar. Holden set me down but pushed me behind him, his body tensed to catch me should I attempt another attack.

The human ceremony was inconsequential. Lucas righted himself. Secret, I’ve tried to apologize for the unfortunate—

"You humiliated me. Not to mention leaving me exposed to Morgan. Desmond almost died because of you."

Lucas glared at me, the darkness of his expression evident from across the pitch-black room, which was kept safe from light by thick velvet curtains and the surprisingly dense Japanese screens. "Desmond. It’s always about Desmond. Well, before you fall off your high horse, you should acknowledge that Desmond was only there for you."

"Don’t try to blame this on me. He came to tell me you weren’t coming. Your best friend almost died, and his blood is all on your hands."

Let’s get real, here. He hasn’t been my best friend in a long time. Not since we met you.

A cold chill rocked me. Get out, I demanded, clinging to Holden’s arm to keep my composure. You have no right coming here.

You shouldn’t be here either, he said coolly.

Why? It’s not like I have anyone else in my life anymore.

Lucas moved suddenly, grabbing Holden’s nightstand and flinging it across the room where it shattered against the brick wall. "You are my wife. Don’t you forget that."

Holden stiffened, waiting for my reaction. I sucked in a breath through my nose and looked at the person I’d once loved. I tried to feel something, tried to remember what he’d meant to me. But all I saw was a villain who’d broken my heart and taken away the man I loved.

In spite of the connection through our mate bond, the one that told me he was blind with rage and desperate for me to listen to him, I felt no love. There was no sense of hatred either, though, in spite of how much I tried to will the hot, bitter taste of it up. I wanted to hate him almost as badly as I’d once wanted to truly love him.

All I felt was contempt and sadness.

What do you want? I asked, choosing not to quibble with him about our marital status. I’d have time later to find out the finer points of getting a werewolf divorce. We couldn’t be unbonded metaphysically—one of the less-fun aspects of a supernatural love match—but I’d be damned if I was going to stay his were-wife forever.

Can we speak alone?

To answer his question, I parked my ass on the rumpled sheets of Holden’s bed and pulled the vampire down next to me. "He’d hear us anyway. Not to mention it’s his apartment you broke into. He gets to stay."

The typical Lucas response would have been to insist we speak alone, but what he had to say must have been pretty important if he’d barged into a vampire’s loft at nightfall to haul me out of bed. He pretended as if Holden weren’t in the room with us.

It’s Kellen.

My blood ran cold. It was as if my whole body had been submerged in ice water, and all the sarcasm and loathing seeped out of me, replaced with sharp, urgent fear.

Did someone hurt her?

Lucas shook his head. I don’t know. The three words sounded heavy and defeated coming from his mouth. This was a man who didn’t understand what it meant to fail, and he was talking about his younger sister like he’d already lost her. My fear ratcheted up ten notches.

Obviously able to sense my discomfort, or just showing a rare sign of being a gentleman, Holden slid his hand over mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. I didn’t push him away, accepting the kindness without a word.

Looked like we were all going to pretend to be grownups for once.

I don’t understand, I said. Where is she?

I don’t know. This time the anger he’d been unable to mask before when shouting at me was more subdued, but I didn’t miss it. Have you…? Has she talked to you at all?

I took a brief mental inventory of when I’d last spoken to Kellen. She and my vampire protégée Brigit had been practically glued to my side for the week following Lucas’s…mistake. I’d seen more of Kellen than I had of my own half-sister Eugenia in that time. Not that I blamed Genie. She had responsibilities of her own to deal with in Louisiana, and Kellen’s only responsibilities were what parties she was meant to attend on any given night.

But after a week of heavy girl-bonding, I’d needed to be alone. I’d spoken to her on the phone, but not for several days.

I’m not sure, maybe Sunday? It was now Wednesday.

Lucas began to pace the small open area at the foot of the bed. I noticed for the first time how disheveled he looked. His normally tidy blond hair was a mess, and he had a good two days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. The clothes he wore were designer, but considering he was a billionaire, that was a default rather than a fashion-conscious decision. His shirt was wrinkled and buttoned improperly, and there was a coffee stain on the upper thigh of his jeans.

This wasn’t the Lucas I knew.

My Lucas was strong, levelheaded and hardly ever showed a sign of weakness. The man in front of me was frantic and letting it show. I wanted to stage a Moonstruck-style intervention and smack him across the face, hollering, Snap out of it! But he looked too far gone for that to help.

He was more than worried. He thought she was already dead.

How long has it been since someone talked to her? I asked.

If he heard me, he made no sign of acknowledging it. He continued to pace the floor until Holden finally chimed in. Hey, Fido. The lady asked you a question.

Normally Holden’s dog jokes rankled Lucas in the worst way. Tonight he merely stopped his caged-animal back-and-forthing and stared at us both as if he’d forgotten where he was. What?

How long has it been since someone spoke to Kellen? I repeated.

Jackson was with her last, and that was Monday. None of her friends have talked to her since then. No one in the pack has heard from her either. This wasn’t entirely surprising since Kellen was not a werewolf, but it was interesting she hadn’t talked to her human friends either.

I immediately shifted gears from worried-friend mode to PI mode. Where was she when Jackson saw her?

He dropped her off in Chinatown on Monday night. He was supposed to pick her up later that night, but she texted to say she wouldn’t be needing him. That was it.

Chinatown? What was Kellen doing in Chinatown? I could understand her blowing off Jackson, one of Lucas’s young werewolf lackeys, especially if she thought another plan would be more fun. Kellen was constantly in search of the better party. I was no stranger to getting a text-message blow off from her at the last minute. But text messages were also easy to fake. And if someone knew her habits, they’d know a text wouldn’t be questioned by anyone familiar with Kellen’s laissez-faire attitude when it came to polite behavior.

I pursed my lips together, mulling over what little information he’d given me.

You could have called me to ask this.

Maybe I would have if you’d answer my goddamn calls, he retorted. There was the bristling anger I was more familiar with from him. Good, I needed him angry. Just like