Noc City (Noc City Trilogy Book 1)
Noc City
Book One
Penn Cassidy
Noc City
Book One
Penn Cassidy
Copyright © 2020 Penn Cassidy
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2020
Editing: Meghan Leigh Daigle - Bookish Dreams Editing
Formatting: Inked Imagination Services
Contents
Disclaimer
About Noc City
Spotify Playlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Afterword
Other Books by Penn Cassidy
Disclaimer
This is a DARK reverse harem book. There's a LOT of blood, sex, MM, and swears, not to mention references to suicide, abuse, and trauma. This is your fair warning, so if you say you like dark romance...please understand that this is a DARK ROMANCE.
P.S. If you are in any way related to me…I urge you to reconsider this read, or else our family dinners are about to get weird.
About Noc City
They call me the Angel of Noc City, but it's all a lie. The cameras see what they want to see as my father spins half truths and dangerous propaganda.
Darklings are dangerous. Monstrous. Unholy. They're a threat to humans everywhere, and they need to be destroyed, despite the decades of peace.
But what happens when Noc City’s poster girl discovers she's one of the monsters they fear? I can tell you what happens.
Chaos. Fear. War.
I thought death was my only way out. Sweet, dark oblivion. But I was wrong. The way out might just be through a room of chains, blood, and cravings…of sex, pain, and betrayal. My way out of this hell might rest in the hands of the most dangerous creatures Noc City’s ever known.
Spotify Playlist
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/399AVc6tHpGzfE2i6OjVqh?si=Vc3vFrgqRCqeKazHvmYxSQ
“Just tell me what you need to know,” I said breathlessly. “It’s what you brought me here for, right?” I was still tied to the wall hours later.
I must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when I came to, one of the hooded men was standing in the center of the room, staring at me with his arms crossed over his chest. I wondered how long he’d been here, watching me sleep. Once again, I marveled at the size of him. He was all broad shoulders, wide stance, and thick arms.
“You realize I have every reason to despise him, right?” I gave him a dubious stare. “Probably even more than you do…”
He loosed something that sounded like a huff or a snort, shaking his head. I felt a sliver of satisfaction that I’d been able to coax a small reaction from him at all. Surprising me, he said, “I highly doubt that, Miss Harker.”
I chuckled darkly. “Miss Harker? A bit formal for a hostage situation, don’t you think?”
His shoulders dropped ever so slightly, and I imagined he was grinning under that mask. I was pushing my luck with these guys, but the longer they held me here, the more I thought about it objectively. I truly didn’t think they wanted to cause me real pain for the sake of pain itself. They needed me for something and were simply using the most efficient way of going about achieving it.
“Ryan Harker has something of mine, and I want it back,” the man said finally.
Okay…I was not expecting that. “What does he have?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter right now.”
“I think it does,” I snapped, suddenly even more irritated than before. “You kidnapped me, tied me up like an animal, and drank my blood without my consent. You don’t think I at least deserve to know why? You know my biggest secret. I think I’m entitled to something.”
The man came closer, taking slow, deliberate steps. I felt my stomach tighten as he came within touching distance, looming over me like a shadow. I could see my angry brown eyes in the reflection of the mirror mask. I looked paler than ever, and there were dark circles under my eyes—a product of the blood loss, no doubt.
“Tell me, Miss Harker…” He came closer, uncomfortably so. I wondered if he could hear my heart racing. Taking a gloved finger, he ran it down the side of my face, trailing it downward towards my collar bone. “Has the bloodlust started yet?” My breath caught as he clicked his tongue. “The cravings can be…intense, to put it mildly.”
Turning my face away, I clamped my mouth shut. At the mention of bloodlust, I could feel a stinging in my gums, reminding me of the last time I nearly lost control. I remembered the wild feeling of desperation in that crowd at Rue. I remembered my eyes in that bathroom mirror, glossing over in black and red, tiny spidery veins snaking through my skin. I was a monster. Unhinged. Thirsty.
“There she is…” His thumb brushed my throat, and he laid his palm on the side of my neck. I gulped hard as he brought his face closer. “Have you ever indulged, Serenity?” He said my name like he knew me, and I swear my pussy throbbed. My fangs were fully extended now. “No, you wouldn’t have, would you? Not the Angel of Noc City.”
“Get your hands off of me,” I gritted out, trying to keep my fangs concealed. Despite my paleness, I knew my cheeks were turning scarlett. I wasn’t embarrassed, per se. I was ashamed. The power his words had over my body made me sick.
“Why don’t you tell me what you really want, little dhampir?” he cooed, and the voice box crackled, sending a thrill through my body. “Did you know dhampirs can survive off the blood of both humans and vampires?”
My heart gave a painful lurch. No, I hadn’t known that. Why would I?
I could imagine he was grinning under the mask now, knowing he had my attention. He backed away slightly, but instead of leaving, he made a show of slowly pulling off his gloves. Strong pale hands were revealed, each finger holding a different ring with weird, unfamiliar symbols etched into them. I recognized only one, though I’m sure the thought didn’t cross his mind. I stared at the symbol of the Nocturne Coven on his middle finger. It was the shape of an upside down cross with a snake coiled up the center. I was right. I knew exactly who my captor was.
I watched in fascination as he transformed his pointer finger into a claw. His nail lengthened to a lethal point, and he brought it to the opposite wrist.
“They say a dhampir’s first taste of vampire blood is sweeter than ambrosia. They say it’s better than the best fuck you’ll ever have and then some.” I could feel his stare down to my bones as he added, “Care to test that theory?”
His smile was too wide. White teeth glared in the midday sun like a toothpaste commercial. The golden hair, the fair, peachy skin, and the laugh lines around those twinkling blue eyes mocked me. My stomach rolled, threatening to send its contents over the back of my father’s four-thousand-dollar Armani suit. The mental image was almost enough to bring a grin to my lips. Almost.
It was too bright out, and my eyes were already stinging. The sun was turning my skin pink, and my mouth had never been so dry. I hated the oppressive heat of the summer. I hated sweating and squinting and shifting around uncomfortably, knowing relief wouldn’t come for a while yet. My mother’s hand in mine was the only thing anchoring me to the spot, even though I felt like ripping mine away and brushing my palm off on my expensive dress. I could feel her diamond rings against my skin and the slick of sweat beading on her palm.
Her serene smile was as fake as the bland expression on my face. The crowd watched and waited, laughing politely every time Senator Ryan Harker, my father, cracked an unfunny joke. It was mostly humans in this crowd—surprise, surprise—but it was hard to tell sometimes. I thought I’d spotted several shifters towards the back of the crowd earlier, but the grassy expanse in front of the museum steps was too packed with humans now to tell anyone apart.
My father’s voice was grating and made my stomach roll. He didn’t even sound like himself up there. He sounded happy, jovial even, but it was all a ruse. He was charismatic and handsome when he wanted to be. An all-American man with the world in his palm—the same palm I could still feel on my cheek like it was burning down to the muscle. My makeup artist did a wonderful job covering it up for me. His college ring had caught my left cheek, slicing a little too deep to really call it a scratch. The woman had simply tsked, but I could see the turmoil in her worried eyes every time she was forced to hold her tongue for the sake of her job. On camera, I probably appeared soft, unblemished, plucked, and polished to within an inch of my life—all the things he needed me to be for his adoring fans.
I missed the entire last half of his speech, eyes glazing over and staring at nothing in particular. Honestly, I didn’t need to hear it to know what he was blathering on about. The usual rhetoric. It was always more of the same shit, and people just ate it right up. I could hear him right now, spewing the same garbage as usual—humans were the superior race, darklings were second class citizens and a threat to god fe
aring humans everywhere. The usual hatred and malice, nothing new. I had to stand up here and smile like I didn’t feel like throwing up every time he opened his mouth.
The roar of the crowd had my focus snapping back into place. They clapped for my father, chanting his name over and over again like some kind of cult following. I had no idea how long I’d been tapped out for, but it was happening more and more these days. Sometimes, I’d feel myself zoning out when I needed to be paying attention and pretending to be a loyal member of the Harker family. My eyes would unfocus and my mind would wander, only to clear however many moments later, usually to find my father glaring at me with those twinkling eyes that promised pain when the cameras were gone.
My mother squeezed my hand once before letting go. She left my side and joined my father at the podium, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. She looked perfect today. The picture of a beautiful human housewife. White blonde hair that she passed down to me flowed over her shoulders in delicate waves. Her fitted cream-colored suit was pressed and went perfectly with her nude Prada pumps. Flawless. Perfect. Elodie Harker was perfect.
My father slung an arm around her casually, but I could tell his fingers on her hip were digging in deep enough to leave a bruise later. It was a good thing her stylist put her in pantsuits most of the time, because the media would be in nothing less than a frenzy at the sight of the black and blue legs I knew she was hiding underneath that silk and cashmere. It was a pity she lost her backbone somewhere along the way, but that thought implied she had one to begin with, which was doubtful.
It was my turn now. Time to play pretend for a little while longer. To play the part he expected me to play. I’d do it. For her, I’d do it. I walked to his other side, plastering a fake smile on my face. I even showed some teeth today for a little razzle dazzle. The muscles around my lips were straining and burning, fighting a losing battle once again. His arm came up around my shoulders, and it was all I could do to keep the flinch inside. That hand felt like slime coating my now very sunburned skin. His fingers dug into my bicep, pressing down hard enough to force a brighter smile out of me. It was a warning—play the doting, flawless angel of a daughter for the world to fall in love with. Pretend we were the perfect nuclear family.
But we weren’t. Not at all. We were missing one. Sean’s absence was a heavy weight at my side. Even after nearly a full twelve months, I could feel my fingers twitching to reach for my older brother, itching to grasp his hand and squeeze. Sean and I had a code. It was something we’d made up when we were toddlers and our parents wanted us to keep our mouths shut around their politician friends. One squeeze for I’m here. Two squeezes for this is stupid, three squeezes for I love you.
My eyes burned so badly, I had to pretend it was the glare of the setting sun. I missed Sean so much it made me sick sometimes. Even sicker than the feel of my father’s grip on my shoulder. We waved and smiled for the crowd of dumbass human supporters. Most of them were holding up signs with our last name on it. Harker for Senator. Again, I should say. He’d been state senator for years, always running unopposed, and I saw no foreseeable end to the madness. He was the beloved voice of the humans in Noc City and the surrounding territories of our home state. This was the last place on Earth this man should have any control over. If only these smiling sheep knew what lurked beneath that toothpaste grin.
They were just like him though, those who flocked to these events—humans who thought the world would be better off without the darklings. Bigots, as I liked to call them. Racists who didn’t deserve the smiles they wore or the comfortable jobs and lavish homes paid for with blood money. My father was an icon for these people and human districts stretching statewide. Ryan Harker was their leader, and in turn, so was I in a sense. My face was plastered on pamphlets, posters, television, and social media, right there alongside the smiling tyrant.
His fingers began digging into my arm even harder than before, and his fingernails were sharp, burning into my sun sensitive skin. I had to keep smiling, pretending everything was perfect. Pretending I didn’t want to switch places with Sean every single day.
When our time was up, I was ushered off the stage by our security detail. I walked fast but still manageable, trying to avoid any unnecessary touching. Sometimes those guys got a bit handsy, and for twelve months now, my temper had run hot. My mother and I were led around the back of the museum where the press conference was being held and shoved into a limo under the flash of cameras, while my father stayed back to pose for photos. I was used to it. The fame. The lack of privacy. I just went through the practiced steps like an emotionless doll most days, my body just going through the motions.
The cheers abruptly died down when the limousine door closed. The fake smile dropped off my face, and I immediately reached down beneath the seat to where a built-in fridge awaited and promptly threw back three healthy slugs of thick, rich wine that I’d made sure to stash there earlier. My mother just watched vacantly, her watery green eyes as dead as my soul. Sweet bliss coursed through my veins. I leaned my head back against the headrest, kicking off my heels, and shut my eyes.
“You’re lucky your father can’t see you right now.”
“He’s not my father.” Snapping my eyes open, I glared at my mother. “You made sure of that.” It was a low blow, but deserving. Maybe it was wrong of me to blame her. Maybe it was stupid to be angry at the fact that I was alive. If she never had the affair in the first place, I wouldn’t exist right now.
“I don’t have the energy for this right now, Serenity.” She pinched the bridge of her nose with manicured fingers, closing her eyes. Just like that, I could no longer feel the oppressive weight of her misplaced judgment.
“Nobody asked you to speak, mother,” I sneered, taking two more mouthfuls of sweet red wine before closing my eyes again. I was thirsty. So fucking thirsty my throat contracted, and it was dry like I’d chewed on cotton balls. I knew I needed something other than this wine. I knew it, but I ignored it.
I didn’t get why she had to be such a bitch when we were alone. I was twenty-four years old for fuck’s sake. I could drink myself to death if I wanted to, and nobody could tell me otherwise. Sometimes, I wondered if that wasn’t the preferable way to go. At least I could control that. Actually, I was lying to myself yet again. I couldn’t get drunk. Not really. Not that I’d had much practice. I was a good girl up until twelve months ago, with good grades, a handsome boyfriend, lots of friends… Another life entirely.
It was only a hazy blink of an eye before we were pulling up to the front of our mansion. Tall black gates were flanked by brick and shrubbery, behind which a white columned monstrosity stood. Ryan Harker was a try-hard, and it was pathetic. He thought so highly of himself, but to me, it was just tacky and pathetic. I’d always hated this house, even before all the bad days. Sean and I used to pretend we were living in the White House sometimes. We’d run around the manicured lawns, laughing and teasing each other mercilessly, while our security detail frantically tried to corral us back inside. Such memories this place held…but not all of them were happy.
Spread out through the property were tall stadium lights fitted with bright UV bulbs that came on every evening at six-thirty. My father had them built out of swirling, decorative wrought iron posts to make them more palatable for company and the media, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was stuck in some kind of prison. There hadn’t been a vampire attack in the entire history of the city’s founding. He was just a douchebag in my opinion.