Devil's Desire {A BWLM Novella}

The Crimson Night

Santiago De La Cruz's rise to power

The Crimson Night

Four years ago...

The full moon hung low, casting a ghastly crimson glow over the night. Christian St. James loathed crimson moons; they always heralded bad omens. He stared at his smartphone, contemplating the need to beef up security. You could never be too careful, especially when you were next in line to the throne.

The rhythmic beeping of monitors and the steady hum of the breathing tube were constant reminders of his father's mortality. Cancer had finally taken its toll on King Christian St. James II, leaving him in a vegetative state. Tomorrow, the doctors would pull the plug. Christian was here to say his last goodbyes to his father-or so everyone thought. Despite appearances, Christian wasn't that sentimental. He spun on his heel, eyes drawn to the insignia ring that gleamed faintly in the low light that graced his father's index finger: the bejeweled serpent wrapped around the sword.

His grandfather, Christian St. James I, had rightfully won it in a duel. Now, it was going to be his. He hungered for it, craved it with desperation. The power, the fortune, the respect that came with leading their secret society known-or rather, unknown-as The Sons and Daughters of the Serpent. He was ready for-

The room plunged into darkness, cutting off his train of thought. He grabbed his cellphone only to find the screen was totally black and wouldn't turn back on. The battery had been at eighty percent. Guided by the crimson light filtering in, he carefully made his way to the telephone, but there wasn't even a dial tone.

Christian froze at the sound of muffled screams and gunshots. His heart raced, and a cold sweat broke out across his skin. The door to his father's quarters swung open, and in walked the man he trusted with his life-Pablo. A machine gun slung over his shoulder, a pistol gripped in one hand.

"What's happening?" Christian demanded. "Who's attacking us?"

"It was an EMP," Pablo responded, closing the door. "We couldn't get communications back up with the guards on the north and south sides of the compound. Before we could even gauge the danger, we were under attack. We've lost a good amount of men." Pablo moved closer, the metallic scent of blood wafting from his clothes. "We can't stay here! We have to get moving!"

Christian's thoughts flashed to his mother, younger brother, and sister. He was almost afraid to ask, but the question plagued him. Although it was dark everywhere, the moonlight illuminated Pablo's hard features, his mouth was set in a grim line. Things weren't looking good.

He had to trust that the other guards were keeping the rest of his family safe. "Alright, let's go." Just as Pablo grabbed Christian and they were preparing to leave, more shots echoed from downstairs. There was no time to move his father, the king. Christian's survival was now more than ever of utmost importance. This night was already exacting a heavy toll.

A woman burst into the room, frantic, dressed in maid's attire covered in blood. She spoke rapid Spanish. "Señora, are you okay?" Pablo, ever the knight coming to a damsel's rescue, moved to help her.

The moonlight lit up her features, and Christian was stunned. The woman was so stunningly beautiful that for a moment he forgot the mortal danger growing ever closer. He had never seen her before. His family employed over a hundred staff members on the compound. She must have been a new hire. When this was all over, he would find her and court her. She would be a distraction until he found a wife worthy of him.

The beautiful woman fell into Pablo's arms. Both men miscalculated the danger, thrown off by her show-stopping beauty in the crimson light. All Christian registered was a flash of silver before the woman plunged a sharp object into Pablo's trachea. Before his body hit the floor, she disarmed him and pointed the gun in Christian's direction.

"How dare you," Christian spat, though his mouth quivered, his palms sweaty. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He understood now that her beauty was a mask to make men like him feel comfortable as she drew near for the killing blow. How many men had she led to their deaths with her beauty?

The woman cocked her head to one side, peering at him in the darkness. She approached, hips swaying, and he backed up instinctively. "You're as spineless as a jellyfish. Weak." Her voice was like a siren's call, melodious even as she insulted his dignity. The whites of her eyes flared at the word weak.

"Indeed," a deep, haunting voice from the darkness concurred. A giant muscular man crossed the threshold, taller than Christian, dressed in tactical gear. The man brought an air of menacing intent.

"Don't you go near him!" Christian spat as the man approached his father's bedside. "Ohhh!" The woman struck him in the gut with a fist and quickly spun behind him as he doubled over. A quick kick to the back of his thigh brought him to his knees. She grabbed a fistful of Christian's hair and forced him to watch as the man pried the insignia ring from his father's cold finger. With a smile, the man placed the ring on his own finger.

"About fucking time," the woman said.

"That ring belongs to me!"

"Come and get it... ," the man goaded. His smile was sharp as knives to punctuate his words. Christian gazed down at the floor. He didn't have the skill to face this man. They both knew it.

"The council will never accept you as the new king." It hit him then. He wasn't going to make it out of here alive. He wasn't going to see his throne. This wasn't just a random attack. It was a power play. This is what his father feared when he became ill, which was why he tried hard for so long to hide his illness. Christian had been too comfortable, thinking his family was untouchable. "Where's my mother and my other siblings?"

The man's laugh felt like frostbite as it echoed throughout the room. "Don't you worry. You'll be joining them soon." Christian tasted death on the tip of his tongue. It was coming for him soon. He understood that. He wasn't much of a family man, but it gave him some comfort that he didn't have to walk in this world alone.

The man moved closer, kneeling so they were face to face. Christian drew in a breath. He knew this man. They had grown up together. The man's mother, Maria, had been Christian's nanny for ten years. It was a disgrace that the Duchess Maria had to serve the king's children, a punishment for trying to escape the society. Three years after she was relieved of her duty, she committed suicide. But it didn't matter now. Christian was going to be reunited with his family.

The man smirked, aiming his pistol at Christian St. James's forehead. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

One week later...

"Order! I'll have order!" Judge Kian Michaels called the grievance meeting to order. Every man from every powerful family was in attendance. News of the successful ploy for the throne had reached everyone's ears. An emergency meeting had to be called. Some claimed the act was preposterous! Some said good riddance! Others said bloody brilliant!

"Treacherous snake! You should be punished for your actions!" Treacherous snake, really? Judge rolled his eyes. That was literally the basis on which their secret society was built.

"And who's going to punish him? You, Lord Branstrumm? Sit down! Order! I said order!" Judge pounded the gavel down on the lectern. The men all settled. "A De La Cruz now sits upon the throne. The St. James's reign has now come to an end. To avoid anymore in-fighting, we must accept what has happened."

The men began to murmur among themselves. Judge pounded the gavel again. "De La Cruz! In order to secure your position as king, you must marry a daughter of the serpent and produce an heir. Can you manage that?" Although Judge was supposed to be unbiased, he supported the De La Cruz's rise to power. The St. James house had grown weak. He didn't want to bend a knee to another St. James, least of all to Christian St. James-a spoiled and soft man who cared more about pleasure than the affairs of state. They needed a man with a head on his shoulders and a touch of ruthlessness. That man was De La Cruz, his friend.

"Yes, Judge. I can manage," De La Cruz responded with a smirk. He gazed around the room with cool indifference, taking note of all the heads of families who were in support and who were against his rise. Foes who would try to make a play for the throne themselves. And as long as there was breath in his body, he would be up for the challenge.