Pieces (Patchwork #1) Read online

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  Taking Shots

  Trying to Score

  Empty Net

  Falling for the Backup

  Blue Lines

  Breaking Away

  Laces and Lace

  A Very Merry Hockey Holiday

  Wanting to Forget

  Overtime

  Rushing the Goal

  Bellevue Bullies Series

  Boarded by Love

  Clipped by Love

  Hooked by Love

  Taking Risks

  Whiskey Prince

  Becoming the Whiskey Princess

  Standalone

  Let it be Me

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  In New York City, an underground society of supernatural beings exists, hidden among everyday humans. They don’t know of our activities or any of our secrets.

  The districts of the Works are made up of vampires, wolves, shifters, witches, and I’m in the fifth and arguably most important district, the Patchwork. My father is the leader of our group, and he oversees all of the other factions.

  As his only daughter, that makes me the princess of it all. Cool, right? Actually…no.

  Sure, I live in a mansion and money isn’t an object, but that doesn’t matter because I can’t leave. I have a guard who follows me around 24/7. My father and three older brothers treat me like I’m a fragile piece of glass, never allowed to take an independent step or make any decisions on my own.

  It’s beyond frustrating—especially since my father essentially runs my life.

  He says what I do, when I do it, how I do it, and all that jazz. He tests his formulas and new techniques on me. I’m a walking science experiment.

  I hate it.

  I hate my life here.

  But then he comes along: Killian.

  He’s just some vampire…or so I thought.

  But you’ll have to read my story to find out what I mean. To know my secrets.

  Until then, though, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Rebecca von Stein.

  And I’m a descendant of Dr. Frankenstein.

  Welcome to the Works.

  This book is for Bobbie Jo Haynes, aka, my very best friend for life.

  While she is my world and has been my biggest support for not only this book but all my writing, I’m pretty sure if I didn’t dedicate this book to her, she would cut me into a billion pieces. Also, she is the one who got me into Supernatural, which is the show that inspired me to try out paranormal romance.

  So here you go, Bobbie, I love you, and thank you.

  Also, Michael, this book is not for you—because it wasn’t your thing.

  Blinking my eyes open, I suck in a breath as my father’s fingers thread through my hair. Pain, I feel pain, but I knew that was coming. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’m trying to focus, but tears burn my eyes, falling down the sides of my face as I attempt to draw in another breath.

  “You’re fine, my sweet Rebekah. Take a breath. Don’t cry, my love,” my father whispers, his fingers dancing along my hair, but it doesn’t work.

  Like everything else, I have no control over the tears that stream down my face. I’m a glass case of emotions that my older brothers have no clue what to do with and are in fear of breaking at any moment. My father, he does okay, but then, when you have a kid with a human, it can go either way. He could have left me or taken me. He took me, and he loves me more than he could ever express. Like, too much. Suffocatingly, actually, but he only means well. I think. I don’t know.

  Being who I am, or rather, what I am, I guess I should be thankful he worries so much. I could be killed at any time. One shot to the heart, and unlike him or my brothers, I would bleed, and they wouldn’t be able to bring me back.

  Because I’m only a half descendant of Dr. Frankenstein.

  I know what you’re thinking, “Oh my God, that’s so cool.” Um, no, it’s wack. You see, my mom, she was a human, not even a shifter or a vampire or a wolf, nothing cool, just human. And because of that, my father is completely and utterly freaked out that I’ll die. Like my mother did. Not that he loved her or anything. She was a one-night stand. That’s totally gross to think about since my father is ancient, like almost two hundred years old, and ew, him having sex makes me gag. But whatever, he’s protective.

  So protective that I don’t go anywhere. Like, ever. Well, except the bar that’s attached to our house, and even then, I have guards who watch my whole shift. I think the only reason he lets me work is because I drive him crazy with my constant complaining about wanting to do something with this thing called a life. If he had his way, I’d stay in my room where no one could get to me.

  And believe me, he’s tried that.

  Sometimes, I don’t get it. He’s raised me to defend myself. I’m not like my brothers, who have been raised and made to defend our home and legacy, but I can survive. I can take down anyone who tries to take me out, efficiently, yet he still worries.

  It’s frustrating, and as I sit here in the infirmary, my lower half burning with pain, the tears rolling down my face, I squeeze my eyes shut. I hate it in here. The smell of flesh, blood—my blood since no one else bleeds—along with the smell of failure from my father. It’s radiating off him, and I guess I get it.

  I mean, this legacy, the Patchwork as it’s known, is something that goes back so far that sometimes I can’t fathom it. If I were some human looking back at it, even I wouldn’t believe the stories of Frankenstein could be true, but they are. It is all real, but something that wasn’t in the books or the lore is that Dr. Frankenstein had a child. And that child had a child, who had four more children. When those children lost their father to the plague, one of the boys became so obsessed with his great-grandfather’s old books that things happened. He discovered alchemy, the science of keeping people alive, and soon he found a formula that made him immortal.

  That boy was my father.

  William von Stein.

  Drunk with the power he had just discovered, he administered the formula to his three other brothers. But he was still so young in his work, and only one of his brothers, Samuel, survived with him. The other two died during the surgery, and that’s when my father and Samuel were discovered—dumping the bodies, of course. Fun story, my father speaks of it fondly, even if it does freak me out a bit. In my head, witch-hunts, pitchforks, and angry villagers are not fun, but my father said it gave him a rush, and soon Samuel and he fled.

  He changed his last name from Frankenstein so no one would know who he was. So his past in Geneva wouldn’t follow him. He taught Samuel everything, both of them intelligent and kind of crazy that they were able to completely change everything about each other so they no longer looked like brothers. They replaced their blue eyes with brown, created a different nose and chin. Everything was different, and my father was ready to build an empire.

  To his surprise, he did.

  He came to New York on a little boat from France. He scouted what now is known as Manhattan to find the most distinguished and prestigious people. He wanted the best to make his clan of immortals. I guess he did that since he figured he should like the people he planned on spending eternity with. Anyway, he promised them immortality, and within days, my father became what he is today. The leader of the Patchwork.

  I’ve heard stories of my father and uncle; they were apparently pretty scary and badass back then. Now, they have guards so they can be lazy and nice. But back then, he and Samuel worked night and day, turning the chosen people into immortals. They built an empi
re, and soon, the other monsters of the Works took notice. My father was offering the world—and providing it. His people couldn’t be killed, and that brought attention.

  With attention, though, came crazy.

  And what a crazy little monster world I live in.

  The Works, also known to humans as the boroughs, are made up of five elite monster families in New York. My family is in the Patchwork clan, then there are the shifters, the wolves, the vampires, and the witches. While each of the groups has their own leaders, my father is basically the president. All of them report to him. For what purpose, I have no clue. It’s a bunch of politics that makes my head hurt, but I do know there isn’t peace in our little world. Because the shifters, the leading family with the last name of Kelley, want to overthrow my father.

  They hate him.

  The problem is, the only people they have backing them up are the wolves, and they aren’t one hundred percent committed. My father has complete control and respect of the vampires and the witches, two very powerful clans in their own right. So really, the Kelleys have no leg to stand on.

  The hatred is all kinds of stupid. Back in the day, the shifters had come to my father for his formula, wanting immortality. But he denied them because he wanted to be more selective. He felt that being a shifter was enough of an advantage; they didn’t need to be immortal too. The vampires agreed, for obvious reasons. Even the witches agreed, but the wolves and the shifters did not, and they quickly became enemies of my father.

  To this day, my father is still waiting for the outbreak of the war that has been bubbling under the surface. Waiting for someone to make a move, to try to kill us off. And while it hasn’t been smooth sailing—people have died, their people, not ours since my father just puts everyone back together—they don’t scare me. Obviously, they can’t beat us, and I think they know that. Hell, I know the werewolves know that. They’ve tried for years to buy my father off, offer him anything, but he won’t budge. He wants to keep the von Stein formula a secret, and really, it’s not like he is still turning folks. We are born into it. And after the ceremony of the Patchwork happens at sixteen, you are given the formula, and you become immortal.

  Well, everyone but me.

  The formula doesn’t work on me.

  And it drives my father crazy.

  Which is why I’m staring down at a pair of legs I was not born with. Or why I have an extra lung and an extra heart. Why I have muscles I didn’t work for, but I’ve kept up. Why one eye is blue, while the other is brown. Or how my face is so stitched together, I don’t even know what I used to look like.

  Before.

  Before my father became so obsessed with keeping me alive and making me strong that he forgot I was okay living the life I was given.

  Even if it is just a normal, human life.

  I want it.

  I don’t mind the training. The preparing for the worst, the attack—that’s fine, I love being a badass—but I’m tired of the surgeries. The pain of recovery. And who the hell wants a pair of dude legs? Not me. Shaving coarse, man hair was going to be hard as hell! But my father doesn’t care. He wants me to be strong, invincible, the best.

  I guess to make up for the fact he can’t make me immortal.

  But who said I even care to be immortal?

  I just want to be a normal nineteen-year-old girl.

  But I guess, being a von Stein, I don’t get that option.

  As I hold the gaze of my older brother Oceanus, his green eyes bore into mine and he hunches over, his hands out, ready for my attack. It’s been a month since my surgery for my brand-new good ol’ man legs. A month since I’ve sparred with him or my other two brothers. I’ve been itching to get back at it, and I can’t wait to get my hands on them.

  Relieve some of this frustration.

  Jonas and Cyrus watch, both of them standing the exact same way, arms across their bare chests, their shorts hanging low. Unlike them, Oceanus has pants on, but no shirt. And I’m wearing tight shorts with a sports bra.

  “Nice legs, Rebekah,” Jonas teases, but I don’t take my gaze off Oceanus as I suck in a breath. I hate my man legs, and yes, they are a pain to shave, but hopefully they do some good today.

  “Fuck off, Jo,” I call to him as Oceanus smiles proudly at me. He is the strongest of my brothers. As he is the oldest and the first of my father’s spawn, Father put all the best parts on his firstborn. I think that makes my other brothers jealous. I don’t care. I just want to beat him.

  “I’ll go easy, Rebekah,” he teases, his lips curving as much as they can. His bottom lip doesn’t move much due to the way it was originally stitched, but that doesn’t keep him from being popular with the ladies. All three of them are the “hotties” of the Patchwork, and they know it.

  Gross, I know.

  But I guess, even with the stitches on their bodies and faces, you can’t deny the dark hair, the strong bones of their features, and the masses of big muscles. They are huge, scary, and I mean… They aren’t ugly, but…ew.

  Stretching my neck, I glare. “Don’t need to. I’ve been training.”

  “What? You were supposed to take it easy,” Cyrus complains from the side, and that’s because I can kick his ass easily. He’s the weakest of the three, the youngest too, only a year older than me. When Father decided to have children, he picked a very nice woman, Anita, whom he had turned a long time ago. He didn’t marry her, just made babies, but she died in childbirth with Cyrus. I think that’s when his obsession with making us invincible really started. She wasn’t supposed to be able to die, but she did. To this day, Father still doesn’t understand how or why.

  But then, magic is like that, that power, I feel, isn’t controllable. As much as he wants to think he can harness and manage it, make it do what he wants, I truly believe he can’t. He doesn’t really understand that power. He thinks he does, but if he truly did, and he could control it, why did Anita die? Why doesn’t it work on me? It’s weird.

  But I can’t worry about that right now.

  I have to kick Oceanus’s ass.

  Remembering that my brother had said something, I clear my throat. “When am I ever still?” I ask innocently, my lips curving as I shake out my arms. “Plus, I gotta stay strong to whoop your asses.”

  That makes all three of them groan, but JJ, my guard, snickers from the doorway of the sparring room. JJ has been my guard since I was sixteen and the formula didn’t work. He is my shadow and my father’s closest friend. So much so that he’s taken our last name. He’s a good man, and I love him, but most of the time, I wish he’d go do something else.

  “Well, bring it, Rebekah. Don’t leave me waiting,” Oceanus teases and I smile.

  “All right, Osh. Let’s go,” I spit back, and I take a step just as he does, his hands coming out for me. But I am faster, batting his hands away and swinging my leg into his ribs. He doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t feel pain the way I do; I know this. My hit is like a beesting, and my goal isn’t to hurt him. It’s to take him down. As he’s six foot six, that’s hard, but I’ve been practicing on JJ.

  I’ve got this.

  He backhands me and pain flashes across my face, but I ignore it, kicking him again in the ribs, wanting him to grab my leg, but he doesn’t. Instead, he swings at me, and I dodge him, slamming my fist into his chest and then his jaw. We battle. He’s fast, but I’m faster, my size an advantage. But when he lands another hit to my face, tears sting my eyes and I back away, glaring.

  “Aw, did that hurt?” he teases, and that just pisses me off. Running at him, I kick him once more. I pray he grabs my legs, thinking he has an easy takedown.

  But he won’t.

  When he does take hold of my leg, I quickly flip up, wrapping my other leg around his neck, surprising him. As he lets go of my leg to stop me from taking him down, I wrap that one instead. I use the force of my upper body to flip him over onto the mat, his big body flying over mine as my other brothers and JJ holler out in surprise.r />
  Even Oceanus is surprised, but I can’t bask in the joy of that yet. As his body hits the mat, mine does too. Pain stings my chest as I squeeze my thighs together, and his eyes glare into mine. He won’t give up. That’s not Oceanus, but I don’t know what he could do.

  But like always, he has a plan.

  Taking me by my ankles, he easily separates them, no matter how hard I squeeze. He then swings my body along the mat, going on top of me and digging his knee into my throat. “Done.”

  “No!” I yell, swinging, but I can’t reach him, and I can’t breathe.

  Crap.

  “Oceanus, that’s enough,” I hear JJ say, but Oceanus doesn’t let up, waiting for me to tell him it’s enough.

  Damn it.

  I tap his knee when I start to see stars, and he rises with ease, lifting me up and then kissing my temple. “Almost had me. Surprised me, for sure.”

  I smile. There was that. “I wanted to beat you.”

  “Yeah, but you won’t,” he decides with a wink, and I roll my eyes. “But you could easily take out Jonas and Cyrus.”

  “Hey!” they complain, and he just smiles, kissing me once more.

  “Proud of you.”

  I beam up at him, but before I can say anything, my father’s voice is filling the room. “Your legs are still weak. Give it time, and you can take him down. But those hits are lacking. Maybe we should look into a new pair of arms? Bigger ones. Like Oceanus or Jonas.”

  All four of us turn, and I suck in a breath as Cyrus complains, “Or better yet, can I get some arms since I’m so weak and all?”

  “You have arms, you need to work them. She is weak,” Father says, pointing to me, and I glare. “She needs the extra pieces.”

  “I’m not weak, and I’m fine,” I say back, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention.

  “Ah, we shall see. But enough for today. We have a meeting.”