The Coven Reborn
Copyright© 2026 by Phillip Marks
Chapter 12: Amber Alert
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 12: Amber Alert - The Coven of the Moonlit Grove recruits a new member and faces a new supernatural threat as it enters a new era.
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Fiction Magic Light Bond
In the backroom of the Twin Pillars Homeless Shelter Amber’s eyes slowly opened. She found herself comfortable for the first time in many days. There was no pain, no physical pain anyway. The young woman sat up. She felt something on her side. Her hand moved down to the expertly bandaged wound on her side.
“Good morning, or late afternoon as the case might be here,” said Donny Ruthman. The director of the facility stepped into the small room Amber was in.
“I’m at the Shelter?” asked Amber.
“Yes,” responded Donny. “You’ve been here a couple days. When you got here one of our volunteers happened to be a nurse. She took the slug out of your side and bandaged you up.” He paused for a few moments as Amber felt her side. Donny smiled: “You’re welcome Amber.”
Amber looked down and grimaced. She wasn’t particularly good at these sorts of interactions.
Donny continued: “I have some clothes set aside for you. I think they should fit. There is a shower right around the corner. You can clean up and we can change your bandage. Then we need to talk.”
“Donny I’m leaving for the day!” came a call from outside the room they were in. It was Vicki.
“Got it Vicki!” called back Donny. He had not called the police yet. His volunteer, Lisa, had not returned to the shelter yet either.
“What time is it?” asked Amber.
“It’s about six PM,” said Donny.
Amber, who was wearing only an oversized T-shirt, moved to the window and carefully peered outside. She was prepared to cringe in pain but didn’t have to. She couldn’t see for sure but the dying sunlight outside was muted. It was probably overcast.
“How ... how has it been?” asked Amber, struggling to find words.
“Outside?” asked Donny, realizing it was a very strange thing for Amber to ask. “It’s really cloudy today.”
“Okay,” said Amber quietly. She was already formulating a plan in her mind.
“You take a shower and then we need to talk Amber,” reiterated Donny. “You probably want something to eat too.”
Amber nodded and attempted a weak smile. She wasn’t good at smiling.
Okay,” said Donny as he temporarily stepped away.
About a block away from the shelter Detectives Justin Duke and Cindy Carbello were sitting in an unmarked police car watching Twin Pillars. “Looks like it’s just an office person,” said Justin. “False alarm.”
Detective Carballo nodded as she watched a woman leave the shelter and make her way along the street. “All units stand-by. It’s not the suspect,” she toggled into the radio.
Justin glanced down at the computer screen in the car. It was displaying a picture of their suspect, Amber Collins, in the form of an old ID picture. It was odd for a homeless person to have an ID but he already knew that Amber wasn’t a normal homeless person.
“What is taking so long?” hissed Justin quietly in the car.
“I know, I know,” said Carballo. “This guy though, Donny Ruthman, he isn’t a bad guy, he just knows his stuff and we have to cross all the ‘t’s’ and dot all the ‘i’s’.”
They had gotten an anonymous tip about a young woman with a gunshot wound in the shelter. The tipster, a nurse, had seen the suspect’s ID and she matched the description of the street person they were looking for. Normally, New York’s finest would’ve gone in but, in this case, the Director of the facility was known by the police, not as a criminal, but as a man who would demand the police jump through every hoop. The suspect wasn’t going anywhere so they were taking their time with a search warrant and an arrest warrant.
The detectives, along with a pair of marked units, were waiting for paperwork. Justin Duke’s thoughts were dwelling on a conversation he had with Michael Renard the night before as well.
A short time later, inside the shelter, Amber got dressed quickly. She pulled on a pair of jeans, a short sleeved cropped hoodie, a pair of tennis shoes, and a light jacket. She looked like a fairly normal young woman again. She slid her ID into her back pocket.
“You look decent again Amber,” said Donny, watching the girl.
Amber looked at him. “Thanks for everything,” she said softly. He had helped her change the bandage on her side as well. The wound was healing nicely.
“I’ve known you from the streets for almost a year Amber and I don’t get you,” said Donny. “You’re not hooking, you don’t have a substance abuse monkey hanging on your back, you’re not mentally challenged ... there is no reason for you to live on the streets.”
Amber looked down and pushed back her long dark hair. “There are other things,” she said quietly.
“There usually are,” responded Donny. “I know, I’ve been there. I’ve been trying to help you. Is that the issue? Won’t you let anyone help you? What demons are chasing you Amber?”
“It’s not that,” said Amber. Her mind was racing. It wasn’t a demon chasing her ... it was the demon she was that made her life hell. She didn’t know how to vocalize her issue. “It’s ... I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Try Amber – I want to help,” answered Donny.
“I killed someone. I didn’t want to but I did. I was defending myself. You have to believe me,” she said slowly.
“And the gunshot wound?”
“That was the police. I ... they wouldn’t have believed me. I can’t go to jail because...”
“Because why?”
“I can’t say,” blurted out Amber, struggling for words. “I can’t put it into words. I ... have to get out of the city Donny.”
Ruthman took a deep breath. He knew himself well enough to realize what his flaw was: he cared too much. “Okay,” he murmured softly. He handed Amber a hundred dollars in twenty dollar bills. “If you have to leave, okay. Take a bus overnight to Albany. There is a man there, a guy I just met; his name in Michael Renard. I’m pretty good at reading people. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but my sense is that he can help you. He lives near Albany.”
Amber looked at Donny intensely. “Thank you so much,” she said softly.
“Hey! You can’t just barge in here! Donny! Donny!” came the sharp call of the front desk volunteer.
Donny rose. “Stay here Amber!” He turned and headed toward the front desk, closing the door behind him. Amber pulled on her jacket and looked at the back window. She had no intention of waiting.
Two plainclothes detectives and a pair of uniformed officers were at the front desk, arguing with one of the overnight volunteers Donny recognized Cindy Carballo immediately. “What the hell is going on here?” said Donny. “You can’t just force your way in here!”
“They say they have a warrant, Mr. Ruthman,” blurted the volunteer.
“We do,” barked Justin Duke. “A search warrant for the shelter and an arrest warrant for Amber Collins. We know she’s here – where is she?”
“I don’t know who that is,” answered Donny.
“Donny, don’t lie. This can go easy or hard,” said Carballo.
“Cindy, this is a homeless shelter, we don’t ask questions we just help people,” responded Donny.
Amber heard the commotion at the front desk. She latched the door and turned to the window, tearing open the blind. The thin, rapidly dying sunlight of the cloudy evening filled the room. It stung the vampire but the clouds and the late hour filtered it; Amber pulled her hood up and quickly realized she could tolerate it. She felt her survival instinct rise.
Amber tried the window. The old aperture was jammed shut. She yanked on it but it wouldn’t budge. Amber summoned her strength as her desperation rose and attacked the window, delivering a powerful kick to the edge of the pane. The glass shattered but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to cut herself to ribbons.
At the front desk the sound of Amber’s kick echoed over the argument.”Fuck!” hissed Justin as he hurried down the short hall to the back door with Cindy Carballo in tow. He tried the door. It was latched. Donny Ruthman fell silent. There was another booming noise from inside the room.
“Open it!” demanded Cindy, turning to Ruthman.
“I’ll have to find the key.”
Justin Duke lowered his shoulder and rammed the door with all his might. The simple latch was a frail thing and broke immediately. He burst into the room just in time to see Amber’s feet exit the broken window frame. Justin ran to the window. The girl had dropped the five or so feet into the back alley, rolled expertly, and darted to the left.
“Stop! Police!” yelled Justin. Amber turned around for a moment, a long strand of her black hair flashing out from underneath her hood. She barred her teeth and hissed savagely before launching herself toward the edge of the alley. Justin hurled himself out of the window and landed far less gracefully than Amber had. He got on his feet and ... paused ... before toggling his radio: “She’s running! Female suspect is northbound behind the Twin Pillars Shelter! I do not have the suspect in sight!”
Justin ran down the alley to the street, momentarily a NYPD patrol car pulled up, it’s lights flashing and it’s siren issuing a short whooping noise as a warning. The detective and the two officers looked around. Amber was nowhere to be seen. “Damn she’s fast,” observed one of the officers.
“Yeah,” said Justin. “Canvass the area. I’ll be right back.” He circled back to the front of the shelter. A third unit had arrived and Cindy Carballo was escorting Donny Ruthman out of the building. He was in cuffs.
“You shouldn’t have lied to me Donny,” the New York detective said. “Rendering Criminal Assistance is pretty serious.”
“I want a lawyer,” said Donny Ruthman flatly.
“Get in,” said Carballo, sitting Ruthman in the car. She looked at Justin. He shook his head.
Halfway across Manhattan, about an hour later, outside the Hirsh Center for Forensic Science a half dozen SUVs pulled to a halt. A score of agents piled out wearing vests clearly labeled FBI. A few minutes later a uniformed officer lead the vanguard of federal agents to the office of Jacob Yarland. The forensic scientist took off his reading glasses and looked up from his computer with a mask of surprise and shock on his face. Around him the curious eyes of his staff monitored the agents.
“What is this?” demanded Yarland.
One of the FBI agents, obvious the senior man, moved and spoke before the escorting officer could. “Dr. Yarland I presume?”
“Yes,” answered Yarland hesitantly.
The agent offered a sheath of documents. “I’m Supervising Agent Thomas Kazski. We will be taking over the Ronsheen Tarrik murder investigation. You’ll find a federal order in that paperwork for the transfer of all appropriate evidence to my team, including any electronic records. We expect the full cooperation of you and your staff.”
“This is unbelievable!” exclaimed Yarland as he quickly shuffled through the paperwork. “I’m calling the DA!”
“A copy of the order has already been sent to the Manhattan DA and the New York State AG. Dr. Yarland, don’t make this process more difficult than it has to be.”
Yarland deflated abruptly.
Shelia Foster was in one of the labs double checking the yellow pea coat she had examined for hair evidence earlier. Two FBI agents came in and interrupted her work. “Is that jacket part of the Ronsheen Tarrik investigation?” asked one of the federal men.
“Yes it is,” answered Shelia, trying her best to feign surprise.
“Please step away miss,” said the agent. His counterpart, using latex gloves, took the coat and placed it in an evidence bag. Shelia didn’t protest at all.
“Is the coat intact?”
“Ah ... yeah,” answered Shelia. “It’s just like we found it. It’s just missing three buttons. The hair follicles are in this bag here and all the data is over on my laptop right here.”
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