At Death’s Door

by Kenyon, Sherrilyn

  Since 2004, internationally bestselling author Sherrilyn Kenyon has placed over sixty novels on the New York Times bestseller list; in the past three years alone, she has claimed the No.1 spot seventeen times. This extraordinary bestseller continues to top every genre she writes within.

  Proclaimed the pre-eminent voice in paranormal fiction by critics, Kenyon has helped pioneer – and define – the paranormal trend that has captivated the world and continues to blaze new trails that blur traditional genre lines.

  With more than 25 million copies of her books in print in over 100 countries, her current series include: The Dark-Hunters, League, Lords of Avalon, Chronicles of Nick, Belador Code and Deadmen’s Cross.

  Visit Sherrilyn Kenyon online:

  www.sherrilynkenyon.co.uk

  www.facebook.com/AuthorSherrilynKenyon

  @KenyonSherrilyn

  Praise for Sherrilyn Kenyon:

  ‘A publishing phenomenon … [Sherrilyn Kenyon] is the reigning queen of the wildly successful paranormal scene’

  Publishers Weekly

  ‘Kenyon’s writing is brisk, ironic and relentlessly imaginative. These are not your mother’s vampire novels’

  Boston Globe

  ‘Whether writing as Sherrilyn Kenyon or Kinley MacGregor, this author delivers great romantic fantasy!’

  New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Lowell

  Also by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Sherrilyn Kenyon’s Dark-Hunter World Series (in reading order)

  Fantasy Lover

  Night Pleasures

  Night Embrace

  Dance with the Devil

  Kiss of the Night

  Night Play

  Seize the Night

  Sins of the Night

  Unleash the Night

  Dark Side of the Moon

  The Dream-Hunter

  Devil May Cry

  Upon the Midnight Clear

  Dream Chaser

  Acheron

  One Silent Night

  Dream Warrior

  Bad Moon Rising

  No Mercy

  Retribution

  The Guardian

  Time Untime

  Styxx

  Dark Bites

  Son of No One

  Dragonbane

  Dragonmark

  Dragonsworn

  Stygian

  Deadmen’s Cross: Dark-Hunter World

  Deadmen Walking

  Death Doesn’t Bargain

  At Death’s Door

  The Dark-Hunter Companion

  League Series

  Born of Night

  Born of Fire

  Born of Ice

  Born of Shadows

  Born of Silence

  Born of Fury

  Born of Defiance

  Born of Betrayal

  Born of Legend

  Born of Vengeance

  The Belador Code

  Blood Trinity

  Alterant

  The Curse

  The Rise of the Gryphon

  Chronicles of Nick

  Infinity

  Invincible

  Infamous

  Inferno

  Illusion

  Instinct

  Invision

  Intensity

  By Sherrilyn Kenyon writing as Kinley MacGregor

  Lords of Avalon Series

  Sword of Darkness

  Knight of Darkness

  Copyright

  Published by Piaktus

  ISBN: 978-0-349-41225-2

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Sherrilyn McQueen

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Interior illustrations by Dabel Bros.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Piatkus

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Praise for Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Also by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  To my boys. For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; and hid, that shall not be known.

  And never forget what I’ve always quoted to you:

  When I returned, and I saw vanity under the sun …

  There is one alone, and there is not a second; yea, he hath neither child nor brother: yet is there no end of all his labour; neither is his eye satisfied with riches; neither saith he, For whom do I labour, and bereave my soul of good? This is also vanity, yea, it is a sore travail.

  Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.

  For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.

  Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?

  And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

  Better is a poor and a wise child than an old and foolish king, who will no more be admonished.

  Together, we will rise, and we will overcome. You are my lights in the darkness and never has any mother been prouder of her sons. I love you now and forever.

  And for my grandfathers, who each taught me different life lessons.

  As always, to my most awesome Tor team for everything they do! You guys are the best! And for Robert, Linda, and Claire for being there! Thank you so very much!

  “Oh great Ghede, rise up! Come to us and do what we say!”

  Valynda Moore rolled her eyes at Helena Day as she and her sister, Prudence, danced around the small beach fire in sheer chemises. Their loose, pale blond hair trailed about their plump shoulders as they drank rum and frolicked in the moonlight. “Your father will kill you if he sees you like this.”

  Taking another deep drink from the bottle before she passed it over to her sister, Helena scoffed at her. “Don’t be such a ninny prig! Come and join us.”

  Seated on the ground beside Valynda, Margaret Latimer turned to another page in the book she was reading. She glanced up toward Helena. “It says here to scatter the white rum with herbs to entice him from his sea kingdom.”

  Pru quit dancing to blink at Margie. “Scatter it where?”

  “The fire, no doubt.” Helena grabbed the rum back from her sister’s hand, and before Valynda could warn her that it was highly flammable, slung it at the flames.

  The girls shrieked as it exploded toward the heavens and caused hot, sparkling embers from the sea breeze to rain down on them.

  Except for Valynda, who never screamed, and es
pecially not over such foolery. Rather she thought them ridiculous in their drunken revelry.

  “Now toss in the herbs!” Margie reminded them.

  Herbs which also turned out to be highly flammable, as there was no telling what those silly lunatics had gathered for their summoning ritual so that they could entice the ancient being they wanted to ask about their future husbands.

  As if!

  After shrieking and hollering some more over the small explosion they caused, they returned to singing their lude chant to invoke their Voodoo spirit.

  Her ears ringing from the raucous cacophony, Valynda sighed in irritation. It was more than she could take. It was one thing for her friends to tell her they planned to be this ridiculous, it was another to witness it firsthand and lose all respect for them. She’d tried on multiple occasions to tell them that the ghede Nibo was the spirit for the dead and wouldn’t know anything about their would-be husbands. Still, they kept insisting … provided he existed at all, which Valynda highly doubted. Such was her very nature.

  And they call me ridiculous for my sanity.

  Worse, they’d ignored her completely, while they went around the island compiling a list of what they’d need to perform a hokey Voodoo ritual from the hodgepodge of people Val was rather certain had been mocking them.

  Unable to stand any more acoustic abuse, Valynda pushed herself to her feet, intending to head home.

  Helena tossed more rum on the fire. “Oh great Ghede, come to us and do what we say!”

  Valynda ducked the flames as the fire exploded around her. Enough already! They were about to summon the watch and be caught.

  Just as she was ready to caution them again over the folly of their actions—and their would-be arson—a huge shadow appeared on the dark beach before them. Like some great fulsome demonic beast, it rose to tower above them, twisting and writhing in a way that made even Valynda gasp. Its cape billowed out as a cane appeared by its side. A cane topped with a skull that matched his evil face. Opening its bony mouth, the cane appeared to scream, then it vomited fire.

  Margie screamed.

  A second later, she fainted onto the pale sand.

  Helena ran, leaving her sister behind to fend for herself. Shrieking and waving her hands over her head, Prudence wet herself before she ran in the opposite direction, with her book forgotten on the beach. Bemused by it all, Valynda stood frozen.

  Deep, masculine laughter rang out as that hideous skeletal face turned into one of a handsome, fetching man. One with a riot of dark curls that hugged a perfectly sculpted jaw dusted with whiskers and eyes so vivid and playful, they were beguiling. This was exactly what her friends had been trying to summon and yet he mocked them for it.

  Indeed, the infernal beast dared to laugh over the very chaos and panic he’d caused. The humiliation her friends had suffered at his callous hands.

  And that set off Valynda’s anger that he’d dare such at their expense, especially given the blatant disregard he showed her friend who lay passed out at his feet. “Really? Is this how you entertain yourself? A grown man, frightening schoolgirls? What’s wrong with you?”

  His laughter died instantly. With an unearthly slowness, he turned to face her, which only confirmed what she’d already noted. He truly was the most handsome man she’d ever seen in the flesh. There was a most unnatural aura of power that clung to him. One that set off the hairs on the backs of her arms and made them stand upright. It let her and everyone else know that he was not one to be reckoned with. Rather, he was used to doing the reckoning. “You dare chastise me?”

  Her common sense told her to back down and be the meek maid her father had tried his best to make her, but it wasn’t in Valynda to cow to anyone. Male or female. So she spoke her mind and prepared herself for whatever dire consequences might be about to rain down on her. “For being a churlish knave? Aye. Of course I do.”

  Nibo was aghast as he saw the tiny woman who stood in brave defiance. Never in all the centuries he’d lived after his death had he met a human who wasn’t a little intimidated by him. Terrified, point of fact. Most scurried away at his approach, and those were the ones who wanted a favor from him and had dutifully invoked him with gifts.

  Until now.

  Confused and baffled, he stared at the puzzle who was only passably attractive. While her body was comely enough, she was a bit lanky for his tastes. Her nose rather narrow and long. The only really striking thing about her was her eyes. A rich dark brown, they were searing with their intelligence, and raw with curiosity.

  Marked by her condemnation.

  For him.

  Seriously? How dare she, a mere human, give him such a look! “Do you know who I am, girl?” More to the point, what he was.

  She narrowed that censoring gaze with an audacity that was quite cheeky and bold, if not downright foolhardy given that he’d feasted on the flesh and bones of creatures that made monsters cry. “Aye. The giant cod-dangle who scared my friends within a quarter inch of their lives.”

  He scowled at the unfamiliar term. “Cod, what?”

  “Dangle,” she repeated, then lowered her gaze to the center of his body to illustrate what she was calling him.

  While Nibo was amused by her reckless spirit, the most astonishing part was that he actually felt his body stirring.

  What the hell was that?

  She aroused him? How?

  This mere slip of a human piece? A pasty pale skirtling who insulted him and looked at him as if he were the cloying slag caught on the hem of her best gown? Surely Anansi and Papa Legba were playing mehen over this, and betting against him right now.

  Yet there was no denying the sudden hunger for her that he felt. Especially when he stepped closer and caught the lily scent of her dark brown hair that was tinted with just a hint of red in it—like fire captured in an evening sky. While she wore it tightly coiled and pinned about her head, he wondered what it would look like were he to free it of that cantankerous knot that seemed to be an offense to the curls surrounding a face that was suddenly growing on him.

  Aye, she was much more fetching than he’d first thought. There was something about her that drew him in and warmed a deep, cold part of his soul.

  Did she have any idea how very dangerous that was to one of his ilk? “Tell me, girl, why did you summon a ghede?”

  For the first time, he saw a hint of fear flash through her dark gaze. “W-What?”

  “You heard me. What is it that a European daughter would want with one of us?”

  Valynda hesitated as she realized he was staring with a peculiar interest down at the cross she wore about her neck. Her jaw went slack as she stepped back and took another look at the beautiful man in front of her.

  A real ghede …

  They weren’t just stories made up by the islanders to scare them. They were real! And he was one of them. Holy saints!

  Could her lunatic friends have really summoned him to this world? Was it possible?

  Trying to calm herself, Valynda wasn’t quite sure what one would look like, but certainly not this fine specimen of male attractiveness. It just didn’t seem plausible or right given the effigies and drawings that were strung up all over the island.

  At well over six feet in height, he was the last thing she’d ever expect of such a terrifying entity. Dressed in a loose-fitting light blue shirt, he had sun-kissed caramel skin that covered a body taut with rippling muscles. Amber eyes that were searing with their intelligence and torment, as if he had a secret that only he knew. A riot of dark, shoulder-length curls framed a face that had been sculpted to masculine perfection. Indeed, she’d never seen anyone more handsome. There was an air about him of power and charisma unlike anything she’d ever beheld before. Something that made her want to walk into his arms and at the same time turn and run as far away as she could. He was terrifying.

  And beguiling.

  Because there was no doubt that he was equally as lethal as he was beautiful. And his fashion showed th
at he didn’t give a fig what others thought of him. Indeed, he had a number of long pheasant feathers attached to his hair that fell over his chest to trail to his waist. Along with a light beard and an earring that gave him the appearance of one of the pirates her father’s stepbrother was so fond of convicting and hanging in cages to rot along the shoreline as a warning to others who dared to venture here to their island home.

  Swallowing hard, Valynda shook her head and made a solemn observation she prayed she didn’t live to regret. “You’re japing. You’re not really a ghede.”

  He arched a brow as a devilish grin lifted one corner of those delectable lips. A low, musical laugh rumbled from his chest. “I’m not just any ghede, gel. I’m the leader of the dead.”

  Now she knew he was messing with her. Surely a psychopomp would have much better things to do than torment her and her friends, given the number of people slain in and around the islands in this day and age. Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest. “On with you now. I’ve no time for this.”

  “You don’t believe me?” he asked incredulously.

  “That a ghede has nothing better to do than scare schoolgirls? Nay, sir, I don’t believe you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I needs see about my friends.”

  As she started to help Margie, he appeared in front of her.

  Out of the blue.

  Startled and alarmed, Valynda pulled up short. “How did you do that?”

  His grin turned teasing. “Told you. I’m Ghede Nibo.” He held a small silver ring toward her. “You’ve intrigued me, Valynda Moore. Check on your friends, and when you’re ready to learn more about me, call my name … without the theatrics.”

  An instant later, he was gone and the ring was on her finger.

  Suddenly shaking, Valynda stood beneath the light of the full moon in complete shock. Her jaw went slack as she held the ring up to see the skull and crossbones that had been impressed deep into the band. It was beautiful, in a morbid way.

  A silver ring of mourning.

  “How did he know my name?”

  1717 Port Royal

  Nibo stared down at the scars on his finger where his old silver mourning ring used to rest. A ring he’d placed on his hand as a memorial for his beautiful Aclima and had once vowed to never remove. He still had no idea what had possessed him to hand it off so recklessly to Valynda the night they’d met. Not after he’d spent centuries guarding it so.