Medley of Souls

by Renee Peters

  “Let me know if you want to illustrate your next book, Jo,” he said, and when no one was watching, he touched a quick peck of a kiss to her cheek.

  The older of the two, John, was tall and broad — a giant in the crowd, and a soldier, once, before two bullet wounds had taken him from his first life. He offered Joanna a kiss to the hand but there was something tense rumbling through the drums that bound them.

  She had less care for gossips’ whispers than she should when she caught his wrist and could not help an undernote of near motherly worry when she spoke quietly.

  “Are you well, John?”

  The lips of the former soldier curved wryly and the hawkish expression in his grey eyes gentled slightly.

  “My apologies, Joanna. It appears not as well as I should be if my song shadows your special day.” His broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “No doubt, it will sort itself with time.”

  “You will let me know, oui?”

  But he only smiled faintly and lifted her hand from his wrist for a second peck of a kiss to her knuckles before letting her other admirers have a turn in her presence.

  The event lasted a little more than two hours after that, before the final guests began to clear out of the library.

  An impression, more than any movement in the diminishing crowd, drew her attention for an instant. It lasted hardly the length of a breath but was enough for Joanna to register the beauty of an Immortal she did not know — a Freeborn — watching the proceedings from a distance.

  He appeared far more interested in observing the Sovereign than her person. For a moment, she studied him and felt a prickle of wariness. He had a crown of red waves and a pretty, youthful face that was almost soft, but there was something in the gray of his eyes as they regarded the Sovereign that made Joanna uneasy.

  As if he sensed the French queen’s interest in turn, the observer turned his gaze toward her and offered Joanna a smirk and half a bow before melting into the movement of the crowd and from her thoughts.

  She felt the warmth of her husband’s shadow behind her, and she stepped back into Dorian’s hold.

  “You are enjoying your attention my Lady wife…” he murmured quietly into her curls. “When will it be my turn?” It was a tease.

  In their privacy, the queen obliged him with a touch of her soul across the strings of his violin, and he nudged a kiss under her ear.

  Joanna Vaughn lingered in his embrace, holding her book to her heart — welcoming at last the eternity that stretched before them.

  Appendix I

  Characters of Anowen Coven

  Arch Elders

  Lian Redmond • Arch Lord, Sovereign

  Celia Vitali • Arch Queen, The Silver Queen

  The High Council

  Dorian Vaughn • High Lord, The Heir of Anowen, The Castilian Lord

  Zehira Al-Adil • High Queen, The Egyptian

  Shar Ivanov • High Queen, The Russian Queen

  Ayla Sørenson • High Queen, The Dark Queen, The Widow

  Mathias Falk • High Lord, The Austrian Lord

  The Family

  Sophie Morewin • The Courtesan

  Cora Smythe • The Blacksmith

  Raewyn Moss • The Librarian

  Jekaterina “Katja” Clause • The Musician, The Cellist

  Eden • Former Urchin, Little Sister

  Efemina Sanomi • The Malian Queen, The Healer

  Noelle Bellamy • The Barmaid

  Garrett Wallis • Noelle’s Shadow, Grouch

  Luscinia “Lucy” Gallo • The Diva, The Singer

  Angelica Dutton • The Queen in Red

  Bryna Flannigan • The Huntress, The Irish Queen

  Joanna LeClair Holt • The French Queen, The Poet

  Appendix II

  Mortal Characters

  Servants of Anowen

  Delilah Flowers • Maid, Fae-Blooded, Companion

  The Graham Family; Wardens

  George Graham • Driver, Warden, Patriarch of the Graham Family

  Samuel Graham • Warden, Adult Son of George

  Frances Graham • Wife of George, Mother of Samuel

  The Ton

  Lady Diana Wycliff • The Widow

  Charles Wescott • Physician of Easthaven

  Appendix III

  Aegean Characters

  Immortals of Raven Manor

  An Unofficial House of nearly twenty Immortals

  Philippe Denard • Proprietor of Raven Manor, Freeborn Lord, Unofficial Arch Lord

  Shifters

  Viscount Justin Thornton • Viscount of Thornton

  Glossary

  Aegean House: An Immortal Family created and ruled by an Immortal who can trace their siring rites directly to a member of the Royal Council

  Arch Elder: The ruling Immortal or pair of Immortals over a House. The Arch Lord or Arch Queen who inherits the House and has been gifted siring power.

  Elder: an Elder is an Immortal within a House or community that has lived at least four hundred years. These Immortals have begun to develop their preternatural gifts.

  Eternal Bond/Eternal Song: An Eternal Song is the most powerful type of bond that can exist between Aegean Immortals. Some Immortals may live their full eternity without ever finding their Eternal Song. To find their soulmate is every Immortal’s desire, as to find an Eternal Song, is to find a bond that defies even death.

  Fledgling: The term given to Immortals who are able to take care of themselves and have fully developed as an Immortal but are unable to see the sunlight.

  Fledgling Bond: This is the bond between a sire and their fledgling. Fledglings experience an idealization of their sire and a general want to please. Their emotions echo their sire’s emotional state.

  Freeborn/Rogue: Rogue Immortals are either solitary Immortals or Immortals who belong to an unofficial Family. They are unprotected by Aegean laws. Solitary rogues have the added struggle of having no bonds with which to sustain their souls with music.

  Ghouls: Ghouls are mortals addicted to the temporary high and power gained by drinking Immortal blood. Ghouls will risk their lives to hunt and harvest Immortal blood, but their addiction results in negative physical side effects that rapidly lead to death.

  Gifts/Powers: Aegean Immortals begin developing powers around the age of 400 when they become Elders. Their first ‘gift’ is the power that is typically the strongest and considered their specialty

  High Elder: Elders who sit on the High Council of an Immortal House. Trusted confidants of the Arch Elders' inner circle.

  Infant: The term used to describe newly turned Immortals who have transitioned fully into the rebirth of the curse, but are not able to feed or control themselves yet.

  Pair Bond: A bond initiated between two Aegean Immortals who form a duet in a single instance by sharing blood. Not always romantic, these bonds may also be of a more platonic or familial nature.

  Queen/Lord: Queen and Lord are the terms used by Immortals within a House to describe any other Immortal in the family. The status of any queen or lord in the House is determined by their age and power.

  Signet Rings: Signet rings are the official seal of a House. The rings are made from either the blood of the Firsts, or the blood of the Royal Heirs depending on the status of the possessor.

  Siring Rites: The power to sire new Immortals. These rites are only transferred to recognized Heirs of an official House, or as a gift to an Immortal granted permission to live Free of the one who sired them.

  Songs: Individual Aegean Immortals who are bonded to one another can hear and feel the music of each other’s souls through songs in their blood. These songs can be recognized as duets when the harmonizing of songs between two Immortals takes place.

  The Empress Mother: Athanasia; youngest of the Firsts. The Immortals from the United Kingdom and the Pacific Islands are all descended from Athanasia and consider her their Empress Mother.

  The Firsts;The Imperial Council: The Nine First Born Immor
tals make up the Imperial Council of their race. The Council rests in the citadel of Nevirnum, in a mountain range to the east of Rome.

  The Royal Heirs; Royal Council: Athanasia's Firstborn offspring, and the ruling Heads of Britain's Immortal Houses and their branched bloodlines

  Thralls: Thralls are humans that are addicted to the pleasure of an Immortal’s bite. Immortals and thralls often maintain a symbiotic relationship, with thralls existing as willing servants of the Immortals who feed their addiction.

  Withering: In the absence of bonds and songs, an Immortal can experience a death of the soul. The withering brings with it a cold, hollowed out feeling — or in the worst of cases, the absence of feeling.

  Thank you!

  End of Songs of Blood

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  Songs of Blood

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  More from the Aegean Immortals Series

  Best enjoyed in the order listed

  Rise of Anowen

  The Refugee’s Song

  Songs of Blood

  Medley of Souls

  Rhythm of Hearts

  Fall of Eternity

  Symphony of War

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  The Aegean Immortals Series Book Three

  Please enjoy this free excerpt of our upcoming Aegean Immortals Book, Rhythm of Hearts

  Prologue

  Barossa Ridge, Spain, March 1811

  “Keep your head down, David!”

  Lieutenant John Lewis hardly recognized the voice that gritted out from between clenched teeth as his own. His chest was on fire and beneath the padded lining of his coat, he felt something warm and wet and he knew he had been hit.

  He didn’t dare look down to see.

  Not that there was much he could see.

  All around him the remnants of Britain’s First Foot Guard were shouting, their voices nearly drowned out by the explosions of gun fire. White clouds of acrid smoke burst into the air, and with a grimace, the man shoved his ramrod back into its place in the rifle and leaned around the boulder he and his companion had taken for cover. Pain shot through him anew as he twisted to present the Brown Bess and he felt it coursing through him as he steadied the butt of the gun against his shoulder. His thumb locked the rifle and he stared up the ridge where the French, blue-uniformed artillerymen stood at the top of the incline.

  He pulled the trigger, felt the force of the blast tear through him, and through the smoke saw a body drop heavily and tumble forward.

  Sucking in a wet breath, the Lieutenant ducked back behind the boulder, and began reloading his rifle.

  At his side, David Hardy scoffed and leaned out to take a shot of his own.

  “God damned La Peña,” David murmured, his thin body rocking back with the blast from his rifle. “God damned Frogs and the toads that birthed them.” He ducked back, dragging a breath in through his teeth.

  John turned a glance his best friend’s way. The man had been closer than his own brothers his entire life.

  “Focus, David,” he said, and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Where David sat, the man seemed a little hazier, and John was not sure it was only the smoke that caused it.

  “I’m focusing — you’re — Ah, shite, John!”

  The soldier rolled closer, his hand reaching for the place John was trying not to think about. David, only two years younger than John and in the coming April they would share a birth month.

  John’s hand reached out to close around his friend’s wrist.

  Focus.

  “Don’t bloody well tell me what —” John bit out. The last thing he needed was to know how badly he was wounded. “Just focus —”

  Focus.

  David’s face was covered in soot or dirt, leaving little underneath but wild, brown eyes.

  Brown like the old barrels he and John used to play in.

  Focus.

  Bess was loaded. Another twist, more pain and the squelch of wetness in his uniform.

  He shot. Another Frenchman fell.

  Somewhere above it all, he could hear the sounds of Dilke’s brigade.

  They must have flanked the French.

  Maybe they’d found more cover.

  Focus.

  David grunted and flinched back suddenly. “Ah, shite,” he murmured. “Shite. It’s all right.”

  “I said keep your head down!”

  “It’s all right,” David repeated, slurring, but his Bess fell out of his hand, its shot exploding sideways.

  John cursed and lowered his rifle, throwing out a hand to grab David by the shoulder, dragging him back.

  The man wobbled before spilling into John’s lap.

  David, always so much scrawnier than John, with high cheekbones that had made him popular with women. High cheekbones and a handsome face that had earned him a wife and babe before he left them both to join the service alongside John.

  Blood ran down David’s brow from a hole that was the size of a coin.

  “I’m all r’ — I’m — you’re bleeding, John...”

  Damn. Damn damn damn.

  “You’re all right, Dave… I’m the bastard that’s fit to bleed out.”

  “Aye, you’re… Em’ll kill us —” David breathed and there was something else the man said, drawn out in a slur beneath the furrow of his brow. He spoke something else unintelligible, and then his brow smoothed and David did not move or speak again.

  Damn it.

  “Shite, shite.” John bit down on the rest of the curses that threatened to escape. But there was no stopping the tears that flowed.

  He’d brought David here to die.

  For a moment, he cradled his friend in his lap. The shouting was growing around him, shouting, calls to advance.

  Advance.

  John swiped his wrist across his mouth, feeling the smear of sweat and blood on his skin before gently, carefully, as if David were only sleeping, he lowered his friend, his brother down onto the grass with a husked apology.

  Their battalion was advancing, racing up the hill in plumes of gun smoke and he could see the blue-coats beginning to waver.

  He picked up Bess.

  With fire in his chest and the taste of copper in his mouth, Lieutenant John Lewis began his own charge.

  He prayed that it would be his last.

  Chapter One

  Easthaven, England, October 1811

  It was not the smoke of gunfire that clouded John Lewis’s vision tonight, but the heavy smog of tobacco smoke hovering over bodies that had piled into The Baron’s Arms.

  The harvest season of 1811 had been bountiful, and the farmers had reaped their crops well into October. Their bounty had been just as prosperous in the markets, but there was no place their good fortune showed more than in the town’s pubs. Established the same year as the town of Easthaven, The Baron’s Arms was a favored haunt of laborers, cottagers, and sailors.

  They made for prime targets for the darker creatures that lurked in the night. V
ampires — No. Immortals.

  That was what he was now, despite the whispers that surrounded him.

  Fae.

  He was hardly a Fae; though to see himself in the mirror now, he might not have blamed them for their murmurs.

  John had always been large and even from his solitary seat at a scarred wooden table, he took up the space of two men with a height befitting his frame. The Immortal gift he had been given had polished the hard lines of his face into something pale and perfect — the flaws of his mortal life wiped away with a few drinks of tainted blood.

  The soldier’s hand tightened briefly around the handle of his untouched tankard.

  It was not the thought of Eternity and tainted blood that prickled the man’s irritation, but the figure he watched with a hawk-like intensity in the corner of the pub.

  The woman he stared at did not have the flawlessness of one new to the gift. Time had taken some of the polish away despite the perfection of beauty she presented. Piles of black curls were barely tamed into a bun at the base of her neck, and full lips quirked into a smirk. Were it not for her beauty, she might have seemed for all the world like another mortal, dressed as she was in the simple, striped gown and coat of a laborer.