Also by Crystal Collier
Maiden of Time Trilogy:
Moonless
Short Stories:
Through the Portal (Heroes of Phenomena)
Book 2 in the
Maiden of Time
Trilogy
By Crystal Collier
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by RAYBOURNE PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2014 by Crystal Collier
Cover Design by J. Matthew Collier
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, electronic, mechanical, reproduction, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher and copyright owners.
Summary: When Alexia's wedding is destroyed by the Soulless—who then steal the only protection her people have—she's forced to unleash her true power and risk losing everything. [1. Fiction. 2. Historical-paranormal. 3. Soulless. 4. Wraiths. 5. Supernatural Creatures. 6. Historical Fantasy. 7. Time Travel. 8. Maiden of Time. 9. Passionate and Soulless.]
ISBN: 978-1-62983-003-2 [pbk]
ISBN: 978-1-62983-049-0 [eBook]
For Quin,
best brainstorming budding,
and incredible son.
From the night’s darkness the lost ones are cryin’
Seeking to claim for their own, the new queen
War rises up, the forces now vyin’
To possess or deny her long-lost vict’ry.
—Author Unknown
Dearest Sarah,
I have not dreamt in over a month, not nightmares of people’s deaths, not hints of things to come. Nothing but silence since the night I lost you.
My purpose in writing this letter is not to reach you, as I know I never shall. I wish to believe the last two years were but my imagination, that you are a week’s journey away in Liverpool with your disgustingly rich, and elderly husband, that I am writing you the same way I have for five years since you were married and taken away from me.
It is easier to believe. Easier than the truth.
That the Earl, your husband, is dead. That you...
My dearest aunt, bosom sister, I have always been ignorant to the sacrifices of those about me, but I am no more. I have chosen to see. I have chosen the life of the Passionate. Lest you should fear for me, I am in good hands. The best. My own treasured Kiren has asked for my hand in marriage. Father is against the match, but what can he do to stop us? Kiren is powerful. He commands the Passionate: a host of gifted persons who can rob men of their memories, travel the globe in but an instant, or heal the deadliest of wounds.
And yet, we are not without our enemies, of which I hope, my most cherished heart, you are not one. Though it grieves me, I recognize that you and I can never exist as we once did. John has taken you from me and laid the curse of the Soulless upon you. Kiren says the Soulless are empty, always hungry for the Passionate. Are you starving, my aunt? Do you hunt with your kind on the moonless night? These and a hundred other questions plague me as I sit, recovering. Always recovering.
“Do not use your gifts.” “Do not slow time.” “Do not undo the healing you have accomplished.” I hear these so often it is a wonder I do not write them in my sleep. While I could not save you, dear Sarah, I did find the strength to stop the Soulless from harming the man I love.
But at what price? I have lost a dear friend, Miles, because he welcomed those creatures into his mind to save me, and now they hunt him for the secrets he keeps. He has gone to the Americas, and I miss our quiet conversations, though I cannot possibly know how much greater Kiren’s heart grieves. He and Miles have rarely been apart. He does not think I see it, but he often becomes silent, his gaze lifted to the distance as though he can see across the ocean that separates them.
Enough of heartache. I am to be married! I shall marry the man I love, not some miscreant who saw fit to blackmail Father into an arrangement. (I am told that Roger Whitaker has quite forgotten me since my supposed demise winter last. The brigand. He is seeking a bride for himself in London, though for her sake, I pray she has the fortitude to withstand his vile advances. Heaven knows how I would have fared without my gifts!)
Other news—I hear that Abigail Vanwick has secured a healthy dowry from her great aunt and hopes to marry well in the future. And Rupert... Our very own Rupert has gone to the New World as a lieutenant. I hope when he thinks of me, he does so with kindness and not as a man shunned by the object of his heart. I regret I never was able to say goodbye or explain why our lifetime of friendship ended so abruptly. He deserves better. I trust he will find it in his adventures.
I miss you, dearest Sarah, every day. You are a lifetime away, but you reside here too, in my heart, so close I can feel the steady stroke of your brush through my hair, the glow of your approving smile, or the whisper of your promises that soon this nightmare will end and we shall find ourselves in the nursery, hiding from the maids and giggling over our cherished secrets.
My dearest aunt, until that day, all my love,
Alexia Dumont
PROLOGUE
Darkness rustled about Amos, a horde of hungry bodies eagerly awaiting the fall of night while hidden from the sun’s angry rays. Raspy voices whispered in the gloom from the throats of those who had begun to decay after centuries of starvation and immortality.
The moonless night was moments away.
The swarm pressed forward and Amos lifted a hand, staying them in the cave’s mouth.
Tonight it would begin. Tonight the players would fall into place like pawns on an elaborate chessboard. Very soon he and his comrades in suffering would have justice, and then the sweet revenge they deserved.
It all began tonight.
One
Predators and Prey
Alexia’s eyes snapped open, heart thundering.
Well, she wasn’t dead. Yet.
Alexia uncurled stiff fingers from around her blanket and pressed further into her pillow. Caught somewhere between annoyed and relieved, she settled on grateful—that she’d recovered enough to dream again, even if her nightmares always came true. She could still feel phantom fingers at the back of her skull, crushing her face into the pillow until she ceased to breathe.
She shuddered.
Lace curtains scattered shadow creatures across the wood floor, twisting them in a late summer breeze from the unlatched balcony door. Specters clawed at the pastel walls, up a bureau, and over a wardrobe of fashionable clothes for 1770. Costumes. Façades. Pretensions.
She sat up in the bed she’d used all eighteen years of her life. Father slumbered at the other end of the too-empty estate, too far away to call for help.
Father, whom she had never expected to see again.
Father who had begged her to abandon her true heritage.
In this very bed, Alexia had witnessed death after death through her night terrors. She had hoped the dreams would cease for good now that she’d discovered the true extent of her gift, the ability to slow or freeze time. But wishing was futile.
And now—according to the dream—she was going to die.
But not if she could stop it.
She searched for a weapon, her fingers scraping over a hairbrush and unlit candle on the dressing table beside her bed. What she wouldn’t give for a dagger!
Ghostly light from the open balcony drew her gaze to the mirror and her evergreen
eyes. She shivered. The reflection she recalled was that of a rat-child—thin, sickly, sallow, revolting by all standards and befitting a horror story. Instead, flawless skin and ebony curls gleamed in the glass.
It was a part of being Passionate: coming of age and maturing into an unnatural beauty. According to Kiren, their lack of beauty in childhood was a defense mechanism, a protection from humans who might otherwise take advantage of their young. It was during the moonless cycle following their sixteenth birthday that their gifts bloomed into existence along with an exquisiteness no mortal could resist. That change had taken place two years ago, heralded by the nightmares which warned Alexia of future deaths.
Beauty had brought only misery. She bit back the memory of Roger Whitaker’s hands on her, the crash of her skull against the wall as he attempted to take what she wouldn’t willingly give. And when he failed, the forced betrothal that followed...
She shook the memory away. Roger’s attack proved that she’d never be able to live among the gentry as a Baron’s daughter, not with a Passionate heritage. Instead she had to survive a secret war long enough to marry Kiren, the leader of the Passionate whom she’d chosen for herself.
Starting with finding a weapon.
Father’s pistols were housed only a few rooms over, but she knew from the nightmare she’d never make it that far.
Ethereal light glinted across the brass door handle—metal because it deflected the Passionate and burned their bare flesh. But not hers. That was what came of being a half-human.
The door handle twisted.
Her heart leapt. It could be Kiren, finally come after three days of absence. Since Father couldn’t accept her choice of suitor, Kiren might merely be sneaking in to avoid conflict, but then why would he use the door? Why not simply come through the balcony as he had so often done in the past?
Because it wasn’t Kiren.
Her heart seized at a possibility she didn’t want to consider: that it might be Sarah, her missing aunt, best friend, and near sister.
She forced her heart to slow, her mind to work. Surely it was a servant coming before dawn to clean the chamber pot or deliver fresh water.
Except servants didn’t move as silently as death.
The door flew open and a shadow reared out of the blackness. Alexia rolled away, determined to escape the murderer of her nightmare.
Blankets snared her legs. The mattress dipped behind her under new weight. Material yanked tight against her neck. She gasped. Fingers knotted in her hair and wrenched her backwards.
Alexia shrieked as her face slammed into a pillow. She thrashed, and the pressure on the back of her head doubled. She tore at her captor’s small hands, digging her nails in.
“I warned you!” High soprano cut through the pulse in her ears. “Die!”
Alexia gasped, desperate for air. Instead, she sucked in suffocating cushion and cloth. Darkness crept over the corners of consciousness—the inky silence of the nether realm.
She was not ready to die—not when she had the power to escape.
The power to stop time.
She yanked the seconds to a halt, and an ache crawled up the back of her head like the burn of a hundred ant bites. The cushion beneath her cheek stiffened, solidifying into stone. Her attacker’s panting slowed to a low-pitched hiss. Then there was silence—the silence of stopped time.
Alexia turned her head and gasped, scraping her cheek on cotton-granite.
Air! It tasted like an old crypt and hung immobile, but she inhaled with force. Her head cleared enough to register the ripple of pain crushing through her skull.
She slid out from under the child’s grasp, her hair catching on immobile fingers. Sucking in a second breath, she whimpered at the lava eating into her brain. Kiren had warned her not to use her gift. She was not recovered enough. Not yet.
Alexia released the flow of seconds and her assailant smacked against the headboard, cursing as Alexia tumbled to the floor, holding her head. Pounding dragged her down. Her brain blazed like a flaming knife had skimmed off a fresh layer of skin. Four weeks of healing, four weeks of avoiding all thought, four weeks of dreamless sleep, gone in an instant!
She focused on breathing. In, ignore the pain. Out, let it go. Her knees shuddered as she lifted her forehead from the floorboards, her brain throbbing.
Golden ringlets dripped down the child’s shoulders, and large cruel, brown eyes glared above vibrant red lips in a portrait perfect countenance of thirteen. A porcelain doll. The girl coiled on the edge of the bed, swathed in the rich folds of raven-brocade, poised like a snake to strike. Two years they’d known one another, and Bellezza hadn’t aged a day.
“How do you do that?” Bellezza’s perfect mixture of soprano and terror slapped Alexia’s ears.
The child leapt.
Alexia jumped, her headache hammering through her temples.
The malevolent girl landed next to her, eyes no more than a hand’s width away, consuming her in their earthy dark swells like midnight quicksand. Her cruel mouth twisted in a menacing scowl.
The last time they had come face to face, Alexia had been in a race to save Aunt Sarah, whom Bellezza had thrown to the Soulless.
Every muscle tensed and Alexia’s vision bled out to red. She had never hated anyone so much as this girl! She balled her fists and swung at the selfish imp.
Bellezza leapt back.
Alexia’s knuckles grazed the girl’s cheek, barely missing her. Nightmare pain shot down her neck. Her body was not ready to halt time, not ready to move, and she’d pushed it too far. Pain swallowed the world. She was falling, falling into blackness.
Her brow thumped on something solid and she grunted.
“Dear me, did you hurt yourself?” Bellezza giggled.
Alexia pressed her palms to the uneven timbers, trembling. “Stay away from me.” Every word fired knives at the back of her eyes.
Where was Kiren? Why would he allow this heartless, vile creature to come so close—the one who had almost killed her before? The one who had robbed her of Sarah?
Bellezza batted her eyelashes. “Why would I do that when you are so fun to taunt?”
Alexia pushed herself up. Bellezza could have easily ended her in the last minute, so why hadn’t she? Surely she’d come to do more than deride her, but Alexia didn’t want to play this game. “Go away, Bellezza.”
The girl’s sneer broadened, morphing her face from a porcelain doll to a bloodthirsty savage. “Is that it?” Near-black eyes exacted hers from the shadows. “He kept you because you are talented?” Her lips pulled back in a vicious smile. “How precious. How do you like being one of his pets? Tell me, is it—” she looked Alexia up and down “—rewarding?”
“Go back to your prison.”
The child’s grin widened. “Oh, but Alexia, I left that place months ago. I have been here, watching over your precious daddy and half-wit aunt.”
Alexia bit down against the pain in her head, her knuckles aching for how tightly they strained. Sarah had been everything to her, her only true confidant and bosom friend.
The girl sniffed. “Anyone cork-brained enough to marry one of the Soulless deserves their misery.”
Alexia swallowed the verbal slap. Bellezza was right. Sarah had known John was one of the Soulless who could walk in daylight, known her fate would ultimately end in joining those empty creatures, in becoming one of them. John had seemed so above the Soulless, so rational and normal. But it had been an illusion. She chose him. Sarah chose John over a life with the Passionate, and Alexia had only herself to blame.
“What do you want, Bellezza?”
“I want you dead!”
“Then why have you not done it?” The child had a much easier way of ending a life than smothering or talking Alexia to death. She shivered at the memory of toppling blindly down flights of stairs to the sound of Bellezza’s shriek.
The girl sighed and frumpled into a seat next to her. “Because I like you.”
Alexi
a blinked at her.
Bellezza’s mouth tightened. “I told you, he is mine!”
“And I believed you.”
Her eyes darkened. “Why do you have to be so likeable? I cannot even hate you for marrying him.”
Alexia started. “We are not married.”
“You will be soon.”
Soon? Alexia straightened up. What did Bellezza know? Had she come here to preempt the wedding? Was that why Kiren had been absent for three days—preparing for their union?
A throat cleared from the door way.
They both turned. Starlight glistened across the worn leather of his boots, and the gray of his suit coat, unbuttoned to reveal tan trousers, a matching long waistcoat and the hint of a white shirt. Ginger waves fell about his brow, shading the jagged white scar which barbed from his right cheek to his chin. His skin held a luminescence that filled Alexia with awe, and his eyes, which left clear coastal reefs at nightfall in envy, crashed soberly over Bellezza.
Two
Escape
“What have we here?” Kiren crossed his arms, trapping the deadly child with his stare. He locked each foot to the floor, projecting a calm facade, although his muscles screamed to close the distance and thrust her away from his future wife. At Bellezza’s slightest move, he would pounce.
Bellezza’s scowl deepened. She muttered, “Coward,” a word she didn’t expect him to hear. Black skirts rustled as her nutmeg scent wafted at him. “I came to congratulate you.”
“Do not lie to me, Bellezza.” Her choice of dress alone communicated otherwise. He dove into her eyes, reading the truth in her thoughts. Wishful images surfaced: her fingers curled about Alexia’s neck, squeezing until the dark-haired girl stared back with glassy eyes.
Soulless (Maiden of Time Book 2) Page 1