She pulled out a mixture of copy paper and lined paper Carter would have carefully separated from the notebook. Handing the envelopes to Landon to hold, she moved past the letter-sized envelope on top and flipped through written observations of herself, of Chastity. Dosage schedules. Then notes regarding her moods, her attitude. Personal things he had no right to judge, let alone notate.
“The frigging thing actually says, ‘Do not open unless something happens to me’,” Landon said, tapping his finger on the envelope. “What the hell was he thinking? As if I wouldn’t open it immediately. Doesn’t he think I’ve ever seen a movie? It was just chance I went back to my desk today and saw it. You’ve seen my desk.”
She had. And she imagined the envelope could have stayed in that mess for weeks. Could have been delivered weeks ago. Who knew? Did it make a difference? Not really. The damage was done. To her, by her—you name it. And now she was alone.
“What’s this?” she asked, holding up the letter-sized envelope, afraid to open it and find something worse.
“It’s a confession. Carter’s confession.”
With a shaking hand, she pulled the letter out. She put it down after reading the first few lines. She wasn’t ready to read all of it. Not yet.
“Who is doing this?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But I sure as hell am going to find out. That”—he pointed to the stack of papers in her lap—“will help. I hope.”
She stared at the pages—Carter’s notes, his justifications, his apology. It might help, that was true. But Carter-himself was dead to her—figuratively, if not literally. His deceit had left her empty, void. She’d believed in him, thought he’d believed in her. Wrong on both counts. It stung, an electric jolt in her side she couldn’t break free from. Given by the strong, muscular arms he’d wrapped around her so many times.
And Mitch? Mitch. Her belly and chest clenched. He was lost to her. Forever? If she didn’t find the truth? Yes. If the truth didn’t come with a solution? Yes. He would stay behind his bars, locked away from her permanently. He’d go back to thinking the evil inside of him was him. And maybe he’d be right.
A chill ran down her body, and she felt herself go blank, numb. Her emotions switching to the “off” position.
She took the first deep breath of her new life.
“I have more information. Jolie’s password, but it’ll need to be quick. Before they shut down the account,” she heard herself say. Her voice sounded hollow, as if it was traveling down a long tunnel from her mouth to her ear. “I need your help, Landon. You think you want to know what’s happening? Not half as much as I do.”
Landon conceded with a nod.
“I need her cell phone.”
He leaned in front of her, opened the glove compartment, and took out a phone. “You mean this one?”
“That’s the one.” She watched as her only ally—the cop, the stranger sitting next to her—put the phone into her outstretched hand. But she couldn’t trust him. Not until he’d proven himself worthy. Not until she could trust her own judgment again. But he’d have to do for now. She’d be careful. Smart.
“Eden . . .” He pulled away from her and swallowed.
“What?”
“Your eyes.”
She yanked the visor down, and aimed the small mirror toward her face. When she saw Chastity’s eyes looking back at her, Eden’s pulse sank, her heart stilled. Then it started a new rhythm. Four beats echoed in her ears, followed by a break. Something was definitely broken. But not her. No, she wasn’t broken. She was power. Cold, undeniable power.
“Is it you . . . or . . . or her?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m still me.” She slammed the visor closed and took one last look at the house in front of her. A house of voluntary bondage.
Feeling nothing, she curled her fingers around Jolie’s cell phone and said, “We have work to do. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
A moment before she heard the squeal of brakes behind the car and the tap on the window, she’d known something was wrong. But she still hadn’t learned to trust herself. Not completely.
That needed to change. As Landon cursed and raised his hands in front of him, Eden slowly turned to the window and saw the gun pointed at her face. How many of the men could Chastity take down before they shot her?
EPILOGUE
Upstairs in Hyde’s room, Mitch heard the pounding on his front door. Damn it. The sun wasn’t even going down yet—too early for her to come back. And what was he going to do with her anyway? He imagined them staring at each other, both of them close to tears, anxiously waiting to see who would go to sleep first. Who would transform. Yippee, they could take turns. He could watch her nap, his eyes not leaving her face, keeping his sobs quiet so as not to wake her. Good fucking times.
The knock got louder. “Jesus, you’re going to break your hand,” he mumbled as he went downstairs to let her in. Hyde was subdued and had been since Mitch had come back into himself. But he couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust himself. He took a breath and opened the door. “I told you not to—”
Landon stood scowling on the doorstep, his head tilted and his hand pressing the side. “Not to what, Mitch?”
He walked away from the cop, leaving the door open. That was as much of an invitation as Landon was going to get. “What do you want?”
“They took her.”
He whirled around. “What did you say?”
Landon lowered his hand and turned to the side, grimacing. Blood trickled down from his hairline just behind his ear. “I said, they took her. They must have been waiting for the others to clear out. When we were about to pull out of your driveway, they came out of nowhere and hauled both our asses from the car at gunpoint.”
Mitch felt the anger take hold of him, filling his body. But it was all his this time—Hyde didn’t push at all. “How did you let them take her?” He wanted to pound Landon through a brick wall.
“I didn’t let them do shit! They took her, Turner. They took our girl.”
He growled, “‘Our girl?’ We don’t have a girl.” His jealousy bloomed as he realized that Eden could belong more to the detective than him now. She might belong to anyone now.
No, she’s mine. Always will be. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “Who are they?”
Landon took a wobbly step forward, blinking rapidly. He looked like he was going to fall over at any moment, without Mitch’s help. Mitch grabbed the guy and brought him to the stairs, easing him down.
The cop put his hand to his head and closed his eyes. “She fought them. We both did. Then when I reached for my gun, one of the”—his voice broke—“one of those motherfuckers hit me from behind. When I opened my eyes, all of them were gone.” Landon was still mumbling, but Mitch couldn’t hear him, his mind narrowing in on one word.
Gone. She was gone. What he’d both wanted and feared, but not like this. Never, ever, ever like this. He had to get her back. He was going to get her back.
And if they hurt her . . .
He’d make them pay. Even if he had to let the beast out to do it.
Author's Notes
Thank you for reading Hyde, an Urban Fantasy.
Book Two in Mitch and Eden’s story has a tentative release date of December 2012.
If you enjoyed Hyde, please help others enjoy it too. This e-book is lending enabled, so pass it around to your friends. Recommend it to readers’ groups and on discussion boards.
And, by all means, feel free to review it at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads. If you send me an email to let me know you left a review, in appreciation, you’ll be entered into a drawing to receive one of 25 free copies of the next book in this series. The drawing will be held on October 1, 2012.
Plus, for everyone who emails me, I’ll immediately send the short prologue I almost used in this book, but decided against. Why did I change my mind? Because it’s from Hyde’s point of view, and I didn’t want to scare readers away on the first page. Cuz . . . in
case you didn’t notice, Hyde is not a nice guy, and he has a bit of a potty-mouth. Even more than Mitch.
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On a personal level, this story was difficult to write and even more difficult to let go of. I need to thank all the people who helped me through the ups and downs of this project, who were unendingly patient and supportive, and whom I will never deserve. Especially Caroline Hanson, Christina McKnight, Roxanne Price, R.A. Gates, and my mom. Special thanks to Laura for the amazing cover design.
And just think, guys, this is only book one in the series! *insert wicked laugh here*
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Below is an
excerpt from the Number One Contemporary Fantasy Bestseller Love is Darkness by Caroline Hanson. The sequel, Love is Fear, debuted in the Kindle Top 100 on its first day.
Love is Darkness: Prologue
Prague, Czech Republic
15 years ago
He wasn’t God.
Although there had been a handful of years between his ascendancy to the throne and the killing of the Others, where he may as well have been. The world had not only responded to his whims but feared them.
He wasn’t Death.
He’d created death, given death, even taken death away by making someone immortal. But death had never come for him.
Time to rethink that one.
He supposed it was fitting that he would die like Gaius. Lucas, a 900 year old, vampire ‘upstart’, had walked straight up to him and cut off his head without Gaius even blinking in protest. One swing of his sword, a clearing of ash and he had taken the throne.
Gaius had sat there for weeks, staring at nothing like a mindless fool, until Lucas had decided it was enough, that faded glory and reverence only lasted for so long.
But now death was stalking him, sinking claws into him slowly and sweetly so that he barely noticed. Did it matter? Did he care? If he went back into that catatonic state and never came out again, would it be so bad?
He shuffled memories like a deck of cards in his mind, turning over static pictures of his life: himself laughing, despairing, fighting, even fucking. Events that should prompt vividly colored reactions, yet all he felt was gray.
From birth he had known his death would be in battle, fighting for something with all his heart. And that’s how he knew he wasn’t death. Because death knew what he wanted and was able to keep it well out of reach.
The sound of wild masculine laughter floated up the stairs to his room and Lucas returned to himself quickly, his heart thundering loudly as it sped up, momentarily blotting out the sound from below. His heartbeat calmed and he blinked, thick, dark lashes shuttering his pale blue eyes. There was a rustle of silk outside the door; Marion was coming.
He'd sired her centuries ago. She knocked and he bid her to enter. Almost quivering with agitation she went down on one knee, head bowed modestly.
“My King, Roberto has returned from the New World. I would ask that you come to see him, if it pleases you.”
A thread of excitement weaved through her words. She was uncommonly tall, almost six feet, and painfully thin, her features sharp and harsh. Marion's hair was a vivid auburn, her eyes forest green. She looked just as she had at eighteen, the year she had died and become a vampire. But centuries of hard living, dissipation and unhappiness had hardened her, leaving their mark upon her frailness so that her vitality was a brittle mask.
Lucas stood and went down the stairs, the vampire guards straightening as he passed with Marion at his heels like a vengeful spaniel. The New World she called it, as though she'd never heard of the United States of America.
He looked at the grandfather clock as he passed, noting that it was now the 30th and he'd been inward for... twenty one days. Was it possible? His hands tightened into fists and he felt a pang of worry that the episodes were getting longer.
In the entryway to the great hall, Lucas and Marion came to a halt, taking in the tableau before them. The room was almost empty and dimly lit. A vaulted ceiling was high over-head, the beams dark with age. A gigantic limestone fireplace dominated one wall, necessary to generate enough warmth for the room which could easily seat two hundred people for dinner.
Roberto was standing on a table, walking heel to toe in a careful process like he was drunk. He began singing, a soft song in Spanish.
“What did you do?” Lucas' voice was deep and deceptively calm as he eyed the vampire up and down before pulling out a chair from the dining room table and sitting, crossing his legs casually as he studied Roberto.
“I was in California, and I found a woman,” he started giggling then tried to stop. “She was like...flowers, like drugs or candy—” He gave a loose shrug, like he was giving up on finding the right words.
There was a long pause and when he spoke again his voice sounded dreamy, maybe even a little regretful. “Stupid to have drunk her in one.” He sighed, his red lips tilting downwards into a frown. “Her blood burned me it was so sweet. An explosion and now it’s like colors racing through me.”
Lucas stayed still. He didn’t want to make any gesture that might betray his shock. “Everyone out.”
Marion waited as though ‘everyone’ didn’t include her. After all these centuries did she finally think she was powerful enough to challenge him? Then she bowed and left. He dismissed her from his mind. She was irrelevant.
As soon as the room was empty, Lucas began asking questions. “How many people did you kill?”
“Just the one! But her daughter was there. Saw the whole thing. Don’t know if she’d taste that good.”
“What is the family name?”
Roberto looked up, a cunning expression on his ferret-like face. “Why? You want some, too? I would be happy to take you. Umm, the name. Happy, no that’s not it. Dee—oh wait. Dearborn. I think.” Then he laughed again.
Roberto was behaving like he’d drunk the blood of an empath. But they were extinct. It was impossible. When was the last time he’d drunk from an empath? Four, five hundred years ago?
Lucas remembered the man clearly. The bold, intense flavor of the blood as it had coursed down his throat. Like drinking wine instead of vinegar. Afterwards, he'd gone berserk, killing humans and vampires alike until the gamut of emotion had fled and left him yearning for death.
Only Marion had risked coming to find him, his murderous rage keeping the others away. She'd found him in Austria, next to the lake he'd grown up on, crying and waiting for the dawn to kill him. Marion had held his hand and spoken to him soothingly, her maternal instincts at the fore as she convinced him it was just the blood and the empath’s magic that made him so upset, he didn’t really want to die. Didn’t want to kill everyone he met.
When she'd tugged him up off the ground, the sky pink and yellow with the coming sun, he'd gone with her, feeling wrecked and defenseless. She'd led him to safety, finding them refuge in a cemetery. The same cemetery where he'd buried his wife and children centuries before.
Lucas had dreamed and felt, reduced to near humanity all because of that man’s blood. They’d been a vampire’s biggest weakness, both a curse and a balm. A drug that he'd thought long exterminated. But here was Roberto, high as a kite, reeking of magic and blood, the woman’s bright scent on his clothes and skin.
Dangerous. But his f
angs ached from the sudden craving that swamped him. Even after the last time, the pain he'd felt, he still wanted it. At least it was emotion, something to feel when all he'd felt for hundreds of years was empty darkness.
It would be madness to indulge; a potential nightmare instead of Roberto's drunken happiness.
But the woman is dead.
No revenge, no psychic connection where she could control him and manipulate his feelings. Roberto said there was a daughter, but her blood might be normal, the power an aberration. This could be the last chance to experience an empath’s gifts.
Hyde, an Urban Fantasy Page 37