Dark Ascension

by J. D. Brown

Which meant the woman in the painting was not Ema.

  The woman my brother had been cursed to protect was not Ema.

  But that only begged the question... who was she?

  I turned away from the desk and paced the length of my office, to the window overlooking the forest. I remembered my brother teaching the little gypsy how to shift and fly, so keen to her care. It was disgusting.

  If neither of the offspring are mine... I drew a breath and closed my eyes. Patience... It will be here any moment.

  But when I opened my eyes again, my gaze went straight to the painting, and my patience evaporated. I crossed the room, grabbed the canvas, and propped it upright against the armchair. I angled the chair toward the light then took several steps back. Placing my hands on my hips, I looked at the portrait again, trying in vain to see it for what it was—

  Lines.

  Shapes.

  Brush strokes.

  Colors.

  A nose; the bridge too defined. My nose?

  A jaw; the edges too soft. My jaw?

  Hands... not as delicate or feminine as Ema’s. My hands?

  I scoffed and shook my head. This was stupid. I was projecting my fears onto a meaningless art piece. I needed proof. Scientific evidence done in a lab by a professional. My gaze went to the daggers.

  Any minute now.

  But what would I do if the girl was mine? What if they were both mine?

  It was easy to tell myself Ema had to be put down for the benefit of the race. My father could not rise again. He was using Ema to keep himself alive, the same way he used me—of that I was certain. But if the children were mine?

  Leena had always wanted a family.

  I growled to the side. My beloved would surely scorn me if she knew. She had wanted an heir for me. It was one of the issues that constantly came between us. Because of me, she was barren, and it was never enough to convince her I didn’t need the pitter patter of tiny feet.

  I didn’t even want it now. Not without Leena. It wasn’t fair.

  My gaze lifted as the scent of nitrogen wafted into the air. I found Naamah’s essence, and took the post from his hand before he could even solidify.

  “Is this it?” I gripped the envelope in both hands, reading the medical label through the flimsy address window.

  Naamah sighed. “It is.”

  I tore it open and removed the letter inside. The results! I scanned them. Once. Twice—

  Naamah looked over my shoulder and drew a sharp breath. “Your Highness, may I ask what you intend to do now?”

  I set the letter down next to the daggers, and then traced a fingertip over the cheek of the young woman in the painting.

  “This,” I shook my head. “This complicates everything.”

  Don’t miss the next installment in the Ema Marx series by J.D. Brown:

  DARK HEIRESS (AN EMA MARX NOVEL 5)

  Coming 2019

  THANKS FOR READING!

  Hey, it’s J.D.

  I’m the lady who wrote this book. I hope you’re having fun and enjoying it so far. If so I have a favor to ask you. Would you consider leaving a short review? I really want this book to reach as many readers as possible, and one way to do that is to have lots of feedback from people who liked it.

  Thanks so much in advance, and I wish you lots of fangs & kisses.

  –J.D. Brown

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  ALSO BY J.D. BROWN

  (THE EMA MARX SERIES)

  Dark Heirloom

  Dark Liaison

  Athena’s Oracle

  Dark Becoming

  The Warrioress

  Dark Ascension

  (THE DAUGHTER OF EVE SERIES)

  Never Save a Demon

  Never Trust a Demon

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  J.D. Brown knows vampires exist because she’s dating one, and no he doesn’t sparkle. Unfortunately, he’s not immortal either. A magnet for subcultures and weirdness, J.D. was that socially awkward girl with more fictional friends than real ones. As a child battling a hearing loss and Muckle-Wells Syndrome, J.D. found comfort in books where strong women always saved the day and got the guy. An obsession with Charmed, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer led J.D. to believe that her mutated chromosome made her something more, not something less. Thus her stubborn flare to persevere was born. A lover of fine cuisine, coffee, and shoes, J.D. never understood why shoe stores don’t serve Starbucks and soufflé. She resides in Illinois where she writes urban fantasy—aka vampires for adults—and has political debates with her dogs.

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