Ascension Series Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Laura Hall

  I swallowed hard. “Are they really that dangerous?”

  “Yes,” she said flatly. “Ciphers, mages, shifters, vampires . . . At one point, all were human. The Fae have never been human. They are, in almost every sense of the world, an alien race.”

  I was having another transcendent experience. They seemed to be happening a lot lately, which probably wasn’t a good thing. But the zen-like numbness was welcome.

  I asked, “What was my father? Red, Black, or White?”

  Delilah shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Greer women have long been of interest to the Fae. We’re not entirely human, making us ideal brood mares for their men.”

  I blinked. “Sorry? Did you just say we aren’t human? What the hell are we?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  I scanned her features, trying to find something besides sincerity. “So Fae boys love us. Is there a dating service or something?”

  Her lips compressed. “It’s nothing to make light of. Your dual natures of Elemental and Seer make you especially attractive to them. In fact, I’ve often wondered why they didn’t take you as a baby instead of leaving you for Frank to raise.”

  I stared hard at her, waiting for decency to kick her in the teeth, but she remained oblivious to the callousness of her words. “Gee, I guess I was just lucky.”

  She frowned uncomprehendingly. “You must be exceedingly careful around Fae men. Although they would never take a lover by brute force, they can be very”—she looked away—“manipulative.”

  “Fae roofies,” I muttered, then shook my head sharply. “Well, this is all disturbing and thanks for the warning, but unless the Fae have magic sperm, I’m as barren as the rest of—” The blood drained from my head.

  Delilah’s gaze narrowed knowingly. “Exactly. We aren’t wholly human. There are dark days ahead, Fiona. My Sight can’t breach the Sidhes, but something has changed for the Fae. They’ve become fanatical about preserving their bloodlines. Some of us believe Fae women are sterile, others think the Sidhes themselves are dying. There’s a possibility, too, that the Fae royals are planning something much larger in scale. That Ascension was a part of that plan.”

  I whipped my hand up. “Whoa. Stop. No apocalyptic theories, please. And what do you mean by ‘some of us’?”

  “Others like you and me,” she said. “Changelings.”

  A cocktail of unease and excitement pulsed through me. Electricity crackled. I didn’t trust this woman, and I mostly still hated her guts, but I couldn’t resist asking, “There are others? Like me?”

  She smiled softly. “Not exactly like, no. Even among the Fae, lightning is rare. But there are others who possess a variety of abilities. The truly powerful, though, are taken at birth by their fathers.”

  I massaged my pounding temples. “This is—shit, this is too much.”

  A muted footstep was followed by the unmistakable cocking of a shotgun. My dad moved with preternatural grace between two nearby trees. “Delilah, get away from our daughter.”

  “Frank—” she began, but didn’t finish. A sapling three feet from her exploded. She screamed, ducking and throwing her arms over her head.

  “Dad!” I yelled. “No!”

  He ignored me, taking measured steps toward his estranged wife. He didn’t look angry but utterly calm, which was a thousand times more scary. In a normal tone, he said, “This is your first and last warning. Fiona is no longer a piece on your chessboard. You stay away from her. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she replied, rising to her feet and pushing hair from her face. “But hear this—if you want her to live past her dealings with the Fae, call for me before she fulfills her bargain with the White Queen.” She glanced at me, eyes agonized. “I’m sorry, for everything. Alisande!”

  Opal magic flared, blinding us, and when it dimmed Delilah was gone.

  My dad lowered the shotgun and blinked owlishly at me. “Did she just say the Fae?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said with a weak laugh.

  His eyes narrowed. “One you’ll tell me.”

  I nodded. “Once we’re on the road. Where the hell did you get a shotgun?”

  He grinned. “Borrowed it. Come on.”

  We picked our way through the soggy woods toward the compound. It wasn’t until the forest line was in sight that my dad fired another, no less dangerous gun. “You love him, don’t you? The Western Prime?”

  I avoided the knowing eyes of the first man—and only until I’d met Connor Thorne—who could see right through me. “Yes, but . . .”

  I have doubts.

  I’m a coward.

  I’m scared.

  “Give it some time,” he said gently. “If it’s meant to be, you’ll realize the greatest freedom of all is with the one you love.”

  I blinked at my father, the burly werebear ex-police detective, and previously closeted super-romantic. His already ruddy cheeks went even ruddier and he scowled, snapping, “What? I’m not allowed to have hidden depths?”

  A portion of the heavy sadness inside me sheared off. Joy at having him back filled the aching space. “I love you, you big softy.”

  He winked and nodded toward the compound, where we could see Mal and Adam standing in the circular drive beside a dark sedan. “I hear Montana’s lovely this time of year,” he said and left the cover of trees.

  I followed.

  Unraveling

  One

  Gusting breezes moved through towering pines, their branches dancing with dappled shadows. The dry California air held traces of campfire smoke and burnt marshmallows. Beneath my feet was a depression, deep and dark, caused once upon a time by an immense and unnatural lightning strike. The body parts and debris were gone, but the epicenter was still black as pitch, a reminder of my long-ago position on this, the stage of my worst nightmare.

  I stared at the space before my sneakered feet, where stubborn weeds pushed through the charred surface of rock and crumbled earth. I stared until my eyes stung and watered, until my numbness was shattered by a swift, sharp pain on my forearm. Reflex had me slapping the offended skin, then lifting fingers to peer at a small red welt. The culprit, a mosquito, was smeared on my thumb.

  I finally put two and two together.

  “This isn’t a dream.”

  My voice didn’t sound convinced, but my brain was increasingly so. Yes, this was the campsite where, nearly fifteen years ago, I’d been enjoying time with my friends and fiancé on the evening of July 27. And this was the earth that had been scorched by lightning at midnight on what came to be known as Ascension Day, killing my companions and changing me.

  “Indeed, you’re fully conscious.”

  I spun to see Lucian Ó Cléirigh, emissary of the White Court of the Fae, standing above me on the lip of the crater.

  For once, he wasn’t trying to charm me with a smile. His lean, wolfish features were set in somber lines, his usually relaxed mien replaced by the stiffness of military stance. He looked like an alien—a beautiful, humanoid one—with faintly glowing skin, long white braid, and luminous gray eyes.

  I didn’t waste breath on a greeting. “What the hell is going on?”

  “You’ve completed the agreed upon four weeks in the Sidhe of the White Court. The queen thanks you for your service. You may go now.”

  Everything slowed down as shock exploded about a million of my brain cells. I dragged air into my starving lungs. “W-what?” I sputtered.

  Lucian, apparently done with the conversation, began to turn away. I scrambled up the side of the crater and grabbed his arm, yanking him around to face me. “What are you talking about? I don’t remember anything. Nothing after you showed up in Montana.” There. A tiny flare of emotion. Which one, I had no idea, but it was something. “What happened, Lucian?”

  Warm fingers trailed down my cheek, barely grazing my skin. It felt demonstrative rather than suggestive, confirmed as a muted electrical current followed his almost-touc
h. Lucian was like me—only the purebred Fae version—and thus touching me couldn’t harm him.

  “You did well, Fiona. You were an apt pupil.” A small smile lifted his lips. “A frustrating pupil, but apt. You’ll be pleased to know your special gloves are no longer necessary. Your element has been brought to heel.”

  Brought to heel.

  He was talking about lightning. Freaking primordial plasma. Brought to heel like we’d done nothing so miraculous as potty train a dog. He wasn’t lying; at least, I wasn’t throwing sparks at the moment, which happened as a rule when I was experiencing intense emotion. Right now definitely qualified.

  I clenched my hands and felt a deep vibration but no electricity. Stuffing down the panicked thought that I’d been power-neutered, I asked, “Then why don’t I remember?”

  The smile vanished. “The White Queen wished it so.”

  Spectral cold oozed down my spine. “Something bad happened, didn’t it? What did I do? Insult some royalty? Chew with my mouth open?”

  Lucian sighed, his apathetic façade cracking. “I’m truly sorry for the violation of your mind. I argued against it most vehemently, as did several others.” He glanced away. “The queen was not swayed. She felt it in the best interest of the Court for you to forget your time with us.”

  He sounded tired and faintly annoyed. There was also a thread of something in his tone I couldn’t put my finger on, something like fondness, only more. It terrified me. “Uh, Lucian? We didn’t, you know . . .” I waved a hand aimlessly between us.

  The pointed tips of his ears went pink. “No,” he said curtly. “Rest assured, you left the Sidhe in the same untouched state you entered it.”

  I swallowed a sigh of relief. My rare mix of human and Fae genetics were like catnip to Fae men, who had several millennia of practice seducing human women. A substantial portion of my preparation for the Sidhe had been exhaustive meditation and physical training, both for the purpose of resisting the charms of the Fae.

  And since Lucian couldn’t lie outright, either I wasn’t as alluring as expected or my hard work had paid off. “Great. Well . . . okay, then.”

  He made a pained noise. “Ever the wordsmith, Fiona.”

  Ignoring the affectionate reprimand, I glanced around the rapidly darkening forest. “You’re just going to leave me here? How am I supposed to get back to Montana?”

  “Your uncle will be here momentarily.” His eyes found mine again, once more calm, glistening pools. “I am disobeying my queen by speaking with you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Sorry. Thanks for whatever training you gave me that I don’t remember.”

  His eyebrows pinched together. “Is that your sarcasm?”

  Feeling a bit slaphappy, I grinned. “Why yes, it was.”

  Shadows crowded around him, licking at his light. Not for the first time, I was struck by his unearthly beauty. “You can trust the training,” he said. “It was very thorough. If you have any struggles with your element, call my name thrice. I will come if I am able.”

  “Thanks,” I said, sans-sarcasm.

  He smiled softly. “One final warning, because you seem to bring out the deviant in me. You spent the last week with another teacher.” At my sharp glance, he added, “A woman. She was helping you hone your ability to perceive auras. I was told they’ll now appear more vivid to you, perhaps disconcertingly so.” He ducked his head. “I didn’t want you to think there was something wrong with you.”

  A memory floated forward of a deep, dulcet voice—one I had been doing my best to forget—telling me I could track the resonance left by auras. That I could, and would, for him. Pompous ass. In the end, though, I’d done exactly as he wished. Not by tracking resonance, but by using Sight, a tricky gift inherited from my mother.

  I eyed Lucian’s glowing aura, but it looked the same to me, a white radiance like he constantly stood in front of a lamp.

  “It’s different from Sight, then,” I mused.

  “Different from Foresight, yes, but it comes from the same branch of power.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Of the same paternal Fae ancestor, you mean. A Seer?”

  Lucian’s shoulders twitched. “We call them Oracles.”

  That he looked so uncomfortable was a mark in his favor. Clearly it wasn't a secret that Fae men liked to wine, dine, and impregnate women of my bloodline.

  The result of such a union, I’d been lucky enough to be born with dormant power. Of no interest to my Fae father, I’d been left in my mother’s care. She, in turn, had passed me off to her husband, Frank Sullivan, who was the only parent I’d ever known. He’d given me a good life, a normal life, for twenty-eight years. Until Ascension had taken it away.

  “And my mother? Can she see auras?”

  I had no idea why it mattered, but it did.

  “Fiona!” hollered my uncle Mal from somewhere nearby.

  “Here!” I yelled back.

  Lucian said, “Delilah didn’t inherit the skill. But if I’m not mistaken, her Foresight is quite a bit more developed than yours. Power often manifests in the world in checks and balances, as you humans say.”

  I nodded, relieved. “I’ll take pretty colors over Sybil-madness any day of the week.”

  He glanced over my shoulder. “Anything else, Fiona?”

  “Not unless I can convince you to return my memories.”

  He shook his head. “Even if that were an option, it’s outside the scope of my power.”

  I took a slow breath to calm a sudden burst of temper. “Just so we’re clear, I’m going to get them back whether you help me or not.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “I sincerely hope you rethink that course of action. You must believe me, nothing vital was taken.”

  “I disagree.” Our staring contest lasted a few more seconds, and he looked away first. “Since you won’t help me, I guess this is our final goodbye. Thank you, Lucian, for the training.” This time I tried to sound like I meant it.

  He watched me a beat longer, then turned and strode away. The shadows swallowed him after several feet, and an instant later I heard nearby undergrowth crunching under heavy boots. The swinging beam of a high-powered flashlight found me. Squinting, I offered a middle finger to the spotlight.

  “I hate camping,” grumbled my uncle. “Come give me some love, kiddo.”

  Two

  Even though I didn’t remember the last four weeks of my life, I knew I hadn’t seen my uncle in seven months. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed until he howled in mock pain.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he growled. “This place gives me the willies.” The flashlight, necessary now as the sky bled from navy to black, passed over my face again. “Damn, I’m still not used to the white hair.”

  I touched the loose strands, long again after a hiatus from scissors. “White again, huh?” I patted the pockets of my jeans. “I must have lost the amulet Adam gave me.”

  The crystal, imbued with magic by one of the highest ranking mages in the world, had maintained the illusion of brown hair. I’d been wearing it for the last six months in Montana. It was one of two amulets I never took off . . .

  My heartbeat stalled, then resumed with a gallop.

  I tore at the collar of my sweater, fingers scrambling over my neck. Over and over I passed bare skin, my mind racing to provide another answer. Any answer besides the obvious.

  If there was no chain, there was no obsidian arrowhead. Which meant the ancient vampire I was bloodbound to knew exactly where I was. Where his compagno was.

  A pretty word, compagno, for what was in essence a master-slave relationship.

  Me being the slave.

  “No, no, no,” I chanted, tearing at my pockets, pulling the fabric out. Finally, resignation set in and I looked at my uncle. “They took it. The Fae took my amulet.”

  “It’s been six months,” said Mal calmly, but his aura—Sapphire to denote his power as a mage—was shot through with jagged lines. I didn’t questio
n how I knew, but the lines meant he was just as distressed as I was.

  After all, six months was the blink of an eye for a thousand-year-old vampire.

  “Shit,” I said, craning my neck to peer at the sky.

  I didn’t see any vampire-shaped UFOs, just stars winking and sparkling, which nevertheless reminded me of the massive aura of Connor Thorne, Prime of the Western United States. Overseer and peacekeeper of supernaturals in his zone. Answerable only to the president, and even that was questionable. Scary-powerful vampire. Technically, my master. And, if I was honest, much more.

  Now that the magic of the arrowhead was gone, he could summon me through the bond. I would be compelled to come. And he had every right to do it, to demand answers for my sudden disappearance after one perfect night together.

  I would be forced to face all the messy, complicated emotions he evoked.

  If he summoned me.

  “He won’t summon you,” said my uncle, correctly interpreting the panicked look on my face. “Not after what happened last time.”

  Despite his age, I was Connor’s first compagno. Meant for lovers, the bond had been established instead to save my life and then cemented to save his. Shortly after its inception, he’d made the mistake of summoning me, and his call had obliterated my personal will. We’d both been horrified, Connor more so because he’d once been similarly enslaved by the Fae.

  “You’re right,” I said, nodding perfunctorily. “Let’s go.”

  As I followed Mal onto the trail leading to the nearest parking lot, I ignored the voice bleating warnings in my head. It was persistent, though, insisting that just because Connor wouldn’t summon me didn’t mean he wouldn’t show up one day. Not only did he have private planes at his disposal, he could freaking fly.

  And the worst part? I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to come or not. Six months hadn’t done much to resolve my inner conflict. I still missed him. Craved him. Whatever I had, I had it bad. Lust, definitely. Love? I honestly didn’t know. That was part of the problem.