by Virna DePaul
When he entered the room, he immediately saw Mahone. Even the radar’s enhanced imaging hadn’t prepared him. The vampire wasn’t touching him, but Mahone’s facial features were contorted in agony, his body writhing and jerking even as he remained silent. Fuck, Caleb thought when he saw the blood seeping out of Mahone’s eyes and ears.
“Hey vamp,” he shouted at the same time he threw the pellet, which would emit a toxic but invisible gas. The vampire whirled around, his eyes flashing red the instant he saw Caleb. He bared his fangs and came at him, his feet gliding above the ground. Caleb fired a round directly at his chest, causing him to fall back. At the same time, Riley and his men fired as well. As the vamp jerked with the impact of the bullets, O’Flare ran for Mahone. He reached up and felt his pulse.
It was barely there. He literally felt the man’s life bleeding out of him.
Laying his hands on Mahone’s bloody chest, Caleb closed his eyes. Bullets still fired around him, some coming too damn close. Damn it, Riley’s men had to get out before the gas reached them in the crawl space. “Get out!” he yelled.
“The vampire teleported,” Riley shouted. “We’re clear.”
With a sigh of relief, Caleb willed his consciousness into a trance and called to his ancestors for their healing help. He saw them in the colors that swirled behind his eyelids and felt their presence in the heat that immediately suffused his body. Their voices chanted low and soothing, directing him to keep one hand directly over Mahone’s heart but place the other over his eyes. Caleb willed the healing heat building within his body to transfer to Mahone. As it did, he took some of Mahone’s pain into himself.
He felt his own heartbeat slow.
His limbs weakened.
His body began to shake with the effort of remaining upright and he clenched his teeth, sensing he needed to maintain contact far longer than he ever had.
Come on, come on, he urged himself. Hang in there.
The dizziness came next. Then the nausea. He could feel his lungs filling with the gas that swirled around them and knew his time was running out.
His body jerked as he coughed and the movement threatened to pull his hands away from Mahone.
They had to get out of there, but if he disconnected too soon it would all be for nothing. Mahone would die. Hell, Caleb would probably die, as well, too weak from the healing to get out on his own.
But then he felt Mahone’s chest rising strongly and his pulse beating regularly and he knew it had worked. The heat slowly left his body and the voices of his ancestors faded. Caleb whispered his thanks, then opened his eyes. Swiftly, he reached up and unhooked Mahone’s chains from the manacles around his wrists. Mahone groaned and slumped over just as O’Flare caught him and threw him fireman-style over his shoulder. Caleb staggered a few steps before he turned, intending to carry Mahone to the doorway. Halfway there, his knees buckled. Caleb lost his grip on Mahone, and the man slipped and rolled a couple of feet away. Grunting, Caleb fell on all fours, his head hanging, his lungs seizing up.
He’d waited too long. They were both going to die in this warehouse just like those scientists. He looked up, eyes watering, searching the room, thankful that Team Blue had obeyed his orders even as he regretted the fact no one was going to be able to help him.
But then he saw her. Wraith. Running toward him. He tried to open his mouth. To yell at her to stop. He didn’t know how the gas would affect a wraith. Since it worked so well on vamps, immortality had nothing to do with it. But he couldn’t make a sound and Wraith kept coming. She knelt beside him and pulled him up. She was yelling something and he tried to make it out.
“—have to walk! I need to get Mahone. Can you walk, O’Flare?”
She was looking frantically between him and Mahone, the indecision on her face readily apparent. She couldn’t carry them both out of there before the gas ended them.
“Leave me—” he tried to say, but again no sound came out. It didn’t matter. Wraith understood.
She grabbed him by his shirt and shook him, hanging on when he began to slide, practically keeping him on his feet. “No fucking way, O’Flare. I didn’t survive Korea just to come back and lose you in the States. Stay on your feet and move. You’re walking out of here. Got it?”
The vehemence in her voice roused him enough to nod. She released him and, although he swayed on his feet, he didn’t fall. Quickly, she grabbed Mahone, carrying him in the same lift O’Flare had used. Then amazingly, she positioned herself next to him and ordered, “Lean against me if you need to. Start walking. Now.”
Caleb walked. He didn’t know how he did it, but he managed to put one foot in front of the other. At one point, he did have to lean on her and he sensed how it slowed her down, but she didn’t move away. She stayed with him.
Until they made it out into the open air. He heard shouts and the sound of stomping feet just as he collapsed.
When he came to, he was being loaded into an ambulance. Riley’s face hovered above him. “Mahone?” Caleb rasped out.
“Still alive,” Riley said. “But I don’t know if he’s going to stay that way.”
From the worried expression on the man’s face, Caleb knew his own chance of survival was also in question.
“Wraith?” he asked, grabbing on to the man’s shirt when he didn’t answer. “What about the wraith?”
Riley shook his head. “I don’t know. She passed out, same as you. No pulse, remember? No breath. No way to tell if she’s alive or dead. They took her in another cab. Your guess is as good as mine.
EXCERPT OF LOVE IS FEAR by Caroline Hanson
Love is Fear is the highly anticipated sequel to the Number One Fantasy Bestseller, Love is Darkness
After a lot of swearing and only a little nookie, Valerie Dearborn has decided to make a change. No more lusting after Lucas, the hot, but emotionless, vampire king who can’t commit. Instead she’s going to make it work with Jack. After all, not only is he breathing, but he’s the love of her life….Isn’t he?
Valerie is an Empath, with supernatural abilities that seem to do nothing more than give her the hots for Lucas. Once upon a time, Empath’s had a purpose. They were ambassadors to the Others—Fey, Witches, Werewolves and Vampires. They could settle the emotions of a Werewolf and make Vampires feel again.
But that was long ago.
Lucas isn’t about to let Valerie go. He needs her to help him find the Fey, last seen in the Colony of Roanoke, South Carolina, circa 1587. He still believes they are the key to restoring balance to the world and the only way to keep vampires under control. They won’t trust him, but they will trust Val.
Between Jack, Lucas and Rachel, Val knows life won’t be dull. Nor will it be the normal, 2.5 kids kind of life she’s always wanted.
As their enemies close in, Val must ask herself what life is really about–trust, duty or mind-blowing orgasms? And even if she finds the answer, she may not live long enough to enjoy it.
Please note—this novel is not YA and has lots of sass, swearing and sex. Not necessarily in that order.
Prologue
August 18, 1587
Cerdewellyn, King of the Fey, smiled triumphantly at the baby’s first angry cry. The sound reverberated off the thin wooden walls of the primitive shelter. He looked around in disgust. It was nothing like the opulence they had been forced to leave behind. Two tallow candles were sputtering in the room, dimly illuminating the spent woman who held her newborn child. Eleanor, the child’s mother, murmured something soothing to the babe, then looked up as Cer approached.
“A girl, just like you promised,” she said tiredly, but with a smile.
She doubted his word? Yes, because no one fears the Fey any longer. “Do you have a name for the child?” he asked, ignoring the unintended slight.
“Virginia. Virginia Dare is her name.”
His black eyebrows pulled together in a frown, giving him a satanic look in the guttural light. His inky hair fell forward into his eyes and he pushed it
away absently. “What is the purpose of such a name? Why did you choose it?”
“Because of the Queen, of course.”
The English Queen. A mortal. More regal, more deserving of having an infant named in her honor, than the Queen of the Fey.
Of course.
He nodded, watching absently as the baby whimpered and struggled, rooting around her mother’s chest.
Cer was pleased, felt a moment of gladness that this, at least, was going as it should. It was an omen for what was to come— it must be. Their lives depended upon it.
“She is strong,” he said and turned to find the midwife watching him as if he was a rabid dog about to steal meat from the fire.
Her arms were crossed defensively and she made a sign at him, as though to ward away an evil spirit. As if a hand gesture could impact him in any way. Cer took a moment to study the deep crimson stains on her apron, eyeing it and her until she saw something in his expression that made her take a step back.
And she should fear me.
“It’s not his place to be here,” the midwife said, never taking her eyes off him. “Seeing the babe before your husband, before your father.”
“Hush, Martha. His Highness has been nothing but goodness to us.”
Martha shook her head and went back to Eleanor, pressing on the woman’s stomach repeatedly until the afterbirth, a huge glistening organ, spilled from her onto the bed.
Cer’s voice cut through the night like a blade. “You are done here. Go, Martha.”
Martha looked at him, then back to Eleanor. Did she really believe Eleanor’s wishes would trump his?
“You are to leave. Now. This is mine. The child is mine. Do nothing to interfere or you will regret it.”
“Are you threatening me?” the woman said, her bloody hand flying to her chest as she stumbled backwards towards the door. The confusion and fear on her simple face made him want to kill her and leave. But it would distress Eleanor, and, after the service she had done his people, he felt magnanimous.
“No,” he said quietly, and then waited until her beefy shoulders slumped in relief. “I threaten you, your children and your man. You leave here and speak nothing of this. Nothing of me, nor the dark birth I will take with me. One whisper, one rumor of this and all you love will perish.”
“You are the devil!” she cried and backed out the door, slamming it behind her. He heard her footsteps on the dry ground as she ran to the nearby huts of the other Roanoke settlers.
He placed the afterbirth into a bucket gently, gave the mother and child a blessing, then went to the woods, ready to reclaim his world. He’d promised Eleanor Dare a daughter and a husband, promised her that her family would prosper. He’d made it happen.
I still have the power to give someone a destiny.
But the Fey never gave away anything for free. Cer had helped the woman conceive for his own purposes—moving the Fey realm, and its living portal, required a host on the perilous journey across the sea.
Eleanor Dare had carried their magic to the New World just as she carried the babe in her womb. They had fled Europe, leaving from County Norfolk for a wilderness so vast and unreachable that no one could harm them.
She’d consumed Fey magic and the essence of their land until she was near to bursting with it. Most of his people—too weak to exist outside his realm—waited for him to complete the rite that would allow them back to the mortal world. And tonight, he’d do just that.
Cer walked into the woods, feeling the night air closing in around him, as though it wanted to meet him, lift him up and return him back to his former glory.
Waiting.
How long had they been a civilization on the brink of extinction? How many had been slaughtered by Lucas over the long centuries?
When the time came, Cerdewellyn would kill him.
It was a death he imagined every waking moment. Akin to a fantasy of a woman he desired but had never taken—he would close his eyes and imagine killing him. He didn’t care if he looked Lucas in the eyes, didn’t care if he stabbed Lucas in the back, didn’t even care if someone else forced the stake through his heart…so long as it was done.
He stepped into a clearing in the woods, where the trees and brush had been cut back by the settlers. The strongest of his people— those who had not needed to lock themselves away in the portal— fell to the ground, the Wolves howling in recognition. Cer could feel the expectation.
A fire raged in the middle of the circle, flames licking so high that they singed the nearest branches—an inferno under a witch’s control.
Tonight they would be reborn, put the past behind them and start again.
His witch, Nantanya, stepped forward and took the bucket that contained the bloody after birth—and all the magic of his people—and went to the fire.
Cer looked at the remnants of the Others. A handful of Empaths, a few Witches, and all that was left of the Wolves. Many of their loved ones were trapped in Cer’s dimension, never aging, nothing changing, as they waited for a way to return to the mortal world.
He made eye contact with each of them, feeling the weight of loss and ruin in their worn clothing and lean faces. The journey to the New World had been hard, and Roanoke was not as plentiful as they had hoped. But once the portal was opened, that would change.
“With this birth, our fortunes change. Our new life begins. Bonded together by death, we are no longer enemies, but kin. All of our kind forged together in a fire of despair.” Cer paused, letting the men and women think about what they had left behind. How dire their situation had become. There had been only one choice.
Leave. Because Lucas and his horde had destroyed them all.
The silence gave way to the slight crackle of leaves underfoot. His Queen approached, their witch leading her by the hand. She was naked and walked forward slowly, flowers twined in her long, honey-colored hair.
The trip had been especially hard on her, and as he watched her come forward, he noticed that she was thinner than usual—her stomach concave and her breasts smaller.
He felt a moment of unease. A true goddess is unaffected by mortal coils. But they’d been together for hundreds of years, had dozens of children together, and as she smiled at him, all his doubts disappeared.
The witch chanted, sliced her palm with a sharp knife, her blood dripping into the fire with a hiss. She lifted the afterbirth from the bucket, holding it suspended over the fire.
The witch had cast the spell allowing their dimension to be moved, but Cer and his Queen were the ones who would break it, allowing the Fey to come and go between the two dimensions.
Nantanya knelt down and cut into the bloody mass, slicing off two small pieces before casting them into the fire. They burned with a flourish, a cascade of rainbow-colored flames sparking bright.
Cer felt the magic rise from the fire like smoke, knew the moment it touched him— thickened him, his cock pulsing in time to his heart and the witch’s chant.
A breeze rustled across his skin and his Queen’s hair flitted across him arm, twining around his hand. The fire crackled again and he was hard as obsidian. The urge to mate with his Queen an overwhelming need.
Magic and power flooded the night. He drew it into him, channeling it into pure desire, before throwing it into the land, aware of it touching each person in the clearing. Their sudden moans of carnal hunger, a primitive song in the night.
The witch approached, a strip of meat dangling on the edge of her blade. He inhaled, the smell of blood and power potent and intoxicating. Without question, thought or hesitation he swallowed it whole, felt it burn through him.
The magic needed an outlet. The magic was half him and half his Queen. Only their joining would make the magic whole. Cerdewellyn watched as his Queen opened her mouth, taking the flesh between her lips. She closed her eyes in bliss and raised her hand, covering her mouth as though she savored every drop. Or as if she might retch. No, impossible.
Women came to him from the crowd,
helping him take off his clothing, stroking his body. They touched him everywhere, their passion growing as he fed his desire to them.
A woman tugged the sleeve of his shirt away, then touched his chest, her finger grazing his nipple. Another unfastened his pants, pulling the laces free, her hand touching his cock, sliding her fingers across the damp head. He was ready and full, potent and eager to mount his Queen.
With this offering, with their release, they would all be free.
His Queen closed her eyes and made a choking noise, an expression he couldn’t identify scraping across her features. But it wasn’t joy. Uncertainty flooded him and he shoved it away. This was their chance. Their realm hinged on this night. There was no time for uncertainty or doubt, no going back. The rite would work.
Because there was no alternative. Male hands caressed her flesh and stroked her hair. Readying her. With a cry, she swallowed, tears running down her cheeks.
He knew that pleasure: When his body was so overrun with verdant desire that he could barely function beyond the moment and his own urgency.
Cer grabbed his Queen around the waist, her back to his front, his fingers going around her body and plunging between her thighs.
She was hot and wet. A Queen built for desire. He pushed his fingers into her, opening her, making her wide for him.
No gentleness, no hesitation. It was unnecessary because she was Queen of the Fey, as ready and hot as he was. She was his equal—a mirror for his desire.
She cried out at his blunt invasion, struggling closer. He settled her on the ground, raising her hips into the air as he impaled her from behind in one, swift move.
Like a dagger plunged to the hilt.
Like the last gasp of a dying man.
That connection was everything.
Cer thrust within her, slow then pounding, feeling the magic course through him. It was building, growing.