by Lynn Viehl
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
PART ONE - Golden Gate
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
PART TWO - Seventh House
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
PART THREE - Night of Tears
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
PART FOUR - Burning Dawn
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
OTHER NOVELS BY LYNN VIEHL
Praise for the Novels of Lynn Viehl
The Novels of the Kyndred
Dreamveil
“This urban fantasy is pure magic.”
—The Best Reviews
“Followers of the series won’t want to skip this one…. Rowan is a great heroine and, if you’re a fan of the series, there are revelations that you won’t want to miss.”
—All About Romance
“Viehl’s imaginative spin-off series continues as she once more explores the hazardous world of the genetically altered Kyndred. This story is rife with stunning secrets, treachery, and betrayal, [and is] guaranteed to keep readers guessing.”
—Romantic Times
Shadowlight
“Hot enough to keep anyone warm on a cold winter’s night. Shadowlight is an intense romantic thriller from the pen of Lynn Viehl, and readers will eagerly devour her latest in anticipation of the next installment!”
—Romance Reviews Today
“My love for Lynn Viehl’s Darkyn series runs deep, and I’ll admit to shedding a tear when I finished Stay the Night. [Then] I heard that she would be continuing to write in that world but with a new crop of characters… . Shadowlight, the first book in her Kyndred series, was everything I could ask for and more. Once again, Viehl delivers with a heroine who can stand on her own two feet, a devoted hero, and a cast of secondary characters who completely suck you into their world.”
—Bitten by Books
“Expanding the world of the Darkyn … Lynn Viehl provides her fans with an even more complex realm in her latest enjoyable urban romantic fantasy. Fast-paced and filled with plenty of suspense.”
—Alternative Worlds
continued …
“Complex and engaging … fans of Lynn Viehl will enjoy this book immensely, and hopefully a group of new fans will be brought into the fold after reading Shadowlight.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
The Novels of the Darkyn
Stay the Night
“Truly transfixing!”
—Romantic Times
“The best Darkyn novel to date.”
—The Romance Reader
“Filled with romance, intrigue, and nonstop action, this book does not fail to satisfy.”
—ParaNormal Romance
(A PNR Staff Recommended Read)
Twilight Fall
“[An] intelligent and breathtaking addition to the incomparable Darkyn series.”
—Fresh Fiction
“An electrifying addition to this top-notch series … a definite must-read.”
—Romance Junkies
“A really good series … excellent.”
—Affaire de Coeur
Evermore
“[F]ull of exciting twists and turns… . Viehl tells a self-contained, page-turning story of medieval vampires.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Dual cases of unexpressed love have kept two potential mates dancing around each other. Add in guilt and remorse and this is a recipe for emotional disaster. Thankfully, Viehl knows just how to liven things up: by adding danger, treachery, and betrayal to the mix. Things never run smoothly in the Darkyn world!”
—Romantic Times
“Lynn Viehl sure knows how to tell a hell of a story.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“[O]ne of my favorites, if not the favorite, Darkyn book to date.”
—Romance Reader at Heart
Night Lost
“Viehl continues to weave an intricate web of intrigue in this contribution to the amazing series…. I became completely engrossed in this compelling story. Lynn Viehl had me hooked from the first page… . Exceptional … I definitely recommend this marvelous book.”
—Romance Junkies
“Fast-paced and fully packed. You won’t regret spending time in this darkly dangerous and romantic world!”
—Romantic Times
“Fans of the series will agree that Lynn Viehl is at the top of her game.”
—Alternative Worlds
Dark Need
“An exciting book and a must-read … frightening and creepy characters that will keep you awake late at night. Balancing the darkness is the searing heat and eroticism that is generated between Samantha and Lucan.”
—Vampire Genre
Private Demon
“Lynn Viehl’s vampire saga began spectacularly in If Angels Burn, and this second novel in the Darkyn series justifies the great beginning. Indeed, it is as splendid, if not more, than the first one.”
—Curled Up with a Good Book
“Strong … a tense, multifaceted thriller…. Fans of Lori Han-deland’s Moon novels will want to read Lynn Viehl’s delightful tale.”
—Midwest Book Review
If Angels Burn
“Erotic, darker than sin, and better than good chocolate.”
—Holly Lisle
“This exciting vampire romance is action-packed… . Lynn Viehl writes a fascinating paranormal tale.”
—The Best Reviews
OTHER NOVELS BY LYNN VIEHL
Kyndred Series
Shadowlight
Dreamveil
Frostfire
Darkyn Series
If Angels Burn
Private Demon
Dark Need
Night Lost
Evermore
Twilight Fall
Stay the Night
SIGNET SELECT
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ovember 2011
Copyright © Sheila Kelly, 2011
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DEDICATION
Por Isabelle, mi obstetriz.
Siempre que miro a mi hija,
pienso en usted.
Muchísimas gracias.
Beneath a night no longer May,
Where only cold stars shine,
One glimmering ocean spreads away
This haunted life of mine;
And, shattered on the frozen shore,
My harp can never wake—
When will this night of death be o’er?
When will the morning break?
—William Winter, “The Night Watch”
mu·ta·tion [myü-tā-shən]—noun
a. a sudden departure from the parent type in one or more heritable characteristics, caused by a change in a gene or a chromosome.
b. an individual, species, or the like, resulting from such a departure.1
“The results of the last 20 years of research on the genetic basis of adaptation has led us to a great Darwinian paradox. Those [genes] that are obviously variable within natural populations do not seem to lie at the basis of many major adaptive changes, while those [genes] that seemingly do constitute the foundation of many, if not most, major adaptive changes apparently are not variable within natural populations.”2
—John McDonald, geneticist, University of Georgia
PART ONE
Golden Gate
September 29, 1520
Templo Mayor
The lord of deception and fate stared out at Sokojotsin from the invaders’ eyes. He recognized the great deceiver by how he had cloaked himself in that blackness, the color of the north, the color of death. He had lured the stinking, filthy dogs over the great waters and across the marshes and maize fields to surround the twin jewels in the center of the world. The serpent wall had not kept them out; nor had all the warriors of the House of Eagles.
They had not, for Sokojotsin had himself opened the city to them. He had welcomed them, these foul creatures, and demonstrated his superiority by bestowing many gifts on them, and permitted them to dwell among the people so that he might know them as he had known the others who had come before them. But their priests had deceived him, and he soon discovered that none of them had ever walked the path of the beautiful death. In his anger Sokojotsin had released the thousand blades to kill many of them, and drive out the rest.
That rage had been his greatest mistake of all.
The dogs had run away in fear, but their greed soon overcame their cowardice. So they made treaty with and gathered his enemies, and with them marched on the city, and conquered it in the name of their faceless God. For all of seventeen days they had drenched that indifferent altar with the blood of those they had butchered. The rest they imprisoned so that they could be questioned … and questioned they had been, until they died of it.
Sokojotsin was one of the last left alive. Soon they would come for him, he knew. They would come and pierce him with their ugly blades, or separate his head from his neck. His heart would die in his chest. His death would have no meaning.
He had railed at them through their smiling, cringing priests, roaring of his magnificence, of his splendor. He who had been bathed every fourth hour, who had never donned the same garment again, who had never fucked the same woman twice in a year, the sun god, the ruler of the universe, son of the silent death, the warlord and the rain, beloved of highest clouds and coldest air, the light of war, the skinner of souls.
No more. The dark metal of the gods had cast him down cruelly before the invaders, and he was undone. Now there would be no coming forth of flowers for him, no dances in his memory, no offerings of jade and serpentine. He would be tossed into one of their pits and left to rot among the peasants, without so much as a few grains of maize placed on his tongue.
He glanced at the pile of bread sitting beside the gap in the bars through which they pushed it each day. Green-gray mold covered it now. Dust and dead insects floated on the untouched water in the pail. They did not understand why he would not eat or drink, but they would not enter the cell to force it on him. Cowards, all of them.
“Sinner.”
Although the scribe was one of the few dogs that spoke his tongue, Sokojotsin did not look upon his squat, robed figure hovering outside the bars. He would not pollute his eyes with the scribe’s meekness.
“Sinner, I have been sent by the captain to ask you one last time,” the scribe said in his pompous fashion. “Give me the secret of the thousand blades, and your death will be quick and merciful.”
Sokojotsin caught one of the beetles burrowing happily into the heap of moldy bread and held the squirming bug between two of his broken fingers. “That I could be as you, little glutton, crawling the stones and cowering in shadows so that I might eat of the shit of these dogs.” He crushed the beetle and tossed it to the scribe, who scuttled away.
“You have transgressed against the one and only God,” the scribe ranted. “You are cursed for all eternity. This is your last chance to save your soul.”
Sokojotsin closed his eyes against the burning light streaming into his cell and waited. They would next bring one of his nineteen children before him, or perhaps one of his wives. His beloved ones would not beg, but the dogs would threaten to rape the women before his eyes or cut the throats of his sons unless he confessed. That was their way.
“Majesty.”
The deep, soothing voice of his ambassador seemed to come from within Sokojotsin’s dreaming, and he smiled a little until he smelled his blood. He opened his eyes to see his most trusted one standing on the other side of the bars.
Beads of blood welled on Tendile’s cracked lips as he spoke. “I am brought to beg you, Majesty; do as they will of you. Could I bite the tongue from my mouth, I would, but …” He smiled, showing his torn, empty gums. “This kindness I would show myself, they have taken from me.”
With some difficulty Sokojotsin rose and hobbled over to the bars. He could no longer stand straight, but neither could Tendile; nor would his most trusted one meet his gaze. “Look upon me, pipiltin.”
His ambassador’s bloodshot, pain-clouded eyes shifted with such reluctance that compassion filled Sokojotsin’s heart. “Sire, I am the rot of the temple before you.”
“Not so, my child.” Sokojotsin fit his hand through the bars and graced his most trusted one with a touch to his swollen face. “It is I who sent you, and I who have failed you. You and all my people.”
Tears trembled on the other man’s lashes. “Majesty, we have brought this disgrace. In our shamed eyes you are as the sun.”
“Your strong heart could never fail me,” he assured him. “So I wo
uld see you end as beautiful as it is.”
Too overcome to speak, Tendile nodded.
The scribe appeared beside his ambassador. “Enough of this nonsense,” he said to Tendile. “Tell him—” His words dissolved into a girlish scream as blood sprayed into his face.
Sokojotsin jerked his hand out of his most trusted one’s chest, bringing with it Tendile’s heart, which pulsed once more before it went still. He lifted it up to the sunlight, praising the warrior’s soul before he brought it to his mouth and drank.
The bars opened, and spiked cudgels struck Sokojotsin over and over before the dogs dragged him out. Tendile’s offering had given him enough strength to lash out at them, but he did not resist or strike back. He would not give them the dignity of death.
They hauled him through the prison they had made of his palace to the temple, where their captain stood and watched over Sokojotsin’s metalworkers. The scribe spoke quickly in their graceless tongue while he pointed and capered around the bloody prisoner.
The captain jerked up Sokojotsin’s head by his hair and spit out a handful of words.
“You have committed the mortal sin of murder,” the scribe translated out loud. “You will burn for it and all your other transgressions unless you tell us now. Tell us the secret of the thousand blades.”
Sokojotsin kept his eyes closed as he licked the last of the blood from his lips.
“So be it. May God have mercy on your evil soul.”
They dragged him to the pounding stones, where they used dark metal to lash him in place. He would die on his knees, but in a few moments he would join those who had gone before on the star path, the most beautiful path of all.
“Give it to me.”
Sokojotsin felt the heat against his face, and opened his eyes to see the captain standing before him, his heavy gauntlets wrapped around the shaft of the vat dipper. Inside the deep bowl yellow-white molten ore bubbled, so hot that tiny flames danced around the edges.