Immortal Echoes (Haunting Echoes Book 2)

by Caethes Faron

  Immortal Echoes

  Caethes Faron

  About Immortal Echoes

  After reincarnating yet again, Michael is finally with Amaia in nineteenth-century Paris. It’s the life they dreamed of two centuries ago, before she became a vampire. His love for her overshadows his distaste for her kind, but when a vampire clan threatens him and Amaia, the only path to survival is for Michael to turn into one of the creatures he hates.

  Amaia harbors a special power: the ability to feed off of and control human emotions. Her sire won’t be happy until she’s part of his clan or dead. She despises the power-hungry clan, but the only way to fight it is to form one of her own. With only two friends to her name, it’s an impossible task.

  In order to reconcile his new existence with God and his conscience, Michael must face the evils of his bloodlust instead of running from them. Only then can he fight for Amaia. Outnumbered, Amaia knows that only their wits can save them. All they have is a plan and a dream. As mates, if one of them dies, the other will follow, and a battlefield of vampires awaits them.

  Immortal Echoes contains adult language and situations.

  Get sneak peeks and stay up to date on new releases by signing up for the author’s newsletter at:

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  Other books in the Haunting Echoes series:

  Haunting Echoes

  Fates Entwined

  Chapter 1

  Outside Naples, December 1843

  Michael watched the last wisps of light fade from the sky. Night descended, and he took a seat on the ground in front of the two-story stone farmhouse he had bought with almost all of his inheritance specifically for this night.

  This night—the focal point of his entire life—was here.

  His legs twitched, eager to be up and walking. A deep breath appeased the nerves in his stomach for a moment but did nothing to dispel the urge to pace. Too much energy. But walking would only make it harder to watch for her.

  Jocelyn, the woman he’d proposed to so many lifetimes ago.

  No. Amaia, his vampire wife and lover.

  The woman of his dreams.

  Had she only been a dream? The question had nagged him since he grew old enough to remember his dreams. The only times he felt sure were those precious few minutes between sleep and wakefulness. That surety had been enough to propel him through life. She had to be real.

  She had to.

  His eyes scanned the horizon. She’d come from the forested hills, using the cover of the trees to mask her escape should she not see what she wanted. He knew her too well. It was impossible to know such things about a figment of imagination. Wasn’t it?

  He pulled his knees to his chest. The toe of his right shoe tapped the ground. Standing would be impossible. His stomach was so tied in knots that it would surely stay in the dirt if he stood. Dear Lord, he wished they had set a specific time. If he didn’t already know he was destined to die at twenty-four instead of twenty, he’d have worried that the anticipation would kill him. The entire day had drug by at an agonizing pace, but at least he had known she wouldn’t come until after sunset. That’s the way she was. It had nothing to do with her vampirism.

  A rustle in the leaves to the left drew his gaze. His entire body leaned forward as he willed himself to stay in place. If this were to work, it had to be her choice. She had to come to him. It was the only way. The beating of his heart pounded in his ears. Lungs burned with need as he unconsciously held his breath. More rustling. A twig snapped.

  A deer walked into the clearing.

  “Damn,” he barely whispered with his exhale. Of course, Amaia wouldn’t make so much noise. For all he knew, she had already come and gone, deciding to leave him alone. Or perhaps she wouldn’t come at all.

  Then he’d die there watching for her.

  He didn’t doubt her love. In a life full of uncertainty, even on the days he had doubted his sanity, Michael had never doubted Amaia’s love for him. Oh, she might try to convince herself she was incapable of the feeling, but he knew better. It was the only explanation for why she had stayed a part of his life even after he had foolishly rejected her. When he’d first regained the memory of her killing him and realized she was a vampire, he’d sworn to himself he’d never see her again. Thank God she’d still been around when he finally came to his senses in his next life. She always came for him. The only threat to her appearance tonight would be her misplaced insistence that he would be better off without her. Out of the two of them, she would be the one strong enough to stay away for the good of the other.

  He possessed no such strength.

  It would be one thing if he would just stay dead. Life would be so much easier. As it was, he couldn’t face an eternity of continually being reborn, possessing the memory of her but never her. A man could only take so much. He’d be willing to suffer through life without her if he didn’t genuinely fear going mad. The knowledge that she wanted him as well was the only thing that assuaged the selfishness of his actions.

  Clouds shrouded the moon, dimming its light, cloaking the trees in darkness. The light from the house illuminated its own little bubble. There wouldn’t be any room for doubt in her mind as to the seriousness of his intentions. He’d always known he’d put candles out for her, indicating his desire to see her, but two candles in a solitary window would have painted too pathetic a picture, one unworthy of the commitment in his heart. Instead, he had placed two candles in each of the windows and two rows of candles leading up the walkway to the door. The only real requirement he’d had when buying the house was that it have enough windows to make the kind of statement he wanted to tonight.

  Without the light of the moon, he knew there would be no way to see her until she wished to be seen. The cold seeped through his trousers. It would have been wise to bring something outside to sit on, but he’d been too anxious. Now he didn’t dare move in case he missed her.

  So close. She had to come soon. After a lifetime of seeing her in his dreams, of being able to conjure her image any time he wished simply by closing his eyes, he didn’t know how he’d make it through the rest of the night. His entire body vibrated with the need to touch her, to feel her underneath his fingertips. She would understand him, comprehend him, in a way no one else ever had, with no need for words. He’d simply hold her, and she would know. She always knew.

  Cold air stung his eyes. Blinking seemed a dangerous risk given how fast Amaia could move. A slight breeze stirred, and the clouds drifted by, releasing the moon from its captivity. Good. The moonlight would illuminate her auburn hair and pale skin, glint off her hazel eyes.

  He pulled out his pocket watch, the only thing that remained of his father, and checked the time. A strained laugh escaped his lips. He’d barely been sitting for a half hour. It didn’t seem possible.

  When he put the watch away, stirrings of fear crept around his heart. Fear constantly stalked him like a wolf in the forest. Most of the time, Michael knew it was irrational, but the night he was to meet his vampire wife for the first time in this reincarnated mortal form was hardly a time for rational thought to be able to put up a fair fight. A lot could have happened since he’d last seen her. Her affections wouldn’t have wandered. If she was going to stop loving him, she would have done so long ago. No, fear whispered to him that Zenas might have finally caught her. The leader of the clan she had forsaken for Michael had endless resources at his disposal. She could be dead, and there would be no way for him to ever know. If she didn’t appear tonight, he would always wonder. If she was dead, what would happen to him? Would he be cursed to live out his life, time after time, with no hope of ever seeing her again?
He shuddered. He knew of no way to cease the cycle of reincarnation. Only Amaia made it bearable. It was bad enough having to wait until adulthood to be with her.

  He focused back on the tree line. She had to be there. He felt her. Or at least he thought he did. Was it wishful thinking? A rustle in the distance. Another deer or maybe a rabbit.

  There it was again. The movement. He tried to quell the frantic jumping in his chest. Except this time the movement didn’t stop. A figure emerged from the trees, running so fast he couldn’t see what it was. There was only one answer, only one creature capable of moving so fast. He leapt to his feet. He didn’t have time to take a single step before she crashed into him. Her scent filled his nose as tears poured down his face. He hadn’t even realized they were so close to the surface. A pressure that had been building his entire life released. No more worries, no more reason for concern. Amaia filled his arms as well as his heart, and he felt as if he could truly rest for the first time.

  He pulled her tighter, squeezing her body flush against his, and he no longer had any interest in resting.

  “Are you really here?” He half worried that he’d fallen asleep and dreamed her or that he had fabricated the entire experience to appease his restless mind. Perhaps the night had passed without her showing herself, and he was trying to cope.

  “Yes, Michael, I’m here.” Her voice sung in his ears, barely more than a whisper, close enough that he could feel the air she had inhaled to produce the sound.

  Yes, she was real.

  Chapter 2

  Michael never wanted to let go of her. Even weakening his grip so he could pull back to look at her face took effort. After a lifetime of waiting, he feared she’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight.

  “My God, it’s really you.” He marveled that she looked exactly as he remembered, even down to the wisp of auburn hair that insisted on escaping its pin. Amaia smiled up at him, the moonlight and candles reflecting in her eyes. Her smile outshone everything else.

  “Yes, and if you want me, I’ll never leave you again.”

  “Forever.” Before she could say a word, he consumed her in a kiss, tightening his grip as his tongue delved into her familiar mouth. Thank God he was taller than her in this life.

  Amaia responded as beautifully as if it’d been orchestrated. She pulled him closer, running one hand through his hair and cupping his face with the other. No warmth emanated from her skin. She maintained her deathly cold even though she possessed the ability to warm her skin using Michael’s energy. That knowledge stoked the fire of his passion. Instead of hiding behind a façade, she presented him with her true form.

  In one swift movement, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the door. She opened it and smiled expectantly up at him. She was his, and nothing had ever made him prouder. Michael couldn’t find words to describe the satisfaction he felt looking down into her hazel eyes. He knew her strength overshadowed his own. She could easily carry him. She had done so on more occasions than he’d care to admit when they’d had to flee other vampires. Yet he enjoyed the illusion that he could somehow keep her safe in his arms. In reality, he couldn’t protect her against the dangers that threatened her. He would never be able to as a human. The thought pained him, but he pushed it aside. Tonight, there were other matters to attend to. Tomorrow could wait.

  He carried her across the threshold into his home—the same as he had done on their wedding night twenty-two years before—and kicked the door closed behind them. The first floor of the house was as plain and practical as possible without being uncomfortable. Upstairs, the bedroom was a different story. His frugality had followed him through all of his lives, and in this one, he wasn’t particularly wealthy, but he had spared no expense for their bedroom. He knew they wouldn’t be using it for long, but it was important to him that the night be as perfect as he could make it. Their future held only uncertainty. It could be a long time before they had the chance for a night in a nice bed surrounded by pretty things again.

  Lifetimes ago, Amaia had confided in him that one of her favorite parts of the life she had purchased with her work as a courtesan was the trinkets she could buy. The novelty of owning things whose sole purpose was to be pretty had never worn off. He regretted that his presence in her life meant she might never have pretty things again. They moved too quickly to ever establish a home.

  Throughout his life, he had collected trinkets to have in this room on this night: a music box with a delicate ballerina, porcelain figurines of two lovers, a silver brush and comb set, brass flowers to serve as bookends, a tapestry depicting a scene from Much Ado About Nothing that he knew she fancied, and a rosewood sleigh bed with carved flowers. A yellow silk coverlet trimmed with fur hid the linen sheets. None of it mattered to him. He only wanted to see the delight in Amaia’s eyes. He could give her a taste of her old life for this night at least.

  “Michael, you didn’t have to do all this. It must have cost a fortune.”

  “What’s money to me? There’s only one thing I’ve ever wanted, and I vowed a long time ago I would never pay for it again.” Twice he’d paid for her company, but never had he paid for her love.

  “Hmm. So all this isn’t a way of buying my happiness?” The smirk on her lips matched the twinkle in her eyes. God, he had missed her.

  “Ah, your happiness is a different matter. It’s about the only thing worth spending money on.” He caught her quick glance at her finger, where the ring he had bought her over two hundred years ago sat. “I’ve had so few chances to buy you things over the years. Indulge me.”

  Michael placed her delicately on the bed and had to catch his breath. Amaia would never age. For the rest of eternity, she would appear exactly as she did now. She would forever be the young woman he had fallen in love with so long ago. Some days, he mourned that he would never see wrinkles crease her face—never grow old with her—but staring into her eyes, he saw lifetimes worth of experience. Lifetimes worth of love. Her constancy in his ever-changing life comforted him. Knowing that she would always be his, that her body, which had enticed men for centuries, was his, sent thrills of pleasure through him.

  Blood rushed to his already stiff erection. Her initial kiss had been enough to ignite his body to the same passion his heart felt. He wanted her. He wanted to ground himself in her body, wrap himself in her love, and know that they were one. With a deep breath, he tried to tame his lust. What did it say about him that after a lifetime apart, all he could think about was ravishing her? He couldn’t treat her like a whore. Never that.

  “It’s all right, Michael. We have the rest of forever to talk. I want you inside me even more than you want to be there. I promise you.”

  Of course, she would be able to hear his increased heart rate, see every shade of red that tinged his skin, measure to the millimeter the dilation of his pupils. She would know that he wasn’t merely hard for her—his entire consciousness craved her. Holding his gaze, she sat up and began to undo the buttons of her dress. It was enough to move him from his trance.

  “No.” Immediately, her hands stopped. The lilt of her lips took on a more flirtatious quirk. “Let me.” Her movements offended him. He felt like a child watching someone else unwrap his Christmas present. Michael undressed as quickly as he could, not wanting to give her a chance to tease his clothes off of him. Not now, not when he ached so strongly for her.

  The heat of his arousal was the only thing that kept him from shivering as the cool air touched his bare skin. The fire in the fireplace needed to be stoked, but he’d freeze to death before he’d spare a moment for the fire in his current state. Even without the confines of clothing, his erection strained painfully, the discomfort as much psychological as physical. Too much space separated him from the woman he desired.

  Climbing onto the bed, he pushed Amaia onto her back, sparing a moment for a kiss to her lips, but quickly moving down her throat. Her dress revealed much of her skin. She’d feel no need to protect herself from the cold.
He wanted to warm her entire body with his breath. His mind screamed at him to go slowly, to treasure this time that he’d waited so long for. His thought of slowly undressing her from a few moments before succumbed to the waves of need washing over him. Buttons detached, and stitches snapped under his frantic hands as he undressed her. It was hard to care about the ruined garment. A few dresses waited for her in the wardrobe. She wouldn’t be left naked.

  Underneath him, Amaia moaned, lifting her hips to facilitate the removal of clothing. When Michael went to his knees to discard every last shred of fabric, her hands flew to her hair, releasing it from the pins that held it. Long auburn locks framed her face and tumbled onto milky white skin. Seeing her so perfectly laid out before him—delicate pink nipples perked and waiting for his touch, slender waist and curved hips, soft hair framing her inviting entrance—something in his mind snapped. He was tired of waiting, of chivalry, of romance. She was his, and he wanted her.

  In a moment, he was on her, grasping a breast in one hand and sucking a nipple into his mouth. He rubbed his other hand along the perfect curve of her hip. Each curve of her body was perfection. It seemed unreal that God’s greatest creation was a vampire, but Michael couldn’t think of anything on earth more perfect than Amaia. The familiar feel of her breast in his hand, a hand that had never before held one, drove him mad. Amaia screamed in a mix of pleasure and surprise. Let her. She’d driven him crazy long enough. Her body writhed. Michael gave up all hope of this lasting any length of time and swore to himself he’d make it up to her. His hand moved from her hip to the soft folds of her entrance, and he gasped at the wetness he felt there.

  “I’m ready, Michael. You don’t have to wait. I don’t need anything else. Only you.”

  Her voice danced in his ears. Her breath tickled all the way down to his cock. While her desire flattered him, he was more grateful that he hadn’t had to find out if he was the type of man who would selfishly see to his own pleasure. He could have sworn in past lives, he’d been a more considerate lover.