Fates Entwined

by Caethes Faron

  Fates Entwined

  Caethes Faron

  About Fates Entwined

  After more than a century of searching, Lawrence has found the perfect person to help him birth a new race of vampires: Jocelyn, the girl he’s groomed to be the most powerful courtesan at the court of King James. All goes according to plan until Michael Barwick arrives at court and threatens everything.

  Michael abandoned his life at sea in order to take his place as Baron Barwick after his brother’s death. Overwhelmed by his duties, he’s eager to leave court until Jocelyn sits across from him in a tavern. The intriguing woman soon has him opening his heart to her, and he’s prepared to fight for a place in her life.

  Jocelyn’s desire for Michael, the one man who has ever fought past her professional façade to truly love her, threatens her independence. When Lawrence offers her the gift of eternal life, she must choose between the man she loves and the freedom she’s struggled for.

  Fates Entwined is the prequel to Haunting Echoes.

  Creative license has been taken with historical events, places, and people in the telling of Jocelyn’s story.

  Get sneak peeks and stay up to date on new releases by signing up for the author’s newsletter at: http://CaethesFaron.com/Newsletter

  Other books in the Haunting Echoes series:

  Haunting Echoes

  Immortal Echoes

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  London, Winter 1622

  Lawrence admired the amber and gold music box on the parlor mantle while he waited for Jocelyn to join him. A delicate, golden elephant twirled as tinkling music floated through the air. The superb craftsmanship impressed even him, and he wondered which of her clients had gifted it to her.

  Lawrence noticed Jocelyn’s energy brushing against him, reaching out to him, before he heard her steps on the stairs. Her aura enveloped him in its warmth, the strength of its touch bringing a smile to his lips. The approaching young woman was unaware of the magnificence of her energy. Her ignorance made her all the more attractive, as did the fact that she was his. He had taken her raw talents and molded her into his most successful courtesan.

  “Lawrence, sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Not at all, my dear.” Lawrence kissed her on each cheek then held her at arm’s length. “You didn’t have to doll yourself up for me.” Jocelyn’s dark blue dress with black lace trim brought out the shine in her auburn hair. A simple blue ribbon with a golden, heart-shaped charm accentuated her slender neck.

  A young maid entered with a tea service. Without having to be told, she served Lawrence a cup with two lumps of sugar and a little cream. After handing Jocelyn her cup, the girl left as quietly as she’d come.

  “How is Anne faring?” Lawrence blew on his tea. The maid was new to Jocelyn’s service and hoped to someday be a courtesan.

  “Well enough. I don’t know if she’ll make anything of herself, but she’s pretty.”

  “You should know that it’s not the looks that make the girl.” Jocelyn was beautiful in her own way, but there were plenty of women more attractive than her at court. Her eyes were hazel instead of the more desired blue; she refused to cover her auburn hair with fashionable blonde wigs; and her bosom was smaller than most men preferred in their paid company. But appearance could only take a girl so far.

  “She’s eager to learn, but she lacks patience.” Jocelyn took a sip of her tea.

  “If she’s not suitable, we can find someone else. There’s no lack of girls wanting to learn from you.” Lawrence’s tea was sweet, but it didn’t sate his thirst. He would need a real drink once he left Jocelyn.

  “Let’s give her some more time. I’ve grown used to her.”

  Lawrence nodded. “How was your night with the Marquess of Buckingham?”

  “George was wonderful, as always.”

  She held something back. There was a way she held her mouth and eyes, as if trying to prevent her emotions from showing. It worked well on clients, but Lawrence wasn’t a client. A decade spent studying her as he’d raised and trained her had attuned him to her physical tics as well as her energy. “He offered to install you as his official mistress, didn’t he?”

  Jocelyn sighed as she placed her teacup on the table and faced Lawrence. “Yes, he did.”

  “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

  “Why would I? I have no intention of accepting.”

  Of course she didn’t. She would never give up her autonomy to anyone. Lawrence was the exclusive holder of her strings. “Still, I should think something that momentous would warrant at least a mention.”

  “He knew what my answer would be. If I’d accepted, he would have lost interest. My refusal didn’t appear to dampen his affection. He’ll be here next Tuesday. I’m entertaining a few people to discuss The Pennylesse Pilgrimage by John Taylor.”

  “Good. I’ll put it on the calendar. Now, why are you looking so desirable tonight?”

  “I was thinking of going to King’s Head.”

  “You don’t have to go looking for business at the inn, dear. You’re more than welcome to take the night off. You have a masquerade the day after tomorrow.” It didn’t surprise him that she was eager to exert her autonomy after having it threatened. The Marquess was a good man who genuinely cared for Jocelyn. He might even love her. He would have seen his offer as security for Jocelyn, but she would only see it as another man trying to control her. She had Lawrence, and he had done a good job of convincing her he was all she would ever need.

  “I know, but I enjoy it. It’s only a short walk from here. It’s not as if I’m going all the way to court. I promise I won’t overwork myself. You need to stop worrying, Lawrence. I’ll be fine. I like the change of pace away from court.”

  “Then have a good time. You’ve earned it.”

  * * *

  Lawrence licked Arabella’s neck, his mouth watering in anticipation. A gentle pressure in his mouth released his fangs. The razor sharp teeth sank into Arabella’s skin, releasing the warm flow of blood. Thicker than water, sweeter than wine, it slaked his thirst. The warmth brought life. Stolen life.

  Lawrence released her neck. Arabella was one of his favorite whores. While Jocelyn’s success afforded her a private residence, his other girls lived in the brothel. Lawrence had his own home, but he was rarely there. He preferred to make use of his suite in the brothel, where he could keep an eye on his girls and all the comings and goings. He didn’t mind Jocelyn’s autonomy. He wouldn’t dream of using her services himself. She was too important to him.

  Lawrence kissed along Arabella’s breasts until he reached the other side. As always, his victim was unaware of his actions. The venom in his fangs masked the pain. Arabella would only feel a light pressure and sucking sensation. Nothing out of the ordinary in her line of work. He descended once again on her neck, taking a little more.

  Once Arabella finished him off, sating more than just his thirst, she swayed drowsily to her room. Lawrence rose. For him, a bed’s only purpose was fucking. He had not slept in more than two centuries. He sauntered to the bookshelf, trying not to think of what he couldn’t have. Selecting the most recent medical treatise, he situated himself in his worn armchair to read.

  It took effort to concentrate on the words in front of him. Jocelyn was almost ready. He longed to feel her blood on his lips, to taste its tangy sweetness sliding down his throat. But it wasn’t feeding he craved. No, the feeding would only be a precursor. She would be shocked by the truth of his existence, but he didn’t doubt she would join him. He would pour her blood back into her. Mixed with his venom, it would transform her into a vampire, his first daughter. He could hardly wait to be a father.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

&n
bsp; The wine tasted sweet on Michael’s tongue, far nicer than the drink he was accustomed to. The King’s Head was well-lit by a large fireplace and several wall sconces, but Michael had chosen a small table in the back corner, shrouded in shadows. All he wanted was enough wine to make him the exact degree of drunk to be able to get up to his room but not remember any of it. He glanced at his nearly full flagon. It would be a while.

  “You lonely tonight?”

  Michael looked up from his wine to see a pair of large breasts nearly falling out of a thin dress onto his table. His eyes traveled up to a face painted in garish hues that only accented a missing tooth.

  Michael tried to smile in a way that was polite but not inviting. “No, thank you.”

  “Aww, a little time with me and you’ll forget all about whatever it is that has you brooding in the corner.”

  Michael wished that were true. If it were, he would pay any price she asked. Looking into her face, past the color and powder, he saw the lines etched into her skin, the dark circles under her eyes. She was simply striving to survive, just like him. Maybe not exactly like him. That’s what he’d needed: a swift reminder of how fortunate he was.

  “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company tonight. I’m sure there are plenty of other men who would love to partake of your charms.”

  The woman flashed a fake pout before slinking away to another patron. Michael shook his head and lifted his flagon for another swig. Perhaps if he spent all his time at court drunk, he wouldn’t be asked back. It was an appealing idea. If only it wouldn’t threaten his family’s fortunes. Michael didn’t care if the king banished him, but he was a man of responsibility. He couldn’t afford to endanger those under his care.

  He was all bluster and no might. A half hour later, he was only on his second cup. Too many years at sea had cured him of the desire for drunkenness. Sailors had a reputation for drinking enough to drown a fish, but it only took being caught in a gale once while still recovering from too much mead to instill a healthy respect for alcohol. Thoughts raced through Michael’s mind too fast for him to chase them with drink. He could barely keep up. So much for allowing the wine to quiet the chatter.

  A flash of blue out of the corner of his right eye caught his attention. He turned and saw a woman entering the King’s Head. She wore an expensive but revealing dress. Her appearance denoted a high class, but she traveled without a chaperone. A woman alone, dressed in that fashion? She had to be a courtesan. He’d heard of such women but had never seen one. Unlike the whores he had observed, her face shone bright and her eyes clear.

  The woman surveyed the room, and when her eyes alighted on him, he saw a spark of recognition. Michael had never laid eyes on her in his life. He would have remembered. The mysterious woman strode to his table. She carried herself with sophistication and confidence. She didn’t look down her nose at anyone, but she looked like she could have if she had been born and bred into her riches.

  Michael focused on his wine. He didn’t want any company, although if it had been a different time, a different place, he would have smiled at her. Apparently, his feigned indifference had no effect. She sat delicately yet firmly across from him.

  “I’m not in need of your services.” Michael made his voice as uninviting as possible, keeping his eyes on his drink.

  The woman laughed. It sounded light and free, like the tinkling of a bell brightening his morose thoughts.

  “I don’t recall offering my services, though you’re in need of them more than any man I’ve ever seen.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re not a drunk, but you’re sitting here by yourself, in the dark, wishing desperately that you were. In my experience, when men of your stature attempt to lower themselves, it’s for some reason beyond mere amusement.”

  Michael raised his gaze. The woman’s face was open and inviting. Her hazel eyes were inquisitive without expectation. If he hadn’t ascertained her profession, he would have thought she was genuinely interested.

  “Talking tends to be much more helpful than drinking alone.” Her eyes peered into his.

  “Talking can’t turn back the clock, nor can it raise the dead.”

  “No, that it can’t.”

  She sat across from him like an infinitely patient confessor. The silence that became increasingly uncomfortable for Michael appeared to have no effect on her. The tension built, and his lips parted before he could think better of it. “My brother died.”

  It was the first time he had said the words aloud. It had been months, days of him weighed down by responsibilities that left no time for him to process the drastic shift in his world. The woman said nothing, urging him onward by not pressing at all. “I wasn’t even there when it happened. When my ship came into port, one of the dock rats told me I was needed at home in Dover. I hadn’t even planned on seeing home. I just wanted to unload, resupply, and get back to sea. There’s no telling how many days that little whelp waited to deliver his message.”

  Michael paused to take a drink of his wine. Not only was his mouth dry, but he wanted to dull the guilt he felt over the fact that he still wanted to be at sea, that he wished he had never stepped off his ship and never seen that dock rat. There wasn’t enough wine in the King’s Head, and the woman was right; drinking wouldn’t solve anything or even make him feel better.

  He couldn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he focused on the heart charm around her neck. “My brother had been thrown from his horse a few weeks before and broke his neck. They say he didn’t suffer. I suppose that’s meant to comfort me. It does some days, but mostly I’m too busy to let it. In an instant, I went from Michael Barwick, carefree ship captain, to Baron Barwick, with a widow and two children to care for in addition to my mother.”

  “Ah, the heart of the matter.”

  Michael met her eyes. No judgment colored her voice, no disgust, none of the things Michael felt for himself.

  “Being overwhelmed doesn’t diminish your grief. The feelings are not mutually exclusive.”

  “It doesn’t make it any easier to feel them.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I don’t suppose anything will, other than time. You should talk to someone. Letting it all stew inside isn’t going to help. You’ve got to air your feelings if you’re going to really heal.”

  “But who can I talk to? I can’t burden my mother or dear sister-in-law when they both grieve even more than I do. I’d hardly seen my brother since I was twelve.”

  “You still have a right to your grief.”

  “But how can I complain when my mother has lost a son, and my sister-in-law has lost a husband?”

  “Your grief doesn’t diminish theirs. I doubt it would offend them. If anything, they would be comforted by knowing you share their pain. More hands make for an easier burden. When you return to Dover, you should let them comfort you, if not for your sake, then for theirs. How long are you going to be at court?”

  “For as little time as necessary. I’m here strictly because the king ordered me to present myself to him. As soon as I can leave without jeopardizing my family’s fortunes, I’ll be on the road to Dover.” Michael downed the last of his drink.

  “If you’d like, I can accompany you to your room.”

  Ah, the proposition. Michael should have known it was coming, but he had forgotten her profession over the last few minutes. He didn’t care if she was only listening out of self-interest. She had been right: talking did help. If he had to pay for her company, so be it. At the moment, he couldn’t think of a better use for his money.

  Michael pushed away from the table and stood. The woman remained seated and looked up at him. Her eyes said she enjoyed his company, while her relaxed posture told him that it was up to him to continue their encounter, and any outcome would please her. “I would like that very much.” He held out his hand. Her slender fingers slid into his. They felt simultaneously delicate and strong. He supported her to her feet and led her upstairs.

  * * *


  Chapter 3

  Jocelyn was well-acquainted with the King’s Head. She didn’t need to frequent it. She had plenty of regulars, and much of her real business was by referral, but she enjoyed the change of pace. After George’s offer to install her as his official mistress, she needed to reaffirm her autonomy, prove to herself that she was beholden to no man. There was no better way to do that than to venture out and find a new client.

  Michael ushered her into one of the King’s Head’s nicest rooms. It boasted a small sitting area with a sofa and two chairs in front of the fireplace as well as a writing desk. Once he’d shut the door, he spoke. “If it’s agreeable to you, I’d prefer to take care of the payment now. I don’t want any distractions.”

  “Very well. My fee is four pounds.” Jocelyn caught the slight lift of his eyebrows at her price. Nevertheless, he nodded and strode to his money purse on the desk. He counted out sixteen crowns and handed them to her. She tucked them into her blue purse and smiled at him. “I’m yours for the night.” It would probably be another half hour of talking and then bed. An hour—two at most—and she’d be on her way home.

  “Please, sit.” Michael gestured to the sofa and waited for Jocelyn to sit before joining her.

  “Your eyes, they’re the most extraordinary shade of gray. I’ve never seen anything like them.” Jocelyn reached out and brushed a lock of his light brown hair out of his face.

  “My mother always said the gray of the early morning ocean mists swirled in my eyes.”

  “I think she was right. So you grew up in Dover?” She had given him his opening, and he didn’t pursue physical contact. He was a talker. Jocelyn didn’t mind. Pain lurked in those eyes, and she was pleased to alleviate it, even if only temporarily.